When Colette Died

Chapter 1

As soon as Debbie Gunther stepped out of the limousine, she smiled, looked around, and froze.

Instinct warned her, he’s here.

Somewhere among the sixty or so people who had gathered to watch her arrive, Debbie saw a figure slip behind the crowd. Just far away enough not to be recognized, yet close enough to make his presence known. Debbie felt a tingle at the back of her neck. She forced herself to ignore her growing fear.

Remembering to smile just as Colette would have done, Debbie’s eyes searched the area. Her fans cheered and waved, but somewhere among them was a man who wasn’t her fan. She had first noticed him three weeks ago. She was at a corner drugstore in Beverly Hills, waiting for a prescription to be refilled. She was thinking about her upcoming trip to Las Vegas when suddenly a ball hit her on the legs. She turned, expecting to see either giggling or red-faced kids. Instead, she saw a man, his back to her, turning the corner at the end of the aisle.

She dismissed the incident as only an accident, but three days later she wondered if she’d been wrong. She had been at a grocery store when someone threw a ripe tomato at her. It splattered as it hit her chest. Surprised, she looked up to see someone dashing away.

"Hey, Colette!" a fan cheered.

Debbie blinked away the memory, turned to her fans, smiled, and waved. She wa

sn’t about to let him ruin this day. Today, she’d concentrate on being Colette. It almost worked. She had pushed the thought away when just beyond the crowd, she spotted him again. Immediately, he slid behind some columns.

That’s the way it always was. Every time she saw him, he managed to dart past her view. A second later, after she looked away, she knew he was there again. Just as she knew he was out there now. Waiting. Watching. He was obviously playing some kind of a hideous game with rules he alone understood.

Fear nipped at the edges of Debbie’s nerves. She looked around and felt relief when she spotted the two casino security guards. They flanked the frosted, gold-plated doors of the Crystal Palace Casino. Maybe she should talk to them about this man who’s following her. She’d tell them how she saw him first at the Los Angeles airport and now here in Las Vegas. She could do that, but what could they do?

It’d be better if she told someone she trusted. But who? The truth was she didn’t have anyone to tell.

Still beaming what she hoped looked like a smile full of confidence, she made her way toward the casino’s entrance. The two guards held the crowd back as Debbie walked toward the casino’s doors.

A young man, wearing the dusty blue and silver casino uniform, held the front door open. His right hand made a sweeping motion, inviting her to step into the Crystal Palace Casino.

Debbie turned to the crowd, raised her head high, and continued to wave. She forced her fears into the recesses of her mind. She stepped inside and enjoyed the casino’s cool air, the tinkling of coins dropping, the jingle-jangle of the slot machines, and the sounds of people having fun.

She concentrated on the casino’s stately entrance. Its polished blue and white marble, gilded woodwork, and glittering chandeliers all competed for her attention.

To her left a slowly revolving carousel, overhung with gigantic pieces of glittering glass which resembled different-sized crystals, immediately caught her eye. A change girl, dressed in the usual dusty blue and silver uniform, handed a young couple a red tray filled with dollar coins. Debbie noticed that mostly young adults played the machines in the carousal.

Several players momentarily forgot their machines and stared at Debbie in awe. She knew that she really did resemble Colette, the famous movie star who had so tragically been murdered in this same casino. It hardly seemed possible that five years had already passed since that meaningless act had been performed.

Debbie was suddenly gripped by the sensation that she didn’t belong here. Colette had belonged. But Debbie knew she lacked Colette’s confidence, her easy grace, her devil-may-care detachment. It was best, she knew, not to think about those things. She forced herself to look at the people who had waited for her.

She smiled broadly, wrinkled her nose, and winked, just as Colette would have done.

"Miss Debbie Gunther."

Debbie turned at the sound of her name and faced two men. The one to her right spoke first. "I’m Jack Armstrong," he said. "Welcome to Las Vegas." He extended his hand.

Debbie shook it and noted that his strong, firm grasp matched his healthy-looking physique. Although in his late thirties or early forties, he still had his youthful, sturdy body. His dark, wavy hair and pale-green bedroom eyes hypnotize those around him. His suit matched the casino’s colors.

Jack pointed to the man standing beside him. He wore jeans and an open-neck white short sleeve shirt. "Miss Gunther, this is Bill Davis, your director."

Debbie forced a smile. Although she tried not to, she felt herself shrink back, just a little. Something about the director--perhaps his powerful, broad shoulder--intimidated her. "I know you," she said. "We’ve talked several times on the phone." She extended her hand. "Please call me Debbie."

Bill clasped Debbie’s hand a little bit too long, too hard. His eyes traveled down to her breasts, and he made no attempt to hide it. "You are very pretty, Debbie, and the resemblance is remarkable." His eyes momentarily took on a deep-set hollow look. "If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were Colette. Tell me, are you nervous?"

"About impersonating Colette?"

Bill nodded.

"I’m petrified. But I’ll do my best to bring Colette alive for the audience." Again she wrinkled her nose and winked.

"Good. I’m glad to hear that. Now, go freshen up and in about an hour, meet me on stage, so we can go over your act--unless, of course, you’re busy with the interview."

A group of people rudely walked between them. Debbie waited until they disappeared before asking, "What interview?"

"We’ve arranged for you to meet with Dan Springer," Jack said. "He’s the top reporter for Star World Magazine. What he writes about you will determine the success of our show. But I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Your charming ways will completely captivate him." He smiled and winked at Debbie, setting her at ease. "Naturally, it would be to both of our advantages if the story was favorable."

"I’ll do my best," Debbie promised.

"Good! I knew we could count on you." He turned toward Bill. "Didn’t I tell you, Bill, that she’d be wonderful? I’ve just had that feeling ever since the first time I saw her perform."

A change girl, an attractive lady in her early twenties wearing a short, sparkling blue skirt and frilly, white blouse laced with silver trim, approached them. "Excuse me, Miss Gunther, I have a message for you." She handed her an envelope and left.

Debbie glanced at it and noticed her name was written in plain block letters. She searched her mind, trying to come up with the name of someone who knew she was in Las Vegas. Several co-workers and friends from Los Angeles knew she was here, but she wasn’t close enough to any of them to keep in touch with them. That only left one person: the man who followed her to Las Vegas. Unable to stop herself, she ripped the envelope open.

The message, like her name on the envelope, was written in plain block letters. It read: DEBBIE, WATCH FOR ME ON OPENING NIGHT--AND REMEMBER COLETTE. She turned the note over. It was unsigned. She stared at the note, trying to make sense of it.

"Anything wrong?" Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. "Bad news?"

"Uh, oh, no," she stuttered. "Just a note from a fan." She smiled and stuffed the note inside her purse. Later she’d deal with it. Now she needed to concentrate on being Colette.

"In that case," Jack said, "we’ll let you go up to your suite. I’ll drop by later to make sure the accommodations are to your liking." He signaled for the bellboy who moments ago had arrived and stood just beyond hearing range.

"Show Ms. Gunther to her suite," Jack told the bellboy.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Armstrong."

The way he answered--whether out of respect or fear--made Debbie immediately realize that Jack Armstrong was not a man to fool with.

She watched Jack and Bill walk down the aisle between a row of blackjack tables. They stopped at a twenty-one table and observed the action for a while. Debbie turned her attention to the bellboy. "Don’t I need to register first?"

"No, ma’am. Mr. Armstrong said that everything has been taken care of. All we need is a signature, and we’ll send the card to your room," he said.

Debbie nodded and followed him. She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when that strange sensation overtook her. Someone was watching her. She could feel the eyes analyzing her once again. She stopped and slowly turned.

She’d been right. She spotted not only one pair of eyes staring at her, but several pairs. They were envious eyes, inquisitive eyes, awed eyes--but none were the eyes she was looking for.

She had obviously let her imagination get carried away. That man who had tormented her in California was still there. This was Nevada. What would make her think he had followed her here? She remembered the note inside her purse.

She swallowed hard, smiled, and waved at the people. Then she hurried to catch up with the bellboy.

* * * *

One specific pair of eyes would have interested Debbie had she noticed them. They were there when she first stepped into the casino. They were there when she waved to the people. They were there because they were waiting. Waiting for the right moment.

The eyes were narrow and smoldering, the brows level. The gaze was direct, cold, hard, and filled with anger.