Undying Laughter

“Tell me about the first delivery,” Dylan said to Gina.

“She was onstage,” Gina began. “I thought they might have been from her father, so I took a peek at the card. When I saw it—” Gina paused as a chill shook her body “—David and I decided to toss them. They’ve been coming like clockwork for the past six months.”

“What’s your first recollection?” Dylan asked Destiny.

Taking a seat across from the two men, Destiny didn’t hesitate with her answer. “I received a pot of gardenias with the note when I was appearing in the Bahamas about three months ago.”

“And you hired a detective to try and trace the deliveries?” Dylan continued.

Destiny met Dylan’s concerned eyes and said, “Miller. Gina can give you his number.”

“Why did you think the flowers were from her father?” Wes asked.

“Carl’s like that. The pot was huge, you know. Destiny’s father never does things in half measure.”

Wesley’s dark brows drew together. “And I guess you’re sure he’s not behind this? Meaning it as a joke,” he added quickly.

“My father’s an alcoholic who spends more time in detox than he does at home,” she answered. “So even though he does have a slightly off-center sense of humor, he couldn’t afford to do something like this, nor would he ever do anything remotely threatening to me.”

There was something about the understanding she saw in Wesley’s expression that made her feel suddenly less hostile and more willing to share with this man. Still, she wasn’t yet able to let down the barrier of her stage persona. Donning a huge smile, she said, “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s politically correct and quite in vogue to come from a dysfunctional family.” She leaned across the coffee table, her glass cupped between her hands. “My father’s binges are well documented, and I even make references to them in my routines. It happens to be common knowledge. But this, this is another matter altogether.”

Gina abruptly excused herself from the room.

A small alarm went off in Destiny’s head. The two women were as close as sisters. It was very much out of character for Gina to run off like that. Then again, her little voice of reason argued, maybe Gina was hiding in case the matter of her father’s current residence became a part of the conversation.

“And this Miller person you hired never found anything?”

“Nothing,” she admitted, feeling silly for even paying his bill in light of his complete and total lack of results.

“Did anyone know you were coming into Charleston a day early?” Dylan asked.

“I think I said something about it when I was onstage the other night—in front of about two hundred and fifty people. Something about a one-day vacation.”

“That narrows it down,” Wesley said with a resigned sigh.

“Do you get these flowers every night? Opening night?”

“It varies,” she told Dylan. “Sometimes I get four or five in a week. Other times I only get them on opening night. Once it was the last performance.”

“No pattern,” Wesley said to Dylan.

“They scare the bejesus out of me every time,” Destiny said. “That’s a pattern.”

“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?” Dylan asked. “Maybe you’ve gotten some weird mail, something like that?”

“You would have to ask Gina for—”

“What in the hell are you two doing here?”

Startled, Destiny turned toward the angry voice. She actually jumped when David slammed the door with enough force to rattle the watercolor prints on the walls.

Dylan and Wesley rose in unison, both men appearing unfazed by David’s display of ire.

Wesley spoke first. “I’m Rose’s son, Wesley, and this is Dylan Tanner. We dropped by to discuss the threats against Ms. Talbott.”

David cast her an irritated look before turning his furious brown eyes on Wesley. “Anything even remotely connected to Destiny is my business. I’ll handle everything—without interference from some bar hand and his buddy.”

Dylan wasted no time producing his official identification. David visibly blanched.

“As far as I can tell,” Wesley began, “you’ve done very little to protect Destiny from the individual who seems to be quite aware of her every move.”

“I hired a detective!” David wailed in his own defense. “And he’s never gotten close to her. He only leaves her notes and flowers.”

“He got pretty close to her today,” Wesley said. For the first time Destiny heard the faint trace of an actual, honest emotion in his tone. It could only be described as annoyance. For some reason, that pleased her. It also disturbed her.

“What are you talking about?” David thundered as he stomped over to her side.

“He left her a welcoming pot of gardenias at the Tattoo,” Dylan stated.

“How in the world would he know you were arriving today?” David asked

David was her manager, accustomed to orchestrating every aspect of her professional life. She could tell by his narrowed eyes that he was struggling to control his fury. Apparently he wasn’t too thrilled to have this Ivy League poster boy basically tell him to go to blazes.

“Destiny, baby, I’m sorry,” David soothed. “We’ll find out who’s pulling this garbage. I know it scares you, but I’m sure it’s just some sicko getting his jollies.”

“Do we need your permission to look into all this?” Wes asked.

“Hang on,” Destiny said to Wesley. “I’m the one who makes that decision. Try asking me.” She stepped away from her manager.

“Fine.” Wesley shrugged as he spoke. “Dylan has already done some preliminary work, which is why we came by at this late hour.”

“Preliminary work?” she repeated. “What kind of preliminary work?”

“He made a few calls about Greg Miller, your detective.”

Destiny met Wesley’s eyes. “I wish I had known that. I’d like to ask that incompetent for my money back.”

“That would be rather difficult,” Wesley said.

“Bankrupt?” Destiny sighed as she lowered her gaze. Lord knew she’d watched her father file under one chapter or another through the years.

“Not exactly,” Wes said as he moved to stand directly in front of her.

His tall body blocked her view of the others in the room. Gently he placed his thumb under her chin and applied just enough pressure to force her to meet his eyes. For what felt like an eternity, Wesley searched her face, his eyes roaming over every feature. She held her breath, somehow sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to be good news. She was right.

“Greg Miller was found shot to death two weeks before you received that invoice.”

Chapter Four