Lucy heard it, feared she was going to wake her up and quickly left.
Sahara waited until the door closed, and then she reached for the edge of the afghan and pulled it tight beneath her chin to keep the bad juju away. Someone had tried to kill her. It hadn’t worked, so they would likely try again.
Please, God, don’t let that happen.
It was the last conscious thought she had before she fell asleep.
* * *
Tom Mahan had been on the phone with the investors all morning. They were concerned about the delay in production and wanted answers the director didn’t have.
“Look, Fenton, I am aware that you have a big investment in the film, and we scored big when Sahara Travis came on board. But I called the detective in charge of the case this morning to see if he had any news for me, and he confirmed her food had been poisoned with cyanide. She’s still alive, but the young woman from wardrobe is not. Her name was Moira. Her parents are devastated. We’re all devastated by this, so we’re not going to resume filming at this time. I’ll know when it feels safe enough.”
Fenton Whiteside sighed. He knew Mahan’s hands were tied. Murder was always a messy situation.
“I’ll let the other investors know. Just keep in mind that you get a bonus if this film comes in under budget, and you’ll be kissing that goodbye if we’re shut down long. Paychecks still go out, whether they report for work or not.”
“Yes, yes, I know. This isn’t my first rodeo, but it’s damn sure the first time someone was murdered on one of my sets. I’ll be in touch,” he said, and disconnected.
He needed to go check on Sahara but dreaded the crowd he’d have to go through to get to her apartment. It had been all over the news this morning, so he had no doubt the Hollywood media machine would be in full swing. He made a quick call to her apartment, but when the call was answered, it was her assistant, Lucy, who picked up.
“Hello?” Lucy said.
“Lucy, it’s me, Tom. May I speak to Sahara, please?”
“Sorry, she’s still sleeping. The pain in her foot has knocked her out, and I don’t want to wake her. Can I have her call you?”
Tom was in shock.
“What’s wrong with her foot? Why is she in pain?”
“Oh, I guess I thought you knew. She accidentally spilled hot coffee on the top of her foot this morning. She has a second-degree burn. The doctor has been here and is treating her.”
“Son of a bitch! Why wasn’t I informed?”
“I couldn’t say, but I’m guessing that since filming has been put on hold, she didn’t think it mattered. She’ll heal and be back at work when you need her, and if she’s not healed, you can shoot around the fact that she’s going to be barefoot for a while. And don’t curse at me again.”
Tom sighed. “I’m sorry. It was just a surprise, that’s all. I sincerely apologize. Give Sahara my condolences on the accident, and if there’s anything I can do for her, anything at all, please let me know.”
“Yes, sir. I will,” Lucy said, and heard the line go dead.
“Prick,” she muttered, and went back to the pudding she was cooking. One of Sahara’s favorite comfort foods was banana pudding, and while she usually made it herself, Lucy knew that wasn’t happening this time around. The least she could do was have it ready.
A short while later she set the pudding aside to cool a little before putting the dish together, and as she was cleaning up, her cell signaled a text. When she saw who it was, she grinned. Wiley Johnson was who she thought of as her part-time lover...like in the song. He made her feel special. When they were together, she felt as beautiful in his eyes as Sahara Travis was to the world. It was a good way to feel.
The text was an invitation to dinner. She responded with a yes, but only if she didn’t have to work late here. The thumbs-up he gave her made her smile, and she shivered just thinking about the sex they always had for dessert.
* * *
Lucy was in the living room with the TV on mute and her laptop on her knees. Her fingers were flying on the keys as she worked while listening for sounds that Sahara was waking up. She glanced up at the clock. It was almost noon.
She set aside her work and went down the hall to check on Sahara. She could hear a television playing, so she knocked once, then opened the door into the suite.
Sahara was sitting in a window seat, looking out into the city.
“Hey,” Lucy said softly.
Sahara turned and smiled. “Hey, yourself.”
“Are you getting hungry? I made some lunch for us.”
Sahara swung her long shapely legs off the seat and stood.
“We could have ordered delivery, but I’m sure not going to turn down anything homemade.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Lucy said. “I’m not the Martha Stewart type. How’s your foot feeling?”
“Better after that stuff he put on it. It still hurts and certainly gives me a whole new understanding of people who suffer serious burns.”
“Life is like that,” Lucy said, as she led the way into the kitchen. “Do you want to sit in here or take the food to the living room so you can put your foot up?”
“Eat in here,” Sahara said. “I always ate in the kitchen with Billie when I was growing up.”
“Who’s Billie?” Lucy asked.
Sahara hesitated, then finally answered. “The woman who cooked for my parents.”
“You didn’t eat with your parents?” Lucy asked, and then watched all expression leave Sahara’s face.
“No,” Sahara said, but she didn’t elaborate. “What did you make? I’m suddenly starving.”
“I have cold shrimp with red sauce...heavy on the horseradish, a little pasta salad, and I made your banana pudding.”
“That sounds lovely!” Sahara said.
Lucy was pleased that her efforts were appreciated and quickly made their plates and carried them to the counter.
She poured iced tea for their drinks and then got the cutlery and napkins.
Sahara already had a cold shrimp in her fingers and was liberally dunking it in the red sauce as Lucy finished setting their places.
“I didn’t wait for you, but it’s your fault because it all looked so good,” Sahara said, as she swallowed her first bite.
Lucy pointed at Sahara’s lips.
“You have a little sauce just there.”
Sahara dabbed a napkin against her mouth and then plucked another shrimp from her plate.
“There’s likely to be more there before I’m through.”
A siren sounded as a police car sped past out on the street below. Sahara sighed.
“God bless whoever is in need,” she said, and then took a drink of iced tea.
Lucy gave her a strange look. “Why did you say that?”
Sahara looked up. “Say what?”
“About someone in need,” Lucy said.
“I don’t know. Sirens always give me the shudders. Somewhere, someone is in need or there wouldn’t be sirens, so I say a prayer.”
Lucy frowned. “Are your parents religious? Oh, maybe that’s too personal. I’m sorry.”
Sahara forked up a bite of pasta salad.