Page 38 of Threat of Danger
The living room was now airy and navigable, no longer a fire hazard. After Derek had carried out the heaviest pieces that first night, Jess was able to remove the rest. She didn’t remember the place ever being this sparely decorated. Her mother was going to faint when she came home. Knowing about the big clear-out and seeing the results were miles from each other.
“So, Eliot, which one of Derek’s books is your favorite?” Jess asked to start the after-dinner conversation in safe territory.
“Soldier’s Return,” Eliot said without thinking.
When Derek cast a questioning look at Jess, she looked away. She cleared her throat. “I mostly just read screenplays.”
“The action sequences inSoldier’s Returnare a thing of beauty,” Eliot said. “I could see the whole movie shoot in my head as I was reading.”
“That happened years ago now. I remember the heat more than the action.” Derek’s tone was relaxed and easy as he reminisced. “Like working in an oven.”
Eliot grew still. His eyes lit up. He spoke in a hushed tone as he asked, “That really happened? The jump between the helicopters?”
“Buddy of mine. I was there to see it.”
Eliot leaned forward, his smile splitting his face in two. “As I was reading, I was thinking that might be too dangerous even with the best safety equipment we have. And your friend survived that jump?”
Derek’s face darkened. “He died in a different chopper crash.”
Jess stared at him, wondering if he was talking about the same crash that had given him that limp. A long time ago, she used to know nearly everything about Derek. Her schoolgirl crush had verged on an obsession. Now she knew precious little about him.
And I don’t want to, she reminded herself as the men talked about the book and how much of the story was based on real events.
On the surface, the conversation was nothing but friendly, yet she kept catching what she thought were undertones, and the image in her head was from a shoot three years ago, a remake ofThe Three Musketeers, a fencing duel, two men circling each other with sharp rapiers, doing their best to kill each other.
Zelda took out her knitting.
Jess picked up theTaylorville Timesfrom the coffee table. The front-page article was from Mark Maxwell, covering the school board elections, digging up dirt and then exaggerating it with innuendo and suppositions until the piece was slimier than the worst tabloid.
Just seeing theMark Maxwellbyline pumped up her blood pressure, let alone reading the mud he was slinging. She dropped the paper with disgust.
“What is it?” Derek wanted to know.
She hadn’t realized that he’d been watching her. She cast a cautious look at Eliot as she answered Derek. “Maxwell.”
She still hadn’t told Eliot about her past, and didn’t want to do it tonight, not in front of Zelda and Derek. She intended it to be a brief, private conversation between the two of them.
She thought about asking him to walk down to the sugar shack with her, and telling him on the way. But Eliot’s phone rang just as she was going to make the suggestion. He glanced at the screen.
“Excuse me.” He went to take the call in the kitchen.
“What about Maxwell?” Derek asked, then added, “The nosy little bastard called me today. He wanted to know why you were back. I told him to buzz off.”
Jess buried her face in her hands. What were the chances that Maxwell wasn’t going to make himself into a complete nuisance?
“That boy better not come around here,” Zelda said, “or he’s gonna meet the business end of my cast-iron fryin’ pan.”
Derek was still watching Jess. “What is it?”
For a second, she considered brushing him off, but then ended up telling him. “He cornered me in Taylorville yesterday while I was getting coffee, on my way to the hospital.”
Derek didn’t move a muscle, but somehow his entire being was laser-focused in a second, and some invisible cloud seemed to surround him that she could only identify asthreat of violence. “What did he do?”
“He was pushing me to give him an interview.”
“I know what he wrote about you two years ago,” Derek said. “Mom told me.”
Jess rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that.” She glanced at Eliot, still on the phone, one hip leaned against the kitchen counter. “Please.”
