Chapter 9
The hours between hauling myself out of the drink and getting back to Witte House were the worst kind of blur.
Someone in town for the regatta saw me from the path and called for help once they realized I wasn’t a sack of trash.
After that, things moved in fits and starts.
Heath arrived looking grim. I was jostled up the side of the jetty by two very robust young men who’d followed the commotion hoping to see something gruesome, disappointed when I started hacking up my lungful of cove water instead of dying messily.
A ride in an ambulance to the small hospital in Malm’s Corner later, I was casted, relatively cleaned up, x-rayed, MRI’d, given a lovely dose of pain killer, very unflattering scrubs that felt like they were made of paper towels, and finally a cup of hot coffee and a stale bear claw thanks to a nurse who took pity on me and raided the break room’s stash of pastries. Not necessarily in that order.
When Heath caught up to me mid-bear claw, I felt a rush of relief. “Thank god,” I sighed. “Everyone here is great but I really don’t want to be here.”
Heath’s tight-lipped smile should’ve tipped me off this wasn’t going to be a pleasant interaction, but I lived in fuzzy-brained hope. “Well, I’m not here to take you back just yet,” he admitted. “Damien, what were you doing at the old lighthouse?”
“Nothing. I hadn’t even made it down the walk before someone freaking attacked me and shoved me in the water.
” My hackles were twitching, words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“I’ve found another dead body this week, I’ve been pap stalked with pictures taken of me at home and not just out and about, my dog is obsessed with a dead man’s cat, no one believes me about Anmorata Blue being sketchy, and now this,” I lifted my casted arm with a hiss and wince.
Heath’s sigh was heavy as he sank into the plastic chair beside my hospital bed, scratching at his heavy five o’clock shadow as he gathered his words.
“The thing is, someone called in a report. They saw you—allegedly—leaving Tubbs’ boat this afternoon.
That’s how I ended up finding you so quickly.
I was on my way to check out the call. Figured you were snooping around. ..
“I didn’t even make it to the boat! And what the hell? You can check the security cameras and see—”
“The ones at the yacht club don’t pick up as far as the jetty, and the ones for the light house were damaged in that storm back in September.
Town doesn’t have the funds to replace ‘em yet,” he added apologetically.
“But the fact remains, someone claims they saw you trying to set fire to Tubbs’ boat, Damien.
I know, I know! You didn’t do it,” he said, cutting off my panicked protest. “I know that, Damien.”
“There’s a but. You didn’t say it, but I can hear it. What is it, Heath? What’s the but?”
He smiled wanly. “I feel like I should make a joke there.” My glare was enough of a no. He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, looking worn thin and frustrated when he finally focused on me again. “I can’t ignore this, Damien. I have to take you in for questioning.”
My brain, slowed from the nice dose of painkiller earlier, clicked over a gear and I realized what Heath said. “Wait, someone tried to set his boat on fire? After the yacht club fire and the one at the shop and—”
Heath closed his eyes. “Damien, tell me now, tell me honestly, are you involved in something again?”
Could I go to jail for lying to a cop in this circumstance?
The one person I knew I could ask was not there, and suddenly asking to call a lawyer would not be a good look.
“The only thing I’m involved in right now is needing a ride home from the hospital, Heath,” I hedged.
“And why aren’t you asking me about what happened, hm?
Someone attacked me, Heath. Someone intentionally threw me off the path and into the water. Why aren’t you asking about that?”
Heath shifted, looking sheepish. “There’s no witnesses. I can take a description and we’ll go from there.”
I wanted to scream. “There’s no description. I mean, other than they were taller than me, freakishly strong, had on gloves and either a heavy coat or a lot of layers.” I ran through the attack for Heath, starting over when he asked me to so he could record it all.
“You’ll need to come down to the station and sign off on the transcription,” he said after I was done. “And that still doesn’t answer any of the thousand other questions I have, Damien.”
The painkiller was creeping up on me, bringing along a case of adrenaline crash and general exhaustion.
As a result, my filter was shot to hell.
“I know you don’t believe me, but Tubbs’ death and Anmorata Blue are connected.
She fought with him in front of the Moons on Wednesday evening, there’s evidence he may have taken advantage of her before that, she’s.
.. well, she’s desperate to get into the business, you know?
And if he rejected her or she found out that he was just using her—”
“Damien, may have and maybe aren’t strong enough to admit for a warrant. They’re not even strong enough to find her for questioning.”
“Strong enough to bring me in though? Someone maybe saw me at Tubbs’ boat. Well, I maybe saw Anmorata in the background of pictures of me and Tubbs together. And I maybe know from someone first-hand that Anmorata and Tubbs had a fight and she insisted he owed her something.”
Heath was quiet for a few moments, his entire body tight with tension.
Lips pressed into a thin line, he wouldn’t look at me, turning something over and over in his head before finally nodding to himself and sort of wilting around the edges before he spoke again.
“This is unofficial, do you understand? What I’m gonna say here.
If it gets out that I’m telling you this I could lose my job, Damien. Tell me you understand.”
My voice came out as a graveled whisper when I said, “Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”
“State police got a call about Tubbs this morning. He hasn’t been released yet, still in the morgue, but law enforcement in LA and Vegas asked for some tests to be done.
Seems he’s got a bit of a history, laying hands on young actors and getting sticky fingers in some high-end stores.
Funny thing is, there’s no criminal record that sticks.
Just a few intakes, some slaps on the wrist because no one would agree to press charges or they’d retract them after a few days. ”
I shook my head, closing my eyes against the headache creeping up the back of my neck.
“Not surprising. He’s... He was disgusting.
A real power tripping ass, you know? He used to get away with everything because of his dad.
Senior was super famous and everyone loved him.
He was before my time but one of those legends in the industry.
There’s an award named after him for producers and a couple of buildings in downtown LA near the old studio lots.
Tubbs traded heavy on that when he got out on his own.
It’s how he got a lot of his first movies.
People saw the name and thought...” I shrugged.
“They thought he’d be like his dad. And then no one wanted to give Senior’s name a black eye when Junior turned out to be slime. ”
“Tubbs was seventy some years old,” Heath scoffed. “Still getting Daddy to protect him? Seriously?”
“Tubbs senior’s been dead for years,” I reminded him.
“It’s the name that’s the protection. Guys like Tubbs, they get away with anything and everything short of mass murder.
Even then, they’d likely get a slap on the wrist. Why do you think I got a rep as a whiny little brat and he’s the stellar director? ”
“You were one of the young actors,” Heath sighed, remembering. Something in his voice made me open one eye. His cheeks were flagged with red, eyes narrowed in what looked like anger. “And your parents didn’t file charges?”
I shrugged. “My mom wanted to, when she found out. I was too old for them to be on set with me all the time and still going between New York and LA, depending on projects. She’d just gone back home when it hit the fan with Tubbs.
I was staying with Max at the time so it was easy to hide it.
” Rory Flick had been more upset I was making him look bad as an agent with a bratty client and not the fact Tubbs was verbally abusive and would’ve likely done worse if one of the adults on set, Colt Matthews, hadn’t stepped in and threatened to leave the production himself.
Bless than man and his seven People’s Choice awards.
“Hell,” Heath breathed. “You realize this is going to make the investigation more difficult, right? If you have a bad history with him, and it turns out he... He didn’t die in an accident?”
“Sorry my childhood trauma is making your job difficult.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Are you taking me back to Lester Cove or not?” I asked, tired of everything.
The painkiller was nice but it couldn’t entirely erase the throbbing pain in my arm or the way my entire body felt like a wrung out old dish rag.
I wanted my bed, I wanted... hell, I wanted Muffin to lay on my feet and Tony to shove his cold little nose in my neck.
I even kind of missed the murder cat.
He shifted uncomfortably. “I need to ask you some questions first and I was thinking it might be less...stressful to do it here.”
“I’ll talk to you,” I agreed. “But first, I need to call my lawyer.”
#
ON A TYPICAL TUESDAY afternoon, according to MapQuest (don’t judge me), it took just about three hours to get from Boston to Lester Cove.
Ben made it in just over two.
He strode in, harried scowling, as Heath hovered at my bedside and a nurse unhooked my IV, making the room feel very crowded.
"Aren't I mister popular," I said with false cheer. "I'm good to go. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge."