by Sarah Fox
“Alyssa and Nicola.” Pearl shook her head. “Poor Nicola. There’s no way she had anything to do with it.”
“No?” I wasn’t so sure about that, especially considering my interaction with her moments ago, but I was interested to hear Pearl’s thoughts.
“Nicola’s a sweetheart. I’ve known her for years. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“What about Alyssa?”
“Who knows with that one? She’s got a temper, that’s for sure.” Her eyes widened. “Don’t tell her I said that. I don’t want to end up in her bad books. I’ve seen that happen to someone else and it wasn’t pretty.”
“I have no reason to tell her anything you’ve said,” I assured her.
“So you don’t know of any other suspects?”
“Sorry, no.” That was true of official suspects, anyway. I had plenty of my own.
I spotted movement over Pearl’s shoulder and noticed Jeanie Jacobs watching us through the open door of the hair-and-makeup trailer. As my eyes were on her, she drew back and shut the door, disappearing from sight.
“I wish I knew who did it,” Pearl said with a shudder.
“So do I.”
She rubbed her arms, covered only by a thin sweater. “Anyway, I’d better run. Let me know if you hear anything?” She headed for the trailer without giving me a chance to answer her question.
That was just as well. I didn’t want to commit to sharing the results of my investigation with someone I didn’t know and trust.
Ivan was still talking with the man who looked like Chase Lowman, and that surprised me. Maybe the other man was doing most of the talking, but I’d never known Ivan to sustain a conversation for so long. I was about to head toward him, to say hello again on my way to the bakery, when a man’s voice caused me to spin around.
“Get out of here, you scumbag!”
This time the man I saw really was Chase Lowman, but his attractive face was marred by anger. He charged toward the person he’d yelled at, moving with rage-fueled speed.
By the time I realized that his target was Max Fabel, Chase had already tackled the journalist to the ground.
Chapter 13
Two large forms blurred past me. I was still rooted to the spot, surprised by what I’d witnessed, but Ivan and his companion had reacted swiftly. Chase had Max on his back on the grass and drove his fist into the journalist’s face. As he drew his arm back to deliver another blow, Ivan grabbed him and hauled him off Max. Chase’s look-alike offered Max a hand and pulled him to his feet.
“What the hell, Chase?” the look-alike said to the actor.
Ivan had a firm grip on Chase’s arm, not letting him go anywhere. Considering the pure hatred sparking off of him, that was likely for the best.
“He’s a paparazzo.” Chase glared at Max.
“I’m not a paparazzo,” Max shot back as he touched two fingers to his left cheekbone and checked them for blood. It didn’t look as though Chase had broken his skin, but there was an angry red mark on Max’s face that would likely turn into an impressive bruise. “Do I look like I have a camera?” He held open his empty hands.
“You’re press of some kind,” Chase snarled, and Ivan had to hold him back as he tried to lunge at Max.
The actor’s look-alike put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to calm down, Chase.”
“And he needs to stop invading my privacy!”
Max let out a humorless bark of laughter. “That’s some ego you’ve got. You automatically assume everyone’s interested in you, huh?”
Chase lunged at Max again but didn’t get close to him, thanks to Ivan’s firm hold on his arm.
The actor’s look-alike grabbed his other arm and hauled him away, Ivan releasing his grip. When Chase was well removed from the scene, I cautiously approached Max and Ivan.
“What the heck was that about?” I asked, directing the question at Max.
“How should I know?” Max touched two fingers to his cheekbone again and worked his jaw. “I should press charges.”
“Are you a paparazzo?” Ivan asked, his dark eyes drilling into the shorter man.
“Hell no.”
“But you are a journalist,” I said.
Max’s gaze focused on me for the first time. “So?”
“Are you writing a story about Chase Lowman?”
“Only if he’s the killer.” His eyes drifted off in the direction the actor had gone. “Egotistical jerk.”
“So you’re covering the murder?” I surmised.
“That’s right.”
“But you were in town before Christine Gallant was killed.”
His eyes narrowed at me. “What of it?”
“The murder clearly wasn’t what brought you here.”
“I came on vacation. There’s no crime against that, is there?”
“And once the murder happened, you decided to write about it,” I said.
“Exactly. The story pretty much fell into my lap.”
“How did you choose Wildwood Cove as a vacation spot?”
“I heard about it through my cousin.”
“Really?” I said, having trouble believing that. I hadn’t forgotten the weighty look he’d exchanged with the makeup artist at The Flip Side. “You weren’t here because of Christine?”
He looked at me sharply, his eyes narrowing again. “Who are you, exactly?”
“I own the local pancake house.”
“And that gives you the right to interrogate me? I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Ivan dropped a hand on his shoulder, anchoring him in place. “Answer them anyway.”
Max’s bravado slipped away, but anger quickly shifted into its place. “You really want to know why I’m here?” he said to me. “My cousin told me she had information for me. Information that would give me a killer story.” He frowned, seeming to realize his poor choice of words. “But it wasn’t about the murder.”
“Who’s your cousin?” Ivan asked.
For the first time, an unguarded expression crossed Max’s face, one that revealed grief and regret. “Christine.”
Ivan and I both stared at him.
“Christine was your cousin?” I said, my surprise evident.
“That’s right.” His voice took on an edge. “And someone killed her. I plan to find out who that was.”
“I’m sorry,” I said as the new information sunk in. “I’m trying to figure out who killed her, too.”
“What’s your interest?”
“I met Christine before she died,” I said. “And I tried to help her during the fire. I want her killer caught.”
That was only part of the reason for my interest, but I didn’t want to go into the rest of it. Fortunately, that seemed to be enough for Max.
“Maybe we can help each other,” he said.
I nodded my agreement. “Maybe we can.”
—
We decided to head for The Flip Side. Since the restaurant was closed, that would give us the privacy we needed to talk without anyone overhearing us. Ivan came along, and I was glad of that. While I no longer suspected Max of killing Christine, I still didn’t know much about him, and I didn’t particularly want to be alone with him.
While Max sat at one of the tables in the dining area, Ivan put a pot of coffee on to brew and I set about fixing a cup of tea for myself.
“Who was the man you were talking to earlier?” I said to the chef in a low voice. “The one who took Chase away from Max.”
“Lowman’s stunt double, Danny Waites.” Ivan set three clean mugs in a row. “We served together.”
I dropped a tea bag into one of the mugs and poured hot water over it. “Does he know anything about the murder?”
“I didn’t ask.”
I wondered if Chase’s stunt double could be a potential source of information, but figuring that out would have to wait. For the moment, I needed to focus on what Max could share with me. Ivan filled the two remaining mugs with hot coffee and carrie
d them over to the table where Max sat waiting. I trailed along with my cup of tea in hand.
“So what do we know?” I said once we were all seated. “Christine told you to come to Wildwood Cove.”
Max confirmed that with a nod.
“But she really didn’t give you any clues about the story?”
“None. She wanted to wait until we met in person.”
I thought back to the previous weekend. “But you were here by the middle of the day on Sunday.” I recalled what Sienna had told me when Max appeared at The Flip Side. “You must have arrived in town on Saturday.”
“Saturday evening,” Max said.
“So why didn’t she tell you on Saturday? Or on Sunday when you were both here for lunch? Why did you pretend you didn’t know each other?”
The journalist wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “Chris called me Saturday morning and I headed up here right away. I saw her Saturday night at the bar of the hotel where she was staying. We started talking, but then Chase overheard her saying something about a juicy story and he clued in to the fact that I’m a journalist. That ticked him off and I decided to leave before causing a scene. Chris didn’t want anyone else knowing she had a story to share with me, so we decided we shouldn’t be seen together again. I was supposed to meet her at her hotel room on Sunday night around ten o’clock, but of course that meeting never took place.”
He stared into his coffee and the three of us remained silent for a moment. I gazed into my own mug as I thought things over.
“So since Christine wanted you to come here, whatever newsworthy information she had, there must be a link to the town,” I said after a time.
Max raised his eyes from his coffee. “And since she spent most of her time here working, I figure there’s a good chance the information is somehow related to the movie production.”
I sat up straighter. “The sabotage.”
“What sabotage?” Ivan asked.
“Props have gone missing,” Max said. When I looked his way with mild surprise, he added, “I always have an ear to the ground.”
“Maybe they were stolen by fans,” Ivan said.
“That could be,” I said, “but someone also tampered with a couple of generators yesterday. They were supposed to be filming last night, but couldn’t. If it’s the same person or people behind all those incidents, why would fans want to put the production in jeopardy like that?”
“Chris wouldn’t have called me out here to cover a story about fans being stupid,” Max said. “Besides, she got in touch with me within twenty-four hours of arriving here on the peninsula. So unless there were incidents of sabotage during preproduction…”
“That wasn’t the story she got you over here to cover,” I said to finish.
We all stared at the table for a moment, but then I recalled something.
“The actress,” I said.
“Which actress?” Ivan asked.
“Ella something. The one who was originally cast to play the lead female role.”
Max caught on to my train of thought. “Ella Cardozo. She was injured in a car accident. Are you thinking maybe it wasn’t an accident after all?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it? Maybe someone’s been trying to derail the production for a while.”
“Why?” Ivan didn’t sound convinced.
“Revenge?” I suggested. “Maybe the director has an enemy?” I looked to Max, hoping he’d know more about that than I did.
“I suppose it’s possible.” He didn’t sound convinced either. “I got a list of the cast and crew from the Internet, and I started looking into a few names, the director included. I found a fair bit of information, naturally, but nothing to suggest that any of them has someone out to get them.”
I slumped back in my seat. “So that’s a dead end.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Max conceded, “but I think we need to consider other possibilities.”
“That’s what the police need to do,” Ivan corrected, his eyes on me.
“I can’t sit back and do nothing,” I protested.
“Neither can I,” Max said.
Ivan glowered at us but said nothing more on the subject.
“Do you have any other information?” Max asked me.
“Some,” I said. “I know the sheriff has questioned Christine’s assistant, Nicola, and the lead actress, Alyssa Jayde.” I managed to say Alyssa’s name without grimacing, but it wasn’t easy. “Whoever killed Christine probably lit the fire in the trailer to cover up the crime. She was covered in rigid collodion, which is apparently highly flammable.”
“The killer wanted all the evidence to burn,” Ivan said.
Max winced, but agreed. “It seems likely.”
“The fire started in a garbage pail,” I continued. “Christine’s sketchbook was burned.”
“She always carried a sketchbook with her,” Max said, staring into his coffee, a crease across his forehead. “Ever since she was a kid.”
I stayed silent, realizing that he was grieving the loss of his cousin in that moment.
“Is that significant?” Ivan asked once several seconds had ticked by.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “The book might have simply been handy fuel for the fire, but there’s a chance it was burned intentionally. Torn-up sketches from the book were found in Alyssa’s trailer. Sketches of Haze Moody.”
Max raised his head. “Chris was dating him.”
“And he was dating Alyssa before Christine.” I remembered Brett’s belief that Alyssa was innocent. “But my boyfriend used to know Alyssa well and swears she couldn’t have killed anyone.”
“Most people can’t believe someone they know could commit a murder,” Max pointed out. “But it happens. Relatives, friends, neighbors.”
I couldn’t argue with him, though in some ways I felt like I was betraying Brett by not sticking up for Alyssa. That annoyed me and brought my relationship troubles to the forefront of my mind, right where I didn’t want them.
“What about Chase Lowman’s stunt double, Danny Waites?” I said to Ivan. “Maybe someone should ask him if he has any information to share. Ivan knows him,” I added for Max’s benefit.
“I probably won’t see him again,” Ivan said. “I don’t spend my time hanging around movie sets.”
“Would he talk to me?” I asked.
The chef didn’t look pleased, but still responded. “Tell him you’re a friend of mine, and he might.”
“If I see him around again, I’ll give it a try. In the meantime, where do we go from here?”
“We keep digging for information,” Max said. “Between the two of us, we’re bound to turn up something eventually.”
I wished we had a more concrete plan, but I knew Max was right. We needed more clues, more evidence. There had to be some out there. It was just a matter of finding them.
Chapter 14
After exchanging phone numbers and email addresses with Max, I parted ways with the two men. I stopped at the bakery to pick up a loaf of bread and then made my way back to Wildwood Road, thinking while I walked. My conversation with Max and Ivan had made me all the more determined to figure out who’d killed Christine, but that wasn’t my top priority at the moment.
Twenty-four hours had passed since I’d stormed away from Brett’s house, leaving him standing there on his front porch. Despite the muddled mess of all my thoughts and feelings, I knew one thing for certain—I missed him like crazy. I didn’t know what I’d say to him when I saw him face-to-face, but I needed to see him anyway. I was still scared—terrified, actually—that Brett would tell me he wanted to end things with me, but I had to push through those fears and find out if that was the case. Whatever was going to happen, it would be best to get it over with.
At the beginning of the summer I’d almost allowed fear to get between me and Brett. My stepdad and step-siblings had died in a car accident four years before I moved to Wildwood Cove, and the tragic losses had left me fr
ightened of getting close to anyone in case I ended up losing them, too. I still had the occasional flicker of anxiety in that regard, but weeks ago I’d made a decision not to let those fears get in the way of my relationship with Brett, and it was the best decision I’d made in a long time. We were closer than ever now, my feelings for him stronger than those I’d had for any other man in the past. I hadn’t told him that yet, but it was the truth, and it was also the reason why I was so scared. If he didn’t feel the same way, if he didn’t want to keep our relationship going, that would crush me.
Still, I needed to know how he felt. I wasn’t going to be a prisoner to fear. It was time to move forward, to jump off the cliff of doubt and dread and see where I landed. So I promised myself that I’d text him as soon as I was indoors and settled with a cup of tea. If he wanted to talk that afternoon, I’d agree to it. No more avoidance.
As I passed the line of trailers that was now such a familiar sight, I hoped I wouldn’t find any further drama unfolding between the cast and crew members, unless it was going to provide me with a valuable clue that would move my investigation forward. At the rate things were going, the production was going to have more drama than the film itself.
The area around the trailers seemed fairly quiet at the moment, and I figured filming was likely underway at the Abbott house. I noticed a man, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, exit a trailer and hurry toward Shady Lane while talking on a cellphone. Otherwise, I didn’t see anyone.
Until I passed by the craft services tent.
Brett and Alyssa emerged from the tent together, walking slowly, side-by-side. They were talking and didn’t notice me as I drew to a stop, watching them. Alyssa shook her head at something Brett said. Then she looked toward the road and came to an abrupt halt.
Despite the distance between us, I saw fear on her face as she stared at the sheriff’s department cruiser that had pulled up to the curb behind the last trailer. When Ray climbed out of the vehicle, Alyssa grabbed Brett’s arm.
It relieved me to see him pry her fingers off his arm, but then he put that same arm around her shoulders and she huddled against him, as if he were her protection against the approaching sheriff. An intense ache cut through my chest as I continued to watch, unable to tear my eyes away from Brett and Alyssa, even though I wanted nothing more than to turn and run away from the scene.