Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [93]
The question once would have stunned her, but no longer. An hour ago she would have denied the accusation vehemently, but an hour ago she didn’t know nearly what she now did about her sister. Mary Theresa Reilly. Marquise. Thane Walker’s ex-wife. Once-upon-a-time Hollywood hopeful. Doting aunt. Twice-married has-been talk-show host who had previously attempted to end her own life. “I—I don’t know,” Maggie answered honestly.
“She has a history of storming off sets, of riling up the public, and pulling this kind of disappearing stunt.”
“I know, but she’s always come back.”
“Just before the police were called in, usually.” Henderson flipped open the file and ran his fingers down a typed list. “When she was acting, she held up production of one of the movies she made by pouting and locking herself in her dressing room, all over a minor scene being cut.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It cost her a contract.”
“I know.”
“So she took some courses, became a weathergirl, managed to work her way up on the local television-news circuit, then took a job here. Since she’s been in Denver she’s failed to show up for work on two separate occasions, both times claiming health problems, though the consensus was she was in some kind of contractual dispute and was holding out for more money.”
“I don’t know about those.”
Henderson glanced at Thane, who gave a grudging nod.
“She also has a history of drug use.”
“What?” Maggie was out of her chair. Shaking, her head thundering with all this new painful knowledge, she said, “I don’t believe it.”
“Prescription medications. A painkiller for her back, a series of different antidepressants, and something to help her sleep. The same ones she used in the suicide attempt.”
“Dear God.”
He flipped the file closed and tossed it back on the pile covering his desk. “As I said, your sister has more than her share of problems.”
“We all do,” Maggie said, refusing to be intimidated. “And Marquise is an actress, a—”
“I don’t buy into the sensitive artiste bullshit, Mrs. McCrae. The way it looks to me, Marquise is a spoiled brat. A beautiful, pampered, emotional basket case.”
Maggie bit back a hot retort. She wanted to argue and shout, to call the detective an ignoramus and an insensitive lout, but she didn’t want to aggravate him. Truth to tell, in light of what she’d learned, his description of Mary Theresa wasn’t too far off base. “Do you need anything more from me?”
“That’s about it for now.” Henderson focused on Thane for a second, then managed a professional grin that held no warmth whatsoever as he stood and offered Maggie his hand. “But I might want to talk to you again.”
“Good. Because I’ll want to talk to you, too. I expect you to keep me abreast of the situation.”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything else. Let me know where you’re staying.”
“I will,” she said brusquely, then realized that she was on the defensive though she had no reason to be. Slightly galled, she shook his hand. “Thanks.”
“You, too.”
Instantly on his feet, Thane squared his hat on his head and gave a curt nod to each of the detectives.
Maggie was out the door in a flash, zipping up her jacket and yanking on her gloves. Thane was right behind her. She walked through the maze of desks and general hubbub of people, officers in uniform, plainclothes detectives, office personnel, and lay people as they found their way to the main lobby and walked outside where the air was cold, the sky a brilliant blue, the sunlight dazzling.
Three reporters hung out on the steps, smoking cigarettes and talking, their breath fogging in the air.
One woman glanced at them. “Hey—isn’t that Marquise?” she heard one whisper to another. Maggie’s heart leaped and she turned, looking over her shoulder, hoping to spy her sister