“I went to high school with Vivien, you know,” Baxter told him. “She was ahead of me by one year. She and Helga van Hest—you know, the blond cop who’s built like an Amazonian goddess?—were tight.”
“You mean the hot blond cop who’s built like an Amazonian goddess? Yes—I’ve met Helga. And she and Vivien are still close.”
“Right. Anyway, I didn’t know Vivien at all back then, but I knew who she was, of course. Everyone did.”
“I can imagine,” Jake said.
“Biggest celebrity we ever had in Wicks Hollow—but she just kept to herself. I heard rumors—she had a twin, right?”
Jake nodded. “Yes. Liv—Olivia—was her name. They shared roles in stage plays and musicals because of child labor laws limiting the number of hours young children can work. Being identical, they could swap out whenever necessary. I think they had a song that was kind of a hit too—she didn’t like to talk about it much. I barely got it out of her that they sang together live at the Tonys one year.”
“Her sister died before she moved here.”
“Yes. Car accident. They were supposed to go to a costume fitting, but Vivien was sick, so she stayed home, and Liv and her mother went without her.”
And she never came back,Vivien had said when she told him about it.She was my best friend, my soul mate—and then suddenly I didn’t have a twin or a best friend or a costar anymore.
“Their mother had minor injuries—which eventually helped lead to an addiction to painkillers and alcohol—but Liv died at the scene.”
Baxter made a sound of sympathy and stared out into the darkness, the beer settled, forgotten, between his legs. “She was, what, fifteen? At least, that’s how old Vivien was when she moved here—to get away from the memories, I gather.”
“No, she was ten when Liv died. There was a period of mourning and adjustment after, of course—and lots of press over the tragedy, from what I understand—and then her mother wanted her to keep going with her stage career. Sounded like she pushed Vivien pretty hard for the next few years, and it didn’t work. VL—you know, Vivien Leigh—didn’t want to sing or dance or act without her counterpart. I got the impression she had serious anxiety about going onstage. So it was after that—after she was done with that career—that she and her mother moved here to be near Vivien’s grandmother. I guess her father died when she was really little, so she never knew him.”
“Well, that explains why Vivien never went out for any of the plays or shows here,” Baxter mused aloud. “When we were in high school, I mean. Everyone thought it was weird that a big-name actress didn’t want to hog the stage—but she didn’t. Not even in the chorus or bit roles. Melody Carlson claimed it was because Vivien was too stuck-up— That washerterm, dude; I don’t think I’ve ever used that phrase before,” he added when Jake snorted. “Anyway, Melody Carlson—who was always the lead in all of the shows and had all the big choir solos—said Vivien wouldn’t try out because she thought she was too important to be in a pitiful high school or community theater show.”
“Well, I guess things worked out just fine for Melody Carlson, then,” said Jake, imagining a sly-faced girl with a mouth pinched in jealousy and dagger eyes.
“Trust me, Melody wasn’t anything spectacular onstage. I played opposite her a few times—not that I’m talented either. Small town, small school, small pool of talent…I’m guessing Melody was just relieved Vivien didn’t steal her limelight. Melody still lives here in town, in fact. She’s the music teacher at the elementary school. Got divorced a few years ago, I think.”
Jake considered that information for a minute, then said, “I don’t know anything about this Melody, but you don’t think she still has a hard-on for showing up or harassing Vivien, do you?”
Baxter shook his head. “Nah. I can’t see it. Over a high school rivalry from almost twenty years ago—a rivalry that never even happened? But you never know.”
“That’s the truth. I’ve seen enough X-rays to know that people do strange things for strange reasons all the time. Case in point: I once got an image—came in from the ER, of course—that showed a ballpoint pen inside someone’s urinary bladder.”
Baxter whipped his head to gape at Jake, a horrified look on his face. “Really?”
Jake nodded. “Yep.” He shook his head. “I didn’t ask…didn’t even want to know.”
“Yeah, no doubt.” Baxter gave a little shudder. “So you and Vivien met at NYU? And you both ended up back here? Small world,” he said, then took another pull from his beer.
“Yeah, we met at NYU. I was finishing med school there, and a mutual friend introduced us because we were both from Michigan. I grew up near Grand Rapids, and when my pop retired, he and my mom moved here because they’d visited a few times and she wanted to be near the lake. Pop didn’t argue—I don’t know, maybe he had a feeling she was going to get sick and go sooner than he was…and so they lived here about seven years before she died. Small world for sure that Vivien and I both ended up back here, eleven years after we—after our thing. This is pretty good, by the way,” Jake said, gesturing with his longneck. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s an IPA I’m testing with a hint of orange and clove,” Baxter replied. “It might do well around the winter holidays. I’m thinking of calling it Firelight.”
“Works for me,” Jake replied. “Works for me just fine.”
He was just tipping out the last bit of brew when a pair of headlights swept the dark parking lot. Jake jammed the bottle into a cup holder, and they both tensed as a car pulled into the lot and drove slowly around…then eased up right next to his Lexus.
Before he could react, a bright light blared into the car, blinding him, and he heard someone say, “Both of you step out of the vehicle. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
It was a female voice, but it wasn’t Vivien. Baxter swore furiously under his breath and gave an unhappy sigh as he set down his beer to comply with the order.
Jake also did as instructed, and just as he stepped outside the car, he recognized the woman standing there in her blue uniform. A very large dog sat on the ground next to her, and he didn’t appear very happy. His ears were up, his eyes were sharp, and he was showing a few teeth.
“Oh, Officer van Hest,” said Jake in a hearty voice, hoping it would tell the dog they were friends. “We were just talking about y—”
“Jake DeRiccio. And Baxter? What are you doing here?” The fact that her voice showed surprise and had lost its cop tone indicated she didn’t consider either of them a threat. But she didn’t exactly sound friendly, either. “Well, since I’m pretty sure you’re not doing what the two guys were doing in thelastcar I found in a dark parking lot, let me guess…you’re watching out for whoever is breaking into the theater.”
