Now the rationale behind the dark glasses and her preference for solitude became obvious.
He retreated to the woods separating their properties, running her name through his mind.
Nothing clicked.
No surprise, given how little TV he watched. And his movie viewings were few and far between. Other than the megastars, he couldn’t tell one actress from another.
Yet it seemed as if Kat—Katherine—had achieved a fair amount of success and was on the pinnacle of fame.
So why would she be hiding away here, if that was her dream?
Did it have anything to do with the scandal her agent had mentioned?
Zach stepped up onto his deck and headed straight for his laptop, depositing the plate and change on the edge of his desk as he sat.
Listening in on a private conversation wasn’t ethical, but there was nothing wrong with researching a Hollywood celebrity who lived in the public eye. Whatever was out there about Katherine Parker on the net was fair game.
He booted up his laptop, typed in her name . . . and noticed two things immediately.
First, the photos of her bore no resemblance to the fresh-faced brunette woman with the low-key persona who was his temporary neighbor. The Hollywood version of Katherine Parker was a stunner with long, wavy blonde hair, dramatic makeup that enhanced her eyes and lush lips, and a figure shown to perfection by the body-hugging gowns she appeared to favor.
The second startling piece of information was the huge number of hits that popped up—and the subject matter dominating all the recent ones, captured by the very first headline.
Hollywood Star Questioned by Police in Death of Fellow Actor
Zach scanned the Associated Press story that had appeared six weeks ago.
Katherine Parker, one of the stars of the hit TV series Masterminds, has been named a person of interest in the death of actor Jason Grey, with whom she was linked romantically.
Grey was pronounced dead at the scene after a wrap party at the home of producer Louis London to celebrate the completion of his latest movie, in which Parker and Grey appear in supporting roles.
Toxicity results aren’t yet available, but according to police reports, fentanyl was found at the scene. Friends of Grey have also reported he was a fentanyl user.
The rest of the article went on to discuss the propensity of illicit fentanyl to cause pulmonary distress and death, and the rumors Grey was addicted to narcotic painkillers.
There was no further mention of Katherine.
But another story, dated four weeks ago in a Hollywood tabloid, said the pills in Grey’s possession had been identified as a counterfeit version of Vicodin laced with fentanyl. Katherine remained a person of interest, and the publication threw out the possibility that she was also a user—and could have supplied the drugs that killed him. If so, she could face a mandatory prison sentence under federal law, along with state murder charges . . . even though it was expected the death would be ruled an accidental opioid overdose.
The final hit he opened from just ten days ago absolved her of culpability, indicating that while the source of the pills hadn’t been discovered, no one would be held criminally liable for Grey’s death.
Exhaling, Zach leaned back.
No wonder Katherine was skittish.
And no wonder she’d fled Hollywood to regroup in a quiet place like Hope Harbor.
But once the scandal blew over and she regained her equilibrium, it was doubtful she’d ditch that life long term.
For as he scrolled past the most recent hits and began to find articles and reviews of her work, it was evident she was a talented actress. She’d won several awards, and the conversation she was having with her agent suggested her star was about to soar.
Yet in the few short encounters they’d shared, she hadn’t seemed all that excited about taking her career to the next level.
Zach stood and began to pace.
From everything he’d heard and observed, she was in a tough position—standing on the cusp of a dream, being prodded by her agent . . . yet suddenly unsure what her future should be.
Been there, done that—in a different context.
And if she’d been in love with the man who’d died, that would only exacerbate her dilemma. Losing a significant other could tear you apart.
His stomach clenched as an image of Lissa strobed through his mind.
Been there, done that too—minus the physical death.
It wasn’t the best situation in which to make rational choices.
He paused beside the truffle plate and change. He still had to return both.
But how was he supposed to handle the next encounter with his neighbor, now that he knew at least a few of her secrets? It would be disingenuous to pretend he was in the dark about her identity. Yet he didn’t want her to think he’d been eavesdropping.
Talk about a conundrum.
And he wasn’t going to solve it by pacing back and forth in his home office.
Why not catch up on email, get dinner in the oven, and take a walk on Blackberry Beach, where the bracing breeze and salt-laced air usually greased the gears in his brain?
If that didn’t work?
He’d have to wing it during their next encounter—and hope for the best.
13
Zach was on her beach.
Katherine halted as the path from the bluff merged onto the broad expanse of sand.
Of course Blackberry Beach wasn’t her beach—even if she’d come to think of it in those terms after her many walks on the deserted stretch. Only once had she run into someone down here—the very man following the surf line today, his back to her, head bowed as if he was deep in thought.
Also the man she’d taken pains to avoid by confining her beach excursions to the hours he was at The Perfect Blend.
But after fending off Simon’s attempts to wrangle a commitment out of her for the past two hours, she’d lost track of time.
It was also hard to think while your head was pounding and your stomach was churning.
A walk on the beach had seemed like the perfect stress reliever after he stalked out of the house in a huff and sped away, spewing gravel in his wake.
Katherine drew in a lungful of air . . . exhaled . . . and tried to psyche herself up for the trek back to the top of the bluff. Much as she’d come to enjoy Zach’s company, playing dodgeball if he asked any questions about her past or her career would be too exhausting.
Before she could turn away, however, he paused. As if sensing her presence, he swung around and lifted a hand in greeting.
Well, shoot. Now she was stuck.
Without budging from her spot at the end of the path, she returned his wave. Maybe he’d get the message that she wasn’t in the mood for conversation and continue his walk.
No such luck.
After a brief hesitation, he struck off toward her across the sand.
Sighing, she started forward. If she met him halfway, she could discreetly suggest they go their separate ways on the beach.
Fifteen seconds later, as the distance between them shrank, she forced up the corners of her lips. “This is a surprise. I’m used to having the beach to myself. It’s spoiled me.”
Not supertactful—but her message ought to be plain.
“Sorry to intrude. I didn’t expect to see you down here at this hour.” For once, Zach was the one wearing emotion-camouflaging sunglasses.
“I’m a bit out of pattern today . . . but I wanted a quiet place to think.”