ILLUSION OF LOVE

Skyla Walker rolled her eyes and snapped the newspaper shut. “Captions like this make the whole profession look bad," she muttered, struggling into a sitting position. Skye picked her way across the room, side-stepping the newspaper clippings scattered on the floor of the rented chalet. She pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking of how best to approach this interview with Creed Bennett. Would he remember her? For months now the media had touted Creed Bennett's return to Mills Creek. He was the local boy who had made good, the prodigal son returning home after a long absence. As far as Skye was concerned, he was scum. Most definitely, Creed Bennett was responsible for the disappearance of at least fivewomen, if not their deaths. After graduating from high school, the Mighty Creed, as he called himself, had left the little Pocono town of Mills Creek to pursue higher education. Somewhere along the way he'd achieved international fame. Now he was an even better known illusionist than David Copperfield. Skye snorted at the pretentiousness of the word."Illusionist! Try magician.” For the part, Creed's following consisted of desperate women of a certain age. Her cousin, Kris, had been one of his Even at the tender age of sixteen, Creed had shown promise of being a spectacularly good-looking man. He had skin the color of butterscotch and so black they were almost midnight blue. That killer smile had charmed the pants off most of the female population of Mills Creek High. Some would gladly have laid down and died for him. Skye shuddered. Is that what had happened to Kris? Had she lain down and died for Creed? The phone rang, startling Skye from her reverie. She fumbled through the piles of newspapers, frantically searching for the cordless. She found the instrument just beats before the answering machine picked up "Hello." "Hey, gal. Glad I caught you at home.” Skye smiled, picturing her boss, Peter Martini, on the other end, a lit cigarette clutched between his nubby fingers. "What's up, Pete?" Skye's editor cleared his throat, a deep rumbling sound, resonant with the tobacco he regularly inhaled. "Set for your interview with Creed Bennett?" “I am." “This could make front-page news, gal. Be sure to play up the bachelor angle and focus on the fundraiser. What our readers want to know is why he's decided to come home. And uh ... Skyla ...' "Skye." “Whatever you do ... don't bring up Kristina Brown. Creed Bennett's not a suspect. No way. No how. This is a human interest story. We want the boy to feel right at home. After all, he's Mills Creek's biggest claim to fame.” "Not to worry. I know what I'm doing." "Good. You be careful, you hear?" Now what was that supposed to mean? Skye clicked the off button, disconnecting the phone. It was use- less reminding Pete, a man old enough to be her father, and equally as rigid, that she was a veteran reporter. Granted, her previous assignments tended to revolve around the glitzy world of art and entertainment, but five years as staff writer for Le Monde had served her well. As one of the few foreigners, she'd been forced to prove herself time and time again. A communications and language major, Skye had participated in an exchange program her junior year in college. She'd gone to Paris, fallen for an avant- garde painter, and decided to stay on. While the love affair with Jacques was long over, the one with Paris had never run its course. She'd been lured back to Pennsylvania by the offer of a senior staff writer's position if she proved herself. To sweeten the pot, the Pocono Record, desperately in need of new blood, had agreed to pay her living expenses for six months. Excited about the possibility of doing some feature writing and getting away from fluff , Skye had jumped at the opportunity. Citing a family emergency, she'd taken an extended leave from Le Monde. Unfortunately , Kris's disappearance had provided the perfect excuse. Skye's entire family had assumed Kris had run off with Creed. The two had supposedly grown close over the years. On several occasions, Creed had flown Kris down to Fort Lauderdale. This last time she hadn't returned. Now there was a nationwide search for her. Skye's reporter instincts told her something wasn't right. Kris had never been the impulsive type. Nor was she the type to abandon friends and family on a whim. Hoping to find some mention of Kris, Skye had started reading everything she could about Creed. What she'd learned had made her instantly wary. Kris hadn't been the only one to succumb to Creed Bennett's charms. At least five women linked to the Mighty Creed had disappeared. Most recently a decayed body had surfaced in the Everglades. That body had turned out to be Marla St. James. Thank God it hadn't been Kris. Skye put that thought firmly out of her mind. She glanced at her watch. "Drat!" Fifteen minutes to navigate the treacherous mountain roads and con- front the Mighty Creed. "Lydia, I've been back in town exactly-" Creed propped the⁸ receiver between ear and shoulder and glanced at his watch-"three days, four hours, and fifteen minutes. Couldn't this interview have waited?' In an effort to get his temper under control, Creed inhaled and counted to ten, while Lydia, his publicist, continued to talk non-stop. Finally, he'd had enough. "Lydia, I don't give a rat's carcass about damage control.