Perfect
Page 100
She gaped at him for a moment and then pointedly picked up the card belonging to her third suspect without commenting. "Emily McDaniels. You said she felt deeply indebted to you for reviving her career and, later, for giving her the role in Destiny. She'd known you for years, and you said the two of you spent a lot of time together whenever you were working on a film. Children—especially teenage girls—can be fiercely devoted to a male authority figure. It's possible she even imagined she was in love with you. Maybe she thought that if she could get rid of Rachel, you'd reciprocate her feelings."
Zack gave a derisive snort, but his voice softened as he talked about the girl. "Emily was sixteen years old and a sweetheart. Next to you, she was the nicest, most wholesome member of your sex I've ever known. There's no way on earth that child would have done anything to cause me trouble. But let's say you're right—she had a crush on me and was jealous of Rachel. If so, then she didn't need to bother killing Rachel, because it was common knowledge on the set that Rachel had filed for divorce and was going to marry Austin."
"But suppose she hated Rachel so much for humiliating you the night before with Tony Austin that she felt compelled to get even with Rachel on your behalf."
"The theory doesn't work. For all Emily knew, Rachel was going to fire that gun first, the way the script was written."
"Then why don't we assume that Tony Austin was the intended victim of the killer and work from there?"
"You can't assume that because, as I mentioned earlier, I'd made notes in my script about changing the sequence of the gun shots, and any number of people might have seen my script lying open and read what I'd written. My attorneys took depositions from the entire cast and crew before the trial, though, and everyone denied knowing I planned to change that scene."
"But let's suppose Tony Austin was really the intended victim. If so, then it's still possible that Emily is the killer. I mean, what if she was so obsessed with you that she despised Tony Austin for having an affair with your wife and humiliating you—"
"Emily McDaniels," Zack interrupted with absolute finality, "did not kill anyone. Period. She couldn't have. Any more than you could." Belatedly realizing that the cards on the bottom row were her chief suspects, Zack tipped his head toward the last card and smiled with relief that the discussion was nearly over. "Whose name is on that last card in the bottom row?"
Julie shot him a long-suffering look and reluctantly said, "Tony Austin."
The amusement vanished from Zack's expression and he rubbed his hands over his face as if he could somehow rub away the violent hatred that exploded inside of him whenever he let himself think of Austin as the murderer. "I think Austin did it." He looked up at her, immersed in his own thoughts. "No, I know the bastard did it and then deliberately let me hang for it. Someday, if I live long enough—"
Julie recoiled from the savage sound of his voice. "But you said Austin didn't have a cent," she interrupted quickly. "By killing Rachel, who stood to get a lot of money from you in the divorce, he would have lost his chance to get his hands on your money when he married her."
"He was a junkie. Who knows what's going on in a junkie's mind."
"You said he had a very expensive drug habit. Wouldn't getting his hands on your money to pay for his habit have been his first concern?"
"I've had all I can take of this," Zack bit out. "I mean it!" He saw her face pale and immediately regretted his outburst. Softening his tone, he stood up and held his hand out to help her up, "Let's put all this away and decide what to do with the rest of our evening."
Julie fought down her instinctive reaction to his angry outburst and forcibly reminded herself that what had happened last night would never, ever happen again.
Chapter 41
Ten minutes later, she was seated on a stool by the kitchen counter, completely relaxed, laughing because they couldn't decide what to do with their evening. "I'll make out a list," she teased, pulling a scratch pad and pencil closer to her. "So far, you've suggested making love." She wrote that down while he leaned over her and watched with a grin, his hand resting on her shoulder. "And making love. And making love."
"Did I only bring it up three times?" Zack joked when she finished writing.
"Yes, and I agreed all three times, but we were supposed to be thinking of ideas for the early part of the evening."
It hit him then what he'd noticed earlier when she was writing on the index cards, and he complimented her on it:
"Your handwriting is so precise, it looks as if the words have been typeset."
"Which isn't surprising," she replied with a smile over her shoulder, "since I spent years working on it. While other thirteen-year-old girls were starting to drool over you in your early movies, I was staying home, perfecting my handwriting."
He sounded dumbstruck at such a waste of effort. "Why?"
Turning slowly on the stool, Julie looked up at him. "Because," she said, "I was completely illiterate until I was almost twelve. I couldn't read more than a few words and I couldn't write anything other than my name and that not legibly."
"Were you dyslexic or something?"
"No, just illiterate from lack of schooling. When I told you about my youth, I left that part out."
"Purposely?" Zack asked, as she got up and walked around the counter to get a glass of water.
"It might have been deliberate, although I didn't consciously decide to hide it from you. Funny, isn't it, that I could easily admit to being a petty thief, but my mind recoiled from saying I'd been illiterate?"
"I don't understand how that could happen, not to someone as bright as you."
She gave him a look of jaunty superiority that made him long to snatch her into his arms and kiss it off her soft lips as she said loftily, "For your information, it can happen to anyone, Mr. Benedict, and being bright doesn't have a thing to do with it. One out of every five women in this country is functionally illiterate. They missed school when they were little because they were needed at home to help with siblings or because their families were itinerant or a dozen other reasons. When they can't catch up, they decide they're stupid and they just quit trying. Whatever the reason, the results are always the same: They're condemned to a life of menial jobs and welfare; they'll stick with men who abuse them because they feel helpless and unworthy of anything better. You can't imagine what it's like to live in a world filled with information that's beyond your understanding, but I remember how it was. The simplest things, like finding your way to the right office in a building, is completely beyond you. You live in a state of fear and shame. The shame is unbearable, and that's why women hide it."
Zack gave a derisive snort, but his voice softened as he talked about the girl. "Emily was sixteen years old and a sweetheart. Next to you, she was the nicest, most wholesome member of your sex I've ever known. There's no way on earth that child would have done anything to cause me trouble. But let's say you're right—she had a crush on me and was jealous of Rachel. If so, then she didn't need to bother killing Rachel, because it was common knowledge on the set that Rachel had filed for divorce and was going to marry Austin."
"But suppose she hated Rachel so much for humiliating you the night before with Tony Austin that she felt compelled to get even with Rachel on your behalf."
"The theory doesn't work. For all Emily knew, Rachel was going to fire that gun first, the way the script was written."
"Then why don't we assume that Tony Austin was the intended victim of the killer and work from there?"
"You can't assume that because, as I mentioned earlier, I'd made notes in my script about changing the sequence of the gun shots, and any number of people might have seen my script lying open and read what I'd written. My attorneys took depositions from the entire cast and crew before the trial, though, and everyone denied knowing I planned to change that scene."
"But let's suppose Tony Austin was really the intended victim. If so, then it's still possible that Emily is the killer. I mean, what if she was so obsessed with you that she despised Tony Austin for having an affair with your wife and humiliating you—"
"Emily McDaniels," Zack interrupted with absolute finality, "did not kill anyone. Period. She couldn't have. Any more than you could." Belatedly realizing that the cards on the bottom row were her chief suspects, Zack tipped his head toward the last card and smiled with relief that the discussion was nearly over. "Whose name is on that last card in the bottom row?"
Julie shot him a long-suffering look and reluctantly said, "Tony Austin."
The amusement vanished from Zack's expression and he rubbed his hands over his face as if he could somehow rub away the violent hatred that exploded inside of him whenever he let himself think of Austin as the murderer. "I think Austin did it." He looked up at her, immersed in his own thoughts. "No, I know the bastard did it and then deliberately let me hang for it. Someday, if I live long enough—"
Julie recoiled from the savage sound of his voice. "But you said Austin didn't have a cent," she interrupted quickly. "By killing Rachel, who stood to get a lot of money from you in the divorce, he would have lost his chance to get his hands on your money when he married her."
"He was a junkie. Who knows what's going on in a junkie's mind."
"You said he had a very expensive drug habit. Wouldn't getting his hands on your money to pay for his habit have been his first concern?"
"I've had all I can take of this," Zack bit out. "I mean it!" He saw her face pale and immediately regretted his outburst. Softening his tone, he stood up and held his hand out to help her up, "Let's put all this away and decide what to do with the rest of our evening."
Julie fought down her instinctive reaction to his angry outburst and forcibly reminded herself that what had happened last night would never, ever happen again.
Chapter 41
Ten minutes later, she was seated on a stool by the kitchen counter, completely relaxed, laughing because they couldn't decide what to do with their evening. "I'll make out a list," she teased, pulling a scratch pad and pencil closer to her. "So far, you've suggested making love." She wrote that down while he leaned over her and watched with a grin, his hand resting on her shoulder. "And making love. And making love."
"Did I only bring it up three times?" Zack joked when she finished writing.
"Yes, and I agreed all three times, but we were supposed to be thinking of ideas for the early part of the evening."
It hit him then what he'd noticed earlier when she was writing on the index cards, and he complimented her on it:
"Your handwriting is so precise, it looks as if the words have been typeset."
"Which isn't surprising," she replied with a smile over her shoulder, "since I spent years working on it. While other thirteen-year-old girls were starting to drool over you in your early movies, I was staying home, perfecting my handwriting."
He sounded dumbstruck at such a waste of effort. "Why?"
Turning slowly on the stool, Julie looked up at him. "Because," she said, "I was completely illiterate until I was almost twelve. I couldn't read more than a few words and I couldn't write anything other than my name and that not legibly."
"Were you dyslexic or something?"
"No, just illiterate from lack of schooling. When I told you about my youth, I left that part out."
"Purposely?" Zack asked, as she got up and walked around the counter to get a glass of water.
"It might have been deliberate, although I didn't consciously decide to hide it from you. Funny, isn't it, that I could easily admit to being a petty thief, but my mind recoiled from saying I'd been illiterate?"
"I don't understand how that could happen, not to someone as bright as you."
She gave him a look of jaunty superiority that made him long to snatch her into his arms and kiss it off her soft lips as she said loftily, "For your information, it can happen to anyone, Mr. Benedict, and being bright doesn't have a thing to do with it. One out of every five women in this country is functionally illiterate. They missed school when they were little because they were needed at home to help with siblings or because their families were itinerant or a dozen other reasons. When they can't catch up, they decide they're stupid and they just quit trying. Whatever the reason, the results are always the same: They're condemned to a life of menial jobs and welfare; they'll stick with men who abuse them because they feel helpless and unworthy of anything better. You can't imagine what it's like to live in a world filled with information that's beyond your understanding, but I remember how it was. The simplest things, like finding your way to the right office in a building, is completely beyond you. You live in a state of fear and shame. The shame is unbearable, and that's why women hide it."
