The Truth About Elyssa

“Thanks. I hope so.” Relieved, she settled back in the chair. He obviously didn’t intend to cut out the shows.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then asked, “Could you do more? I’d like to have you here twice a week, unless you have another job that takes your time.”

“No,” she said. “Clowning Around is a full-time business. I do birthday parties, clown classes, magic classes.”

His expressive brown eyes lit up. “Clown classes—that’s what I want. A way for you to work closely with a few kids at a time. Would you be interested?”

She stared out the window and thought about his suggestion. She’d like to say yes. She enjoyed working with these children; they tugged at her heart. But could she afford to take another afternoon away from her business? Turn down lucrative jobs?

She looked back to find his eyes on her. He studied her intently as if he wanted to learn everything about her. Caught in his gaze, she couldn’t look away. The room seemed to heat up around her.

Gracious, the man was sexy, with that lazy, relaxed veneer over a core of energy and intensity. She glanced surreptitiously at the ring finger of his left hand. It was bare.

Time was when she would have been delighted to think he might be available, might have hoped something would develop between them. But that time was past.

The accident had changed her. She wasn’t disfigured—her nose was just a tad crooked and only a crisscross of tiny scars marred her cheek—but her face wasn’t the flawless one that had graced thousands of television screens. And the scars inside were deeper. In the past sixteen months she’d absorbed some hard facts about male-female attraction. She was a fast learner; she didn’t need another lesson.

“What do you say?” Brett asked softly.

She realized she’d been staring at him in mute fascination for long seconds instead of answering his question. She told herself to douse the sparks of attraction she once might have welcomed and to concentrate on business. “I’ll do it,” she said.

“Great.” His smile made his eyes crinkle. “We’ll find some grant money to pay for your time. When can you start?”

She knew her schedule by heart. “Next Tuesday.”

“I’ll have Jean, my secretary, fax you a list of kids you should work with.”

They rose and faced each other, a good three feet apart. It felt much too close.

Ordering herself to be polite and impersonal, she put out her hand. His closed over it—warm, firm and much too personal. “I’d like to talk to you afterward,” he murmured. “Save half an hour, okay?”

“Okay.” Darn it, her voice sounded too breathy.

He walked her out, and Elyssa started down the hall. A small boy on crutches came toward her. His eyes brightened as he passed her, and she turned to watch him slowly make his way toward Dr. Cameron. “Hey, Doc, look at me,” he called and hobbled to the tall doctor’s side. Brett’s face softened.

As he squatted beside the youngster, Elyssa felt a tug on her sleeve. She pivoted and saw a solemn, freckle-faced girl of about eight. “I liked your show. Will you come back?”

“Sure will,” Elyssa said in her Lulu voice. “Next week.”

She waved at the now-smiling girl and started to walk on, then paused and turned, her eyes once again drawn to Brett Cameron.

He was headed toward his office, his back to her. As if he felt her gaze, he swung around, and their eyes locked. His lips curved into a smile of such potent male charm that Elyssa caught her breath. She felt a flutter in her stomach that traveled all the way down to her toes.

Brett raised a hand in farewell, and his mouth formed the word, “Tuesday.”

Elyssa nodded. “See you.”

Yes, that would be okay, as long as he didn’t see her.

That evening Elyssa picked up Jenny Barber and her two children at the hotel and headed to a local pizzeria. Randy’s widow had moved back to her hometown in Tennessee shortly after his death. She and Elyssa kept up with each other by phone and e-mail, but Elyssa had been looking forward to Jenny’s first visit here.

They’d become friends during Randy’s tenure at Channel 9, though they were an unlikely duo. Elyssa stayed firmly focused on her career goals; Jenny was inclined to take in the sights along the way. Although she worked as a pre-school teacher, Jenny was a nester. She’d have been content to stay at home, raise her children and tend a garden. Elyssa was endowed with Midwestern drive and tenacity; Jenny was easygoing and as Southern as corn bread and collard greens. And yet, they’d become close.

While they ate, Elyssa studied her friend. Jenny had lost weight. Once softly rounded, she was now slender, almost bony. And the sparkle in her eyes had dimmed. That was natural, Elyssa guessed, considering the shock and loss she’d experienced.

Between bites of pizza, Elyssa told Tara and Amy, ages seven and five, about Lulu’s magic tricks. Then, enticed by the video games across the room, the girls ran off to try their luck.

Elyssa smiled. “Those games’ll keep them busy for a while. Now we can really talk. Is living in Knoxville working for you?”

“Yes,” Jenny said, staring down at her plate. Her slice of pizza untouched, she twisted a strand of light-brown hair around her finger.

Elyssa frowned. Jenny without an appetite? And nervous? She’d never seen that before. “Really?”

Jenny looked up and smiled, but Elyssa thought the smile seemed forced. “Really. My folks and Randy’s have given me so much support, and of course, Randy’s buried there. It’s as close as I can get to him.” Her wide brown eyes filled with tears, and she grabbed a clean napkin and wiped them away. “Sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk about Randy without sniffling. His death was so…so vicious.”

Vicious was a strange way to describe it. The crash was a quirk of fate, yet Jenny was talking as…as if…

“You make the wreck sound like someone caused it. Like it was deliberate.”

“I think it was.” Jenny’s eyes glittered with dark fury.

Stunned, Elyssa stared at her friend. “It was an accident,” she insisted, then her voice trailed off. She groped for breath. Everyone—her family, friends, the police—had said Randy’s car skidded on wet pavement. She’d accepted that. Because she couldn’t remember anything different. She fumbled for her glass, took a swallow of tea. “You think someone killed Randy?”

“Sure as I’m sittin’ here.”

Elyssa reached for her friend’s hand. It was ice-cold. “Jenny, why would anyone want to do that?”

“He was working on a story.” Jenny leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He wouldn’t talk about it, but I know he was preoccupied, even obsessed by it. I’d wake up at night and he’d be up pacing or scribbling in a tablet.” She raised her eyes. “You were his best friend at the station. Do you know what the story was about?”

“No. He didn’t say anything to me.” Or did he? That last night. The memory stayed tauntingly just out of reach. “Are you sure about this, Jenny? Maybe you’re reading something into—”

“I found some notes.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and held it out.

Elyssa’s hand shook as she took the note. She recognized Randy’s handwriting and, seeing it again after so many months, felt a sharp stab of pain. Before her lay a to-do list. She began to read:

Pick up cleaning, get oil changed. Nothing menacing there. But then she saw: Install home security system, make out will. “Will?” she gasped. Randy had been only twenty-eight.

Jenny nodded. “Men his age don’t usually think about wills. I found this, too.” She held out another paper.

An application for a gun permit, dated the day before Randy’s death.

“Why haven’t you said anything?” Elyssa asked. “When did you find these papers?”

“Last week. I finally made myself start goin’ through Randy’s things.” She reached for a napkin, began tearing it into shreds. “After I found this, I remembered how edgy he seemed in the weeks before he died. Whenever we went somewhere, he’d be lookin’ over his shoulder. That wasn’t like him.” She brushed the mutilated napkin out of the way. “I started thinking about the story he was working on and how closemouthed he was about it, when usually he told me everything. There has to be a connection.” She leaned across the table and gripped Elyssa’s hands hard. “Do you remember anything? I have to know.”

Elyssa felt as if an electric current were racing through her body. She heard a buzzing in her ears, then a memory surfaced, but so faintly, so fleetingly, she couldn’t hold on to it. It swirled away, lost in blackness. There’s something, she thought, something I ought to know. But she knew nothing….

“Did you talk to Derek?” she asked. “He would have known what Randy was working on.” She hated mentioning Derek’s name, hated even thinking about him. Derek Graves, news director at Channel 9. Ex-lover. Prize jerk. How could she ever have thought she was in love with him?