The Next to Die

inside a rented Ford Taurus in the underground parking garage at a San Diego Ramada Inn. He’d shot himself in the mouth.

Elsie and Drew Marshall denied any knowledge of an organization known as SAAMO. As federal investigations progressed, the Marshalls lost several of their more lucrative Common Sense sponsors— but none of their audience. In fact, there was even a small boost in ratings of the syndicated show.

Still, they were now a target of ridicule, and an embarrassment to most conservative politicians who had once backed them. In newspapers and magazines, editorial cartoons showed Elsie and Drew behind bars in prison garb—and made references to Drew’s Best Dressed Man credentials and The Family That Slays Together….

“The sexiest man headed for San Quentin,” one TV talk show host called him. “Drew Marshall’s a ten, all right. That’s how many years he’ll have to serve….”

Like Tony Katz, Leigh Simone, and Maggie McGuire before them, Elsie and Drew Marshall became the tainted stars of tabloid headlines. Even if they avoided prison, their reputations had been poisoned by scandal.

The strangest development of all was the suicide of Tom Lance. He’d locked himself in the bathroom of his suite at the Beverly Hills Hilton, and slashed his wrists. A hotel maid found him at ten o’clock Wednesday morning. He’d left no suicide note in the suite, but the Los Angeles Times published a letter from Tom Lance, confessing to the murder of Maggie McGuire.

From the hospital in Lewiston, Idaho, Avery phoned Glenhaven for updates on Joanne. She was still letting the same nurse feed her, and seemed aware of people addressing her. But she’d yet to say a word to anyone.

Avery’s brother, parents, and George and Sheila had all volunteered to fly out to see him. But he’d told them to stay put. He would be released from the hospital Friday anyway. He didn’t mention his plans to remain in Lewiston—close to the hospital—until his lawyer was off the critical list.

Sean’s infection had developed into pneumonia. Her temperature was still dangerously high. She needed an oxygen mask to breathe. Perspiration from the fever had left her hair in limp, wet tangles. She drifted in and out of consciousness. When not sleeping, her thoughts were muddled. At one point this morning, she’d squinted at Avery in the wheelchair by the foot of her bed. “Dan? Honey?” she’d said weakly. “Phoebe’s school clothes are dirty….”

Avery had become a liaison for her family and the doctors at the hospital. For the last couple of days, they routinely paged him at the intensive care unit desk. One of her brothers was due to arrive later this afternoon. He telephoned from the Boise Airport.

Avery took the call on one of the phones in the small visitors’ lounge outside the ICU. A fresh box of Kleenex adorned every end table, the sofas were beige, and a TV—on mute—was fixed to a bracket on the wall.

“Tell me what I should expect,” her brother said warily. His name was Jack, and he was younger than Sean. In the background, Avery could hear a lot of people talking—along with flight announcements on a loudspeaker.

“It’s like I explained to you yesterday,” he said. “The doctors aren’t very optimistic about her chances. I’m sticking around, hoping she’ll prove them wrong. Has anyone told the husband how serious it is?”

“Yeah,” her brother replied. “Dan wants to come here, but the doctors won’t let him. And if the medical experts won’t allow him to fly, neither will the airlines—what with all the equipment he needs. He’s not doing too hot lately.” Jack’s voice become shaky. “God, if those two little kids lose both parents so close together, I don’t know what.” He sighed. “So listen, are you okay? I heard you were shot in the leg.”

“I’m fine,” Avery said. “I’ll be hobbling around for a little while, but I should be okay.”

“Well, I’ll be there in a few hours. Where can I reach you later on?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Avery said. “I’ll be right here.”

After he hung up the phone, Avery maneuvered the wheelchair around. He started back down the hall to Sean’s room. He would stay with her until after visiting hours were over.

Epilogue

Fans and paparazzi gathered by the cemetery gates. They had been standing in the rain for two hours just to see Dayle Sutton and Avery Cooper among the mourners.

The showers had ceased, leaving a mist above the wet grass and shiny, dark headstones. The clouds still looked ominous, so people clung to their umbrellas as they assembled at the graveside. A priest recited prayers over the casket. All the surrounding flowers seemed so vivid and colorful under the gray skies—and amid the congregation in their traditionally dark attire.

Dayle spotted Avery Cooper in back of several people on the other side of the grave. He caught her eye, nodded and gave a her a shy smile.

Citing “family obligations,” Avery had bowed out of their film project, now slated to start principal photography in February. The producers—along with Dayle—had begged him to reconsider. They’d even offered to push back the film’s starting date, but Avery couldn’t be swayed. Sniffing Oscar bait, a dozen big-name actors now vied for his role of the gay-bashed man on trial.

Everyone knew his wife was still in a mental hospital. The tabloids really cashed in on Avery’s Anguish. He looked lonely and uncomfortable, poised behind so many couples and families at the cemetery plot.

Dayle had already met most of Sean’s family during the wake. The in-laws, Doug and Anne, solemnly clung to each other by the graveside. In back of them stood a couple of Sean’s brothers with their wives. Dan Olson’s favorite nurse, Julie, was there. Dry-eyed and looking rather lost were Sean’s two children, Danny and Phoebe. They stood on either side of their mother. Danny was too old to hold on to her hand in public, but Phoebe had no such qualms. Her little fist clutched at Sean’s black skirt. Dayle had loaned Sean the charcoal brocade jacket she wore.

Sean still looked a bit pale and thin from her hospital stay. She’d been released from Lewiston General the first week of December. She’d had only six days with Dan before his condition had taken a drastic turn. He’d died at home on December eleventh.

Danny and Phoebe Olson each placed a flower on their father’s casket, then were led to a waiting limo by their uncle and aunt. Sean hugged and shook hands with people as they started to wander back toward their cars. A few starstruck mourners approached Dayle to say hello or ask how she knew Dan Olson.

Finally, Sean came up to Dayle and embraced her. “Thanks for use of the jacket,” she said. “And thanks for coming. It means so much to me that you’re here. We’re having a buffet back at the house. Can you come?”

Dayle touched her arm. “Oh, Sean, I’m sorry. I’d like to, but I have a publicity thing in an hour, a magazine cover story. I can’t get out of it.”

Sean smiled graciously. “I understand.”

“Did Dennis call you about the meeting next week? We need our technical advisor there. After all, the movie’s about you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sean replied. She glanced down the rolling hill of the cemetery, where reporters and dozens of stargazers waited outside the gate. “Dan really would have been pleased at this,” she said, with a sad laugh. “You didn’t know my husband. He was such a film buff. And here it’s his funeral and there are reporters, fans, and two movie stars in attendance.”

Dayle spotted Avery Cooper across the way. “Have you—talked to Avery yet?” she asked quietly.

Sean shook her head.

“Maybe you should at least say hi. You know, back when he found out that you’d gone to Opal, he went crazy. I was with him, and I could tell there was something—special between you two. I—” Dayle saw the pained look on Sean’s face, and she sighed. “It’s none of my damn business. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing ever happened,” Sean explained. “But the feelings were there just the same.” She smiled. “I’m glad you said something, Dayle. I didn’t like carrying around that secret all alone, especially today.”

Dayle gave her hand a squeeze. “Go talk to him.”

Sean nodded, then turned and started down the hill toward Avery.