Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  Brett cleared his throat and seemed to pull himself together. “This is my girlfriend, Marley McKinney. Marley, this is Alyssa Fairbairn.”

  “I go by Alyssa Jayde now,” the actress said.

  “Right.” Brett had tensed up again.

  Seeing his discomfort shook off the numbness that had settled over me. “Nice to meet you,” I said, managing to sound at least a bit sincere.

  Whining came from the other side of the front door and Brett opened it. His goldendoodle, Bentley, burst out onto the porch. The dog glanced Alyssa’s way, but he bounded down the steps to greet me without hesitation.

  “Hey, buddy.” I crouched down and gave him a hug as he bounced and wriggled with excitement, giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. When I stood up again, Bentley capered around the front yard, pausing after a moment to sniff at a bush.

  The momentary distraction had allowed Brett to recover his composure. “Why don’t we go inside?” he suggested.

  Although he hid it fairly well, I could tell he wasn’t eager to do as he’d proposed. However, Alyssa had already taken him up on the offer, stepping into the foyer before I had a chance to climb the steps.

  Brett waited for me and when I reached his side, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry.”

  My heart had finally settled down, but it resumed its fast, booming beat with his words. Was he apologizing for the awkwardness of the situation, or was there more that he was sorry for?

  I tried my best to shake off that thought as Bentley bounded past us into the house. I followed the dog inside, Brett right behind me. Alyssa stood in the living room to the left of the foyer, her gaze skimming over the furniture and decor, as if assessing everything. As Brett shut the door, Alyssa turned and settled her gaze on me.

  “Are you a local girl, Marley?” Although she voiced the question politely enough, there was a hint of condescension behind her words.

  “Actually, I moved here from Seattle earlier this year,” I told her.

  “So the two of you haven’t been together long, then.”

  “Since the spring.” Brett came up next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. “But we knew each other when we were younger. Marley used to come to Wildwood Cove during the summers.”

  “How sweet.” She added a smile to her words this time, and both seemed sincere on the surface, but I couldn’t help but take them as fake.

  “How do the two of you know each other?” I asked, scared by the question and yet unable to keep my curiosity in check any longer.

  “We dated a few years back,” Brett said.

  He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and I knew he was trying to reassure me that I had nothing to worry about. I appreciated the gesture, but I was still too ill at ease to relax and lean against him as I normally would have.

  Alyssa swept her glossy brown hair over her shoulder and smiled again. “We lived together for nearly three years.” Her eyes were on me as she said that, and this time I had no doubt that she was watching for my reaction.

  “I see,” I managed to say, although my voice sounded wooden and unnatural. I turned toward Brett, his arm falling from my shoulders. “If the two of you have things you need to talk about, maybe I should come back later.”

  “No,” Brett said.

  “That would be good, thanks,” Alyssa said at the same time.

  Brett leveled his gaze at her. “Marley and I have plans.”

  “I wouldn’t have come by if it weren’t important.” Alyssa blinked rapidly a few times, and I wondered whether she was trying not to cry or putting her acting skills to use. “I told you I don’t have anywhere else to turn. Don’t you want to know why I’m upset?”

  Brett sighed, and I knew he didn’t like the current situation in the least.

  I touched his wrist. “It’s okay. I can go.”

  His blue eyes locked on mine. “I’d rather you stay.”

  There was so much in his eyes, and I was able to interpret only some of it, but I understood enough to know he really wanted me there. “Okay.”

  “So you’re not going to talk to me?” Alyssa said to Brett, drawing his attention away from me.

  “We can talk.” He gestured at an armchair. “Take a seat.” When she stared in my direction, he added, “You can talk in front of Marley.”

  “Really?” Alyssa said. “Because I don’t want my private life spread all across the Internet.”

  “Marley wouldn’t do that.” There was an edge to Brett’s voice now, and Alyssa seemed to recognize that, too.

  “Fine. I hope you’re right about that.” She sat down and crossed her slim legs, clad in tight jeans.

  Brett took a seat on the couch across from her, and I claimed the spot next to him. Perhaps sensing my unease, Bentley sat at my feet and looked up at me, whining quietly.

  I patted him on the head. “It’s okay, Bentley.”

  Still watching me, he sank down to lie at my feet.

  “So why is your life about to fall apart?” Brett asked Alyssa, his tone short on patience.

  Alyssa glanced my way, but then returned her attention to Brett. “One of the film’s crew members died last night. She was murdered.”

  “Christine Gallant. I heard about that,” Brett said. “My uncle’s the sheriff.”

  “Your uncle seems to think I might have killed Chris.”

  I wanted to ask if she had, but I kept quiet.

  “Why would he think that?” Brett asked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

  “Apparently someone told him that I argued with Chris yesterday.”

  I waited for her to turn an accusing glare my way, but she didn’t. I realized with relief that Ray hadn’t told her who’d witnessed the argument, and she clearly hadn’t noticed me at the time. Again, I kept quiet, not about to supply her with that piece of information.

  “What were you arguing about?” Brett asked.

  “What does it matter? I didn’t kill Christine. You know I wouldn’t kill anyone. Maybe you can tell your uncle that. Tell him he’s wasting his time treating me as a suspect.”

  “He was probably just asking standard questions. If you had nothing to do with her death, then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Of course I had nothing to do with her death, but that doesn’t mean the sheriff’s going to be able to figure that out.”

  “My uncle’s a smart man,” Brett said, an edge to his voice again. “And a fair one.”

  Alyssa was about to say something in response to that, but a muffled chime distracted her. She dug through her designer handbag and pulled out a cellphone. When she looked at the screen, her face blanched. She jumped to her feet, dropping her phone into her bag.

  “I have to go.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Brett got to his feet as well.

  “I just got a message from one of the makeup artists. The cops are searching my trailer.” She rushed for the front door, her high heels clacking against the hardwood floors.

  When Brett glanced my way, I nodded and stood up. We managed to get out the front door without Bentley escaping, and we hurried after Alyssa.

  “Marley,” Brett said in a low voice as we walked at a brisk pace, “I want you to know you’ve got nothing to worry about here.”

  The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable, and the crease between his brows spoke of how much he wanted me to believe him.

  I took his hand, giving it a squeeze and keeping hold of it as we walked. “I know,” I said, and I meant it.

  Whatever it was that I’d interrupted when I arrived at Brett’s house, it wasn’t anything he needed to feel guilty about. I knew that because I knew in my heart I could trust him. My unease hadn’t disappeared, but what remained of it had to do with the waves Alyssa might cause in our lives rather than whether something had happened between her and Brett before my arrival at his house.

  Still holding hands, we picked up our pace until we caught up with Alyssa. We�
��d arrived at the western end of the line of trailers and, sure enough, Deputy Eva Mendoza stood outside the door to one of them while a small crowd of crew members watched from close by, clustered together and talking in low voices.

  As Alyssa strode toward the group, makeup artist Pearl Lam broke free of her colleagues to intercept the actress.

  “Why are they doing this?” Pearl asked, grabbing Alyssa’s arm. “You didn’t hurt Christine, did you?”

  Alyssa shook her arm free of Pearl’s grip. “Of course not.”

  She marched straight up to the trailer, stopping short of the steps only because Deputy Mendoza put an arm out to block her way.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the deputy said. “You’ll have to stay out here.”

  “But this is my trailer!”

  “You’re using it, but you don’t own it,” Howard Eastman pointed out as he made his way through the small crowd of onlookers to approach Alyssa.

  She turned on him. “Did you authorize this? If word gets out, it’ll be smeared across every tabloid in the country.”

  Howard smiled. “You know what they say about any publicity being good publicity.”

  Alyssa scowled at him and the smile fell from his face.

  “Look, someone saw you arguing with Christine before she died—”

  Alyssa cut him off. “So now everyone knows about that?”

  Raising his voice, Howard continued. “The cops want to have a look around so they can eliminate you from the pool of suspects. No big deal. Why don’t you head over to craft services and get yourself a coffee or something?”

  “Don’t try placating me like a child, Howard.”

  “Alyssa,” Brett cut in.

  He didn’t have a chance to say more. Ray appeared in the trailer’s doorway, two evidence bags in his gloved hands.

  “Ms. Fairbairn,” he said when he spotted the actress.

  “I prefer Alyssa Jayde,” she corrected through clenched teeth.

  Ray remained unfazed. “I’d like to ask you some more questions about yesterday’s events.”

  “I don’t know anything. I told you that already. How many times do I need to repeat myself?” Her eyes zeroed in on the evidence bags. One held a gauzy, pale orange scarf while the other appeared to hold several scraps of torn paper. “Why do you have my scarf? And what are those bits of paper?”

  Ray glanced at the crowd of onlookers, his gaze pausing only briefly on me and Brett. “Perhaps we can talk somewhere more private.”

  “Why not in my trailer?”

  “One of my deputies is still having a look around.”

  Alyssa huffed. “They won’t find anything. There’s nothing to find. And what is that?” she asked again, pointing at the evidence bag holding the paper scraps. She peered more closely at the contents. “Torn sketches? They’re not mine. I can tell you that much.”

  Howard Easton cut in. “You can use my trailer for the moment, Sheriff.”

  Ray thanked him, and Howard started leading the way. Ray waited for Alyssa to precede him. Her eyes were practically emitting sparks of anger, but she took a step to follow the assistant director. She didn’t get any farther than that before stumbling and crashing into me. As I tried to keep her from falling to the ground, I bumped into Brett. His arms went around me, steadying me.

  Without a word of apology, Alyssa pushed away from me and stormed off after Howard, Ray falling into step behind her. Brett and I—along with all the other onlookers—watched the sheriff and actress disappear into a nearby trailer as Howard held the door open for them.

  “What’s the deal with the torn papers?” I asked Brett.

  “No idea.”

  We turned our attention to Howard as he rejoined his colleagues. Several of them bombarded him with questions, their voices blending together, making it impossible to pick out more than the odd word.

  He raised a hand. “All right, all right, everyone. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m sure whatever it is will be sorted out in short order. We’ve got a movie to make, remember. So let’s get on with it.”

  Still murmuring to one another, the crew members dispersed—all except Nicola, whom I hadn’t noticed standing behind Pearl Lam and Jeanie Jacobs.

  “Did you see those torn sketches?” she said to Howard, keeping her voice low, but not low enough for me to miss the question.

  “Is that what they were?” The assistant director didn’t seem too concerned. Without pursuing the matter further, he turned and walked off in the direction of the Abbott house.

  Nicola, however, remained standing in the same spot, her forehead furrowed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her. “Did you recognize the sketches?”

  “I think so,” she said. “I didn’t get a good look, but I’m pretty sure the sheriff had a torn-up sketch of Haze Moody.”

  “Do you know who drew it?”

  She nodded. “Christine. Practically every spare minute she had she was sketching in that book—the one that burned last night. She was amazing at portraits. And, of course, Haze was her favorite subject lately.”

  “But why would a torn-up sketch drawn by Christine be in Alyssa’s trailer?” Brett asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  I wasn’t eager to say my next words, but I said them anyway. “It makes sense if Alyssa killed Christine out of jealousy.”

  Chapter 8

  “There’s no way Alyssa’s the killer,” Brett said without a shred of doubt behind his words.

  Nicola had answered a call on her cellphone and wandered away, leaving the two of us alone.

  I hesitated before speaking again, but I forged ahead, wanting to be forthright with him. “I’m the one who overheard Alyssa arguing with Christine yesterday. I mentioned it to Ray last night because it happened shortly before the fire, but I didn’t think it was significant at the time.”

  Brett’s eyebrows drew together, his expression troubled. “What were they arguing about?”

  “Haze Moody.”

  “He’s not in this film, is he?”

  “No, but apparently he and Alyssa were dating up until a few months ago. After they broke up, he started a relationship with Christine, and from what I saw yesterday, Alyssa was not pleased.”

  The troubled expression remained on his face. “That doesn’t mean she killed Christine.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But the sketchbook was in the trash can where the fire was set. If the torn-up sketches found in Alyssa’s trailer are of Haze Moody and came from that sketchbook…well, that doesn’t look good.” In fact, it was enough to bump Alyssa to the very top of my short suspect list, although I didn’t mention that part to Brett.

  He stared at the trailer Alyssa and Ray had disappeared into. “She might need to find a lawyer.”

  “She probably has people to take care of that for her, if need be.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  There was an odd tone beneath his words, one I couldn’t quite identify.

  “Brett, yesterday when you said you wanted to talk to me about something, did you mean Alyssa?”

  He shifted his gaze away from the trailer, settling his eyes on me. “Yes. I found out from Chloe that Alyssa was going to be in the film. I wanted to tell you that she’s my ex before you found out some other way.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “That didn’t go as planned. I’m so sorry, Marley. That wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

  “It wasn’t how I would have chosen to find out either. Seeing a movie star in your boyfriend’s arms isn’t exactly fun.”

  Brett’s face paled. “It wasn’t like that, Marley. I promise. She looked up my address and showed up on my front porch without warning. I asked her what she was doing there, she told me her life was about to fall apart, and the next thing I knew she’d thrown herself into my arms.”

  “And that’s when I showed up,” I said.

  “I swear that’s all there was to it.”

  I’d never seen him look so ill, not even
when a case of the flu had knocked him flat for several days at the end of the summer.

  I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “And I swear that I believe you.”

  He seemed to relax.

  “How about we go somewhere else?” I suggested.

  I didn’t want Alyssa joining us again. I trusted Brett, but I didn’t trust her, and I didn’t much like her, either.

  “Good idea.” Brett pulled me into a hug, speaking into my hair. “Can I take you to lunch?”

  I closed my eyes, having missed being close to him. “I’d like that.”

  “Any preferences?”

  “Fish and chips, with lots of coleslaw.”

  He released me from the hug. “That sounds good to me.”

  “But let’s eat at your place. I want some time with just the two of us.”

  “I’m not going to argue with that,” he said with a grin.

  He took my hand, and together we walked away from the trailers and into the heart of Wildwood Cove.

  —

  We picked up our food at the fish-and-chip shop near the marina and managed to resist the temptation of the delicious aroma wafting from the packages until we reached Brett’s place. Bentley greeted us with great enthusiasm, bouncing around and wagging his tail with gusto. After a word from Brett, the goldendoodle calmed down, and when we settled at the kitchen table to eat our takeout food, he lay down at our feet, his brown eyes on us, no doubt hoping that a morsel or two would come his way.

  “How are things at The Flip Side?” Brett asked after we’d taken a moment to savor the first few bites of our fish.

  “Good. Ivan’s working on some special menu items for October, and he wants me to taste them on Thursday. I’m looking forward to that.” I’d never known any dish of Ivan’s to taste anything less than heavenly.

  “I bet. I’ll have to come by for lunch one day soon. It’s been a while.”

  “I’d love that.”

  Bentley got up from his place at our feet and headed for the back door, his expectant eyes on Brett.

  “You need to go out, buddy?” Brett said to him.

  Bentley responded with a woof and a wag of his tail.

  Brett grabbed a French fry and got up from the table. “Back in a moment.”