The Siren by KATHERINE JOHN (general ebook reader .txt) 📕

“She wasn’t a drug addict!” I scream. “Stop talking about her like that. She was my mother!” And I’m sobbing again.

Carol tries to hold me while I cry, but I push her away. All these people think I’m making it up. They think I’m lying—or worse, crazy. But I know as clear as I know my name that my mother did not overdose and crash into a tree. Whatever happened to her happened before she ever got in that car. Cole and Stella are the ones who are lying, and I will do whatever it takes to find out what really happened.

Taylor

Monday, June 24

The house stood atop a grassy hill that tumbled down to the turquoise lagoon below, where the waves crashed steadily against the shore. All the arched windows and French doors were flung open to the morning sun, white curtains fluttering in the breeze. The view was distractingly beautiful—a far cry from the dusty, dark warehouse we’d been cooped up in all last week.

I was sitting at a colorful chipped tile table in the shade of an oak tree, eating a breakfast of juicy pineapple, strawberries, and coconut flakes while watching the crew set up for the day when Stella breezed in. She was early—a first—and she was without Felicity. Also a first.

“What a gorgeous day!” She swanned through the house without removing her sunglasses, landing next to my table as she took in the view of the iridescent bay. “I could live here,” she announced, to me, I guessed, as I was the only one there. “Perhaps it’ll be my second home.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?” I agreed. The house was a sprawling ivory Spanish Colonial affair with a red tiled roof and numerous patios and porches with archways open to the ocean breeze. “This is where we’re shooting most everything from here on out.”

“Wonderful.” She looked back toward the crew, lighting the kitchen while “Three Little Birds” undulated from someone’s phone. “Where’s Cole?”

“Not here yet. Is Felicity with you?”

“I gave her the day off. Thought I’d do my own blocking to—oh, there he is!” She waved to Cole, skipping over extension cords spread across rolls of brown paper atop the terra-cotta floor to meet him as he strolled through the front door. Wary of her sudden change of heart, I craned my neck to watch her greet him. “Hello, darling!” She laid her hands on his biceps and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

He didn’t rebuff her, but he didn’t return her enthusiasm either, giving her a quick dry peck without ripping his gaze from the game streaming from his phone. “Shit!” he said, still watching, striding past her to sit on the couch.

Stella hovered over his shoulder. “Who’s winning?”

He grunted, noncommittal.

Price appeared in the doorway, brandishing two sets of pages. “One for you”—he handed a script to Stella—“and one for you.” He held it out to Cole, who didn’t look up. “Cole.” Price snapped his fingers in front of Cole’s phone. This was why I adored Price. No fucks to give. If only I could live my life that way.

Cole looked up at him, perplexed that someone was actually interrupting his game. “What the fuck, man?” Cole grumbled.

“Wardrobe is this way.” Price pointed to the back of the house, where the bedrooms were. “Bring your sides. There are some changes I need to go over with you.”

Cole pocketed the phone and swiped his pages off the couch, annoyed. Stella scurried to keep up with him as he strode down the hall, out of my line of sight. Clearly something had happened between them; her attitude had done a complete 180 overnight. Where she’d been guarded around him before, she was flirtatious today. More than that, she wanted us all to see the change.

He, on the other hand, seemed to feel differently.

I groaned. Just when I thought things were getting easier, the damn actors had to go and muck it up. Par for the course. Here I’d been worried that people might make something of my innocent flirtation with Rick on the boat yesterday, while our divorced leads were shagging under our noses.

It would be one thing if they were both into it. That would be good, even—making for steamy love scenes and chemistry that leaped off the screen—and it only had to last five weeks. Even actors could usually sustain a flame that long. But if it blew up, we were all screwed.

The fact that Stella had “given Felicity the day off” worried me too. I had the distinct feeling that Felicity, despite my uneasiness about her intentions, was all that held Stella together.

“Where’s Felicity?” Jackson stood in the open doorway, shading his eyes from the sun.

“Not here. Apparently Stella gave her the day off,” I returned.

The poor thing looked downright dejected at the news. It was all I could do not to laugh. “But girls that pretty rarely have any talent, anyway,” I quipped.

He glared at me. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t—and it was before I’d seen—you didn’t say anything did you?”

“Say anything about what?” Stella appeared in the doorway behind him, fanning herself with the stapled sides in her hand.

“Nothing,” Jackson snapped. She recoiled. “Sorry. I––I meant it’s nothing to do with you,” he backpedaled.

Hiding my smile, I gathered my bowl and followed them into the house, where the crew was setting up the kitchen for a scene where Marguerite finds Peyton and the new nanny, Olivia, playing with the baby and grows jealous. Today was Madison’s first day as Olivia, and with the obvious real-life tension between Stella and Madison, I was anxious for it to go smoothly.

“I’m gonna need some time to study my lines,” Stella said to Jackson as he squeezed past an eight-foot scrim into the large square kitchen, where the crew was nearly finished lighting. A heavy iron chandelier hung from the high-beam ceiling over the