That's a Wrap Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Heather Silvio

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Episode Four Preview

  About the Author

  That’s

  a

  Wrap

  Paranormal

  Talent Agency

  Episode Three

  HEATHER SILVIO

  Panther Books

  Published in the United States by Panther Books, Las Vegas.

  Contact the publisher at:

  [email protected]

  Correspondence to the author may be sent to: [email protected]

  Cover design by Sonia Freitas at Chloe Belle Arts

  https://www.facebook.com/ChloeBelleArts

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Heather Silvio

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ISBN (Print) 978-1-7326938-1-4

  ISBN (E-book) 978-1-7326938-4-5

  ALSO BY HEATHER SILVIO

  PARANORMAL TALENT AGENCY

  Lights, Camera, Action (Episode One)

  Reset to One (Episode Two)

  NON-SERIES FICTION

  Not Quite Famous: A Romantic Comedy of an Actress on the Edge

  Beyond the Abyss: Tales of the Supernatural

  Courting Death

  NONFICTION

  Special Snowflake Syndrome: The Unrecognized Personality Disorder Destroying the World

  Happiness by the Numbers: 9 Steps to Authentic Happiness

  Stress Disorders: A Healing Path for PTSD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to everyone who supported this series from its original inception to completion. Special thank you to my brand new beta readers!

  CHAPTER ONE

  One thing I adored after 200 years on the planet was the ever-evolving technology. It still seemed almost like magic to sit in my home office watching someone online, and I happened to know that magic was real. Right now, the lead actor in my movie was starting a Facebook Live video.

  “Hi, everybody, I’m Chad Anthony – though hopefully most of you already know that.” He laughed, his boyish good looks meshing well with his charming demeanor. He ran his hand through his wavy black hair, the only indication to me that he might be nervous.

  We wrapped filming of my latest movie last week and this was the first bit of post-production online marketing. Chad was great. Cute young man. I suspected this would be his breakout role – and I’d been around a long time!

  While I’d been admiring his good looks (occupational hazard as a movie producer), he’d continued to talk to his online audience. The likes and the comments floating by on the screen thrilled me.

  Chad frowned, and that drew my attention.

  “I swear I just heard something.” He turned in his chair to check behind him, then back to the laptop camera with a shrug. “Must be the wind knocking a tree branch into a window,” he said with a half-smile.

  But, now I was frowning. Yes, the weather could differ drastically across the Valley; however the air in my part of Vegas remained dead calm. Could it really be that windy near him? I leaned closer to the screen where Chad had continued to discuss the recently concluded film.

  He stopped, his brown eyes narrowing as he turned again to look behind him. “I swear I heard someone. What the heck?”

  A mix of comments appeared below the video. People worried for his safety, making fun of Chad for being so jumpy, or flat out accusing him of making this up to increase likes and the likelihood of going viral. Suddenly, loud popping noises came from my laptop. They didn’t sound like gunshots, so I quickly dismissed the comments on the video warning Chad that he was about to get shot. Though they did sound familiar. Almost like firecrackers. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what the sound reminded me of.

  Chad faced the screen, his olive skin paling. “Do you guys hear that? What is it?”

  The comments came fast and furious now.

  “Get out of the house now!!! This is how someone in LA died!!!”

  Wait? What? I tried to grab the user name of the person who typed the comment, but it was already gone, scrolled up and away.

  The firecracker noises were louder now and more people were commenting that Chad should call the police, that it couldn’t be normal. The young man, on the other hand, seemed frozen in his chair, wide eyes staring at the computer screen. I didn’t know if he was reading any of the scrolling comments. I wondered if he saw the one about Los Angeles.

  I perched on the edge of my seat, cellphone ready, preparing to call Chad, when the noise abruptly ceased. In the silence, Chad’s face relaxed for a mere second before his eyes bugged out and an unseen force pulled him backward from the chair.

  My jaw fell open. I stared at the room now visible behind where Chad had been sitting. The comments below the video became frantic. I pressed his number on my phone. I didn’t hear it ringing on his end (he listened to me and turned the ringer off, I guessed). When his voicemail engaged, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This couldn’t be good.

  “Hi, you have reached Chad Johnson. If you are interested in auditioning or hiring me for a gig, please call my agent, Catherine Rodham, at Peterson Talent Agency, 702-555-6735. If you need to reach me, you know what to do after the beep.”

  I stayed silent for a moment, speechless in the face of what I felt fairly confident was going to turn out to be a very bad thing. “Chad, are you okay? It’s Mia Fynn, your producer, in case you don’t recognize my voice. Or missed my name on the caller ID,” I added with a mirthless laugh, babbling. “What did I just see? Call me when you get this. I’m calling the police and will meet them at your place.”

  While leaving the message, I realized I should have called the police first. I did so now.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  I gave the CliffsNotes version to the dispatcher of what I had seen and she logged the information into her system. I heard a sharp intake of breath before she unexpectedly stated I was the fifth call in the past few minutes to report concern for the young man.

  “Did anyone give you his address?”

  The dispatcher said yes but asked me for it anyway. I provided the address and told her I’d meet the police officers at the location. She started to tell me that was not a good idea. I thanked her for the commentary and pressed End on my cell.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up to Chad’s apartmen
t complex off West Spring Mountain Road and parked my ruby red Mazda Miata behind a black and white SUV, lights still strobing. I counted at least a half-dozen vehicles as I approached a uniformed officer on the path to Chad’s apartment.

  “Sorry, no one is allowed through,” the officer intoned when I tried to step past him on the concrete walkway.

  I peered around him, eager to catch a glimpse of someone I might know. I’d lived in Vegas a long time, maybe I’d get lucky. There!

  “Catherine!” I called out to the willowy blond standing next to an attractive man in jeans. She glanced in my direction, half-heartedly waved, and I could tell by her expression I was right to expect a bad outcome.

  The officer blocking my way frowned slightly. “Please stay where you are.”

  Catherine appeared engaged in a deep conversation with the man in jeans, so I realized I would have to handle this on my own. I hated doing it, but desperate times, and all that.

  I put on my widest smile. “Officer, I really need to get to my friend.” I watched as his frown faltered and his eyes took on the expected glaze.

  “I have my orders,” he said in a monotone, and I nodded sympathetically.

  “Of course, you do. But, it’s okay. Isn’t it.” This last I stated rather than asked.

  Slack-jawed, the officer stepped to the side, allowing me passage. I hurried along before the enchantment broke, and joined Catherine and the man, who I realized was law enforcement, judging from the shiny detective’s badge clipped to his jeans. My eyes wandered lower and I snapped my gaze up. Good grief.

  Catherine enveloped me in a hug, easy since she was several inches taller than me, even without her heels. “He’s dead, Mia. He’s dead.” Her voice cracked and I tightened my embrace.

  I felt eyes on me as I released Catherine.

  “And who might you be?”

  I turned to the voice and watched, bemused, as the detective looked back and forth between me and the officer who abandoned his orders by letting me through. The detective’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

  “Don’t be mad at the officer. I simply explained that I needed to get through,” I answered the unasked question.

  “Why did you need to get through? Who are you?” he repeated as he took in my appearance.

  Inwardly I sighed. Although I was about 200 years old (after a while, who really cared to keep track?) my appearance suggested early-thirties, probably about the same as the detective. I didn’t have your typical appearance; my high cheekbones could cut glass and my electric green eyes have been known to stop conversations.

  Plus, there was my hair. I watched his eyes move over the emerald green waves that flowed to my waist. I checked him out as well before answering his questions. He looked like a world-weary Captain America, frankly. Blue eyes. Close cut blond hair. A cute crooked nose, probably from being broken at least once. Nice body, maybe a surfer, now or in the past. And, as we silently assessed each other, I felt an itch to touch his lips, his arms, his—what??

  “I’m Mia Fynn,” I answered with a glance at Catherine, to break the contact with the detective.

  “You knew the victim,” he responded, his eyes softening when he saw mine pool with unshed tears.

  “I produced the movie he was promoting.”

  “This is Detective Jacob Dawson,” Catherine introduced the surfer cop. “He’s been assigned to investigate Chad’s death.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “What happened?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out, Ms. Fynn.”

  “Please, call me Mia,” I said, extending my hand. He automatically reached to grip mine in response, though his attention was elsewhere. Until our skin touched. I pulled my hand abruptly from his as our eyes met.

  “Static electricity,” I offered with a bark of laughter.

  “Uh huh,” he responded, his pupils dilating.

  Catherine seemed unaware of the sexual tension between me and Jacob. I seized the opportunity to address her. “I take it you saw the Facebook Live.”

  She nodded. “I was describing it to Jacob when you walked up.”

  “You saw it too, Ms—Mia.”

  Tears threatened again. Catherine and I walked the detective through exactly what we both watched. Jacob frowned when we got to the part about Chad being pulled backward by an unseen force

  “An invisible killer?”

  “We didn’t see anybody,” I answered and Catherine agreed. “What did you find in his apartment?” I gestured toward the two-story stucco building behind us.

  Jacob stared at me for a long minute. “Why not? It’ll be all over the news by tonight, I’m sure.” He paused again, gathering his thoughts. “We found the victim – Chad – deceased upon our arrival. We had to break into the apartment.”

  “Everything was locked? No forced entry?”

  Again, Jacob stared at me for a moment. This time Catherine didn’t miss the tension, but it was not sexual, it was distrust.

  “Mia and I really like those forensics shows,” she inserted with a forced laugh.

  “No. No forced entry. There was one door in and out. Locked. Windows were closed and locked. From the inside.”

  I heard the frustration in his voice. I placed a hand on his arm and he startled from the snap of electricity. “Sorry,” I said and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Nothing appeared disturbed in the apartment. His computer had gone into sleep mode, but when our tech guy woke it up, or whatever, it was still on Facebook.”

  “How did he die?” I didn’t really want to know, but…

  “Suffocation.”

  “Oh. So not accidental or medical.” Having seen the event, I doubted it would be either of those, but I had hoped against hope.

  “No.”

  “None of his neighbors saw or heard anything?” I persisted in asking.

  “No.” Jacob’s eyes narrowed at me.

  Catherine’s gaze flicked between us again, probably trying to identify why Jacob was suddenly treating me like a suspect. I kind of wanted to know that too. Or maybe he just didn’t want civilians acting like armchair detectives. I supposed it didn’t really matter. As long as the killer was found.

  “I’ll let you get back to it, then,” I spoke into the silence. As I turned, Jacob touched my shoulder.

  “What’s your phone number?”

  My eyes widened, and he finally smiled.

  “In case I have any additional questions,” he clarified and a blush burned across my alabaster skin. His smile broadened, and I broke eye contact.

  “Of course.” I spelled my name for him and provided the requested number. I risked eye contact again before leaving and there was something unreadable in his eyes. He removed a card from his wallet, scribbled on it, and handed it to me.

  “My cell is on there too. Text me if you have any additional information.” Catherine tilted her head inquisitively at this statement but said nothing. Maybe Jacob didn’t usually give out his cellphone number?

  “It was nice meeting you,” I stated by rote. “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

  “It was nice meeting you too,” he replied.

  I hugged Catherine goodbye, we promised to talk soon, and I walked away. I felt Jacob’s eyes on me until I passed into the darkness beyond the streetlights and reached my car. Once inside, a whoosh of air escaped. What on earth was happening to me? It must be the emotions of the evening, I decided, and headed home to replenish my energy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ten minutes later, I was through the gated entrance to my subdivision in The Lakes and pulling into my garage. When people thought of Las Vegas, naturally they thought of the desert, but I needed to live near water and so I did. It was a manmade series of lakes smack in the middle of the Valley. My oasis in the desert. Kinda looked like California, but more affordable.

  I breathed deep once I’d entered my home and locked the door behind
me. I was more drained than I thought. I fought dizziness and fatigue, stripped off my jeans and tank top, and crossed to the sliding glass doors that opened onto my backyard. I paused beside my pool, debating whether to dive in here, or slip into the lake. Some people made fun of its unnatural colors, but although manmade, it was an actual lake. With fish, turtles, and ducks even.

  I walked down the stone stairs to my wooden dock, and slid into the cool water. I dropped below the surface and allowed the water to swaddle me. I could breathe underwater, so I sunk to the bottom.

  Fish approached me and I reached out my hands, fingers touching their scaly sides. They knew I belonged, despite looking like the humans they saw through the top of the water. I closed my eyes, my energy store rising.

  Air bubbles seeped out of my lungs as I laughed at two fish darting at each other, almost like they were playing a game for my benefit. Showing off. I added my own hand to the play, moving it between them, and soon I’d been accepted as part of it. They moved up to and around my hand, sometimes riding the waves my hand created when I fluttered my fingers. I needed this.

  Oh, and I was not a mermaid, though sometimes mythology recorded my kind as such. I was a nixie or naiad, otherwise known as a water spirit. And, although I was long-lived, I was not immortal. Unfortunately. Because how cool would that be?

  Once replenished, I floated to the surface. I peered through the prism at the top of the water, making sure nobody was watching. My neighbors have caught me skinny dipping in my pool, but I’d rather not draw attention coming out of the lake. One, we weren’t allowed to swim in the water. And, two, it probably looked weird that I’d been underwater for over thirty minutes.

  The houses on either side of mine remained dark. I stood motionless on my dock, the water evaporating off me. I resumed moving and my skin was dry by the time I reached the sliding glass door. I entered, staring with longing back where I came. How the water called to me. It might seem strange that a water spirit would live in a desert, but Vegas had its upside. Namely the Paranormal Talent Agency. I chuckled at the nickname for Catherine’s office and headed upstairs to take a shower; my lake was not a natural body of water, I wasn’t taking the risk of picking up any bacteria!