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1
ANNIE
Ishould have known better than to accept the interview. What had I thought would happen during an interrogation on a morning talk show the day after the piece about my mother went viral? Six months after Benjamin Potter had cheated on me in front of the world?
The article about my past had come out of nowhere. Someone at one of those gossip rags had connected me to the murder-suicide of my mother, Jennifer Armstrong. The story had been released last night. By morning, it had gone viral. Headlines on all the gossip rags were annoyingly similar. Hollywood Star’s Tragic Past Comes to Light.
Until now I’d kept the secret of my past from the press. Building an acting career had been hard enough without something so salacious coming to light. Too late now. Everyone knew.
Strangely enough, the initial article had been strangely accurate, including photographs of the crime scene. Photos I’d never seen, thanks to my dad and Stella protecting me from them.
Over twenty years ago, my mother had murdered her lover and then killed herself. Worse, she’d been having an affair withher best friend’s husband. They’d planned to run away together, leaving not only my father, her high school sweetheart, but me, her eleven-year-old daughter. However, before they could do so, something happened between them, and he ended up dead, followed shortly by her suicide. To this day, we do not know what transpired between them.
This interview was supposed to be damage control. I had been strictly instructed by my manager, Celeste, to speak openly about what had happened and the influence the tragedy had had on my life. “Use it to promoteThe Betrayal,” she’d advised.
My portrayal in the filmThe Betrayalwas supposedly my breakout role. Everyone who had seen the early cuts felt certain of that. Even I, as doubtful as I was at times of my talent, had to admit that if I were to become a respected actor rather than a celebrity, this was the vehicle. Before this I’d played the lead’s best friend or girlfriend to the hero in all of my film or television roles. An adjacent star to the real star.
I had to play the game if I wanted to be an actor.
Yet sitting here under the lights on a set decorated for the holidays, being interviewed on a show more fluff than hard-core investigative reporting, I felt emotions of anger and grief spinning and slipping out of control. My old trick of disassociating wasn’t working. Pretending to be someone else, a thoughtful, kind actress from a decent, working-class family, seemed elusive to me. All these years I’d played the part so well, but my act might be coming to an end.
“Tell me about that time,” Kat said. “You were only eleven, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right,” I said.
This golden-locked reporter had done her homework and then some. Kat Jenkins, the darling of the early morning talk shows, smelled of shortbread cookies. Highlighted hair hung in long waves across her shoulders. Fake eyelashes fluttered as she crossed one skinny leg over the other. Her pink sleevelessblouse and pencil skirt, with stiletto pumps flattering her shapely calves, had probably been carefully chosen by her team.
My outfit of a form-fitting cashmere sweater in smoky blue and black pants, along with the high-heeled boots, had been a suggestion from my stylist. Yes, I had a stylist now. And a hairdresser to conquer my wiry red hair. A makeup artist to make my fair skin appear flawless.
None of which helped diminish the trembling in my hands that I now folded in my lap. Or the trickle of sweat that ran down the back of my spine. I was a trapped animal. No way out that wouldn’t rip a limb from my body. Still, my instincts begged me to run.
Kat asked the question in another way. “What happened on that fateful night? Did you know your mother planned to leave town with her lover?”
My gaze traveled to my manager, Celeste, who stood just off camera, her expression tense and her normally ruddy complexion ashen. They had not run these questions by her, that much was obvious.
“Is there a reason you’ve never talked about it publicly?” Kat asked. “It must have helped form the person you are now.”
“Of course it did. How could it not?” My voice sounded hostile. I could practically hear Celeste’s silent reprimand and instruction to play nice.
“You must have known the part inThe Betrayalwould be incendiary, given your past. Did you choose the role to work through some of your demons?”
Demons?
I wanted to scratch her eyes out.
Build your brand.That had been the early advice before I even understood what that was. “You’re wholesome yet interesting,” Celeste had said the first time I met with her. “The girl-next-door type—yet that fiery red hair evokes a feeling of passionhidden under your sweet demeanor. You must exploit it as best you can if you want to survive in this business.”
My ambition had no pride. Whatever it took, other than doing anything amoral, of course. I’d made cooking videos sharing healthy, homemade recipes. I’d joked during interviews that I was looking for a man with old-fashioned values who wanted to get married and have babies.
All true, by the way.
A man like Atticus.
He’d been on my mind since the article broke. His father had been my mother’s lover. Atticus’s father had had an affair with my mother and died because of it, leaving behind a wife and five little boys, one of whom was my best friend. He understood what it was like to be opened up and gutted in front of an entire town. We’d been innocent once. Until the truth spilled out in red blood.
His father. My mother. Affair. Murder-suicide.
“Do you think she snapped when she killed Rex Sharp?” Kat asked. “Or had she planned it all along?”
