Murder in Real Time

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  Melinda had the phone to her ear as she scratched notes on a slip of paper. No other lines blinked in wait for her attention. Still, a bead of sweat clung to her brow. She hung up and pressed her forehead to the desk. “This job is misery.”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry you’re stuck answering phones in the middle of all this. At least it’s calmer here today.”

  She lifted her head and peeled a Post-it off her eyebrow. “It is. I know it is, but I’m exhausted. Everything’s so dramatic here. I thought having four kids was crazy. My family has nothing on this place.”

  I folded my hands and leaned forward in an encouraging pose. “Other things are going well. I saw Missy earlier. Your catering business is booming. Sugar and Spice is the talk of the town right now.”

  Melinda’s eyes misted over. She wiped shaky fingers under each eye. “I can’t do it. I can’t keep up. What was I thinking? I have four kids! I didn’t need to start a business. I didn’t even have time for a hobby. I was temporarily insane. I claim insanity. Is that a good reason to drop out?”

  “You can’t drop out. It’s your business.” I moved to her side and crouched to eye level. “You can do this. I hear Fargas has the ladies’ book club covering some of your hours and someone’s interested in the position full-time. You can focus on catering and mommy things soon. Don’t give up yet. The light is shining right around the corner.”

  Air whooshed from her lips. “Do you really think so?” She wadded tissues from the box on her desk and dotted her nose.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She sat taller and opened her desk drawer. “Are you here to see Sebastian or do you need some kind of form? I have complaints, petitions and permits right here. Frankie showed me how to fill most of them out, if you want help. If you’d rather wait on her, she’ll be back anytime.”

  I looked over her shoulder. “Is Sebastian here? I thought he went to work today.”

  She shook her head. “I saw him in the love bus earlier. I assumed he was sticking around here in that thing.”

  I pinched my bottom lip between my thumb and first finger. “Where did you see him?”

  “On Blueberry Lane.”

  Blueberry Lane was a newer residential section. The two-story houses had vinyl siding and picket fences instead of clapboard and stilts. “That’s weird.”

  “So, no form?”

  I lifted my hands to take a complaint form but couldn’t. Filing a complaint wouldn’t help. Fargas and Frankie already had their hands full with physical crimes against innocent people and Range Rovers. The Watchers would film their Halloween special and be long gone before seeking hidden cameras became a police priority. Heck, it’d be too late then. The show would take the cameras down when they left.

  I dropped my hands to my sides. “It’s okay. I think I can handle this one my own.” Vigilante style.

  * * *

  The crowd outside Adrian’s house was thinner than usual. Knots and clusters of people in black The Watchers shirts milled around the sidewalk and on the porch. Most shirts had STAFF on the backs. I held my head high and beelined for the door.

  “Excuse me,” a voice called as I cut through a small crowd of The Watchers staffers. I pulled out my keys and pretended as if one was to the front door.

  “Ma’am.”

  I cringed. Thirty was too young to be called ma’am, unless that voice belonged to a baritone grade schooler.

  “Ma’am.”

  I scrunched my shoulders to my ears and placed a hand on the doorknob. The door swung open, startling both me and a staffer I recognized. He was the little guy who’d stopped me in the street with Adrian.

  “Hi, Noah.” I raised a hand. “I left my...something personal in Adrian’s bathroom. I just need to grab it.”

  He pulled the door closed, snuffing out my point of entry. “Your something personal?”

  I forced a blush. “Yes. You remember me, right? I came over with Adrian Davis the other day to grab a cot from storage.” I stage winked. “I left something personal last time I slept over and I need it again.”

  The porch was quiet. If anyone bought my acting, it didn’t say much about the show. The door sucked open again and Jesse Short, the show’s producer, stepped across the threshold.

  I did a one-finger wiggle. “You’re just the man I need to see.”

  The staffers shared an awkward mix of panicked and apologetic expressions. Noah turned to Jesse. “She left something personal in Mr. Davis’s room.”

  Jesse raised an eyebrow and motioned me inside. He blocked half the doorway as I entered, forcing me to brush past him. Whether it was meant to intimidate or interest me, he failed at both. He shut the door and stared at me.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know what I found in the national forest today?”

  “A reporter?”

  My mouth fell open. “You were watching. I can’t believe you’d do that. He said it was you, but I thought surely a television show would know they can’t stick cameras anywhere they want. That’s a national forest, not some actress’ bedroom. Those trees are protected.”

  He glared. “Those cameras were expensive. I’m still deciding how much you owe me.”

  I pursed my lips and counted to three before I lost it. “That’s crazy talk!”

  He smirked. “You bashed my property with a tree branch. I have it on tape.” His cool demeanor set off a line of bottle rockets in my chest. Cocky. Arrogant. Hollywood creep.

  “You had no right to put them there. Where else are they? All around town? If you don’t have a permit for them, I’ll take those out the same way. Lots of tree branches around.”

  “Do it and I’ll sue.”

  My jaw swung open. “You can’t do that.”

  He swaggered closer and whispered, “Honey, I can do whatever I want. Money talks.”

  “Do not call me honey. I am not your honey. I am a concerned citizen who is making a citizen’s arrest.”

  He chuckled. “A what?”

  “You heard me. Citizen’s arrest. You’re a peeping Tom. You can’t record whatever you want without warning people. This is the real world, pally. People have rights here.” I shook a finger at him. “Ever heard of an invasion of privacy?”

  Jesse leaned toward me in the narrow front hall, a clear warning in his eye. “Those cameras helped me capture the gripping heartbreak seen here at the memorial and then allowed me to share those raw emotions with the nation. I had more viewers that night than the halftime show at the Super Bowl. You should be thanking me for putting this little Podunk town on the map. Those cameras are staying. They’re going to propel me out of the reality television hood and into primetime real estate. So keep your hands off, honey.” He spat the final word and strode away.

  I gripped Adrian’s coat tree, willing myself not to jump on Jesse’s back, screaming like a lunatic. My fingers curled and released around the fixture. I headed to the kitchen to cool down.

  Water ran in the sink where a pixie-sized girl with short black hair filled a glass. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just him. He’s a d-bag. He’s been worse since we heard about Anna and Rick.” She sipped the water. Her multiple face piercings and deep purple lips distracted from her wide eyes and freckles. She was at least ten years younger than me. I didn’t envy her that. Settling into myself had taken time. My early twenties were a mess of emotions and bad haircuts.

  “Yeah, probably worried about ratings,” I grumbled.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about putting cameras around the island. That was skeevy, even for him. The show’s on the bubble, though. After all these years, people are losing interest. That’s why he made the switch from observing cultures to lining up holiday specials. Halloween is a big holiday and he knew the ghost hunters would get behind it after he read this isla
nd’s website and spread the word.”

  “How many cameras do you think are out there on the streets and in the forest?”

  “Dozens. I keep mine with me, but we all have one. Plus, the show sends scouters out to find places to set them up where they’ll be safe and get good footage. I helped set a few on the beach yesterday morning. You’d have to check with the guys to see where they put theirs.”

  My mind swirled. “You each have a personal camera? Are any missing?” Like one small enough to hide in a ceiling fan?

  “I don’t know. No one said anything about losing a camera.”

  “Can I see yours?’

  She set the glass down and detached a small camera with The Watchers’ trademark eye from her belt loop. “These are issued by the show. They’re triggered by motion sensors, to save battery and memory space. I set one like this up if I plan to ambush someone with something.”

  “Ambush?”

  “Sure. If I get a good fight on tape, I get a bonus at the end of the shoot.”

  I released a long breath, refusing to fixate on how low it was to set up a fight between two people for personal gain.

  The camera she held looked nothing like the one from Sebastian’s room at Island Comforts. Which led to another question. “Do all of the show’s cameras have night vision?”

  Her face split into a smile. “Of course. How else could we get the goods on who’s hooking up? Every camera on the island records at night as long as something sets it off.” She giggled and snorted.

  I concentrated. So, the camera from the bed-and-breakfast probably wasn’t issued by the show. No logo. No night vision. Motion sensors made sense. The video only began when Rick and Anna walked into the room. My heart hammered as something else occurred to me. “The outdoor cameras must be tripped a lot at night. There’s lots of activity after dark. Nocturnal creatures.”

  She giggled again and my tummy sank. “The forest is tricky. The batteries die in those cameras a lot.” She blushed. “Very little triggers the cameras on the beach, though.”

  I swallowed. “No?”

  She watched me squirm. Her face turned pink and she leaned in, conspiratorially. “Nope. Just the occasional nocturnal creatures having a go in the sand, on a picnic table, in a car...”

  I held up a palm to stop her. Heat scorched my face. I flipped up the collar on my jacket and wrapped hands around my middle. “What?” This was worse than the dream where I went to the beach naked. In my dream, no one recorded me.

  She drew in a quick breath between giggles. “The guys said I should’ve set more cameras on the beach, but I never dreamed we’d see much going on out there with the temperatures dropping like they are. It’s too bad I didn’t listen because the couple we caught was hot. The cameras were too far away to get a clear look at the good stuff, but we saw enough. They were wild, you know?”

  I gulped.

  She looked me over and grunted. “I guess you hear about that stuff all the time. You live here, right? I’m from New York. No beaches like this. Definitely nowhere to get it on outdoors. I give that couple a double thumbs-up for style and enthusiasm. I still can’t believe it. Right out in the open.”

  I wheezed and wiped sweat-slicked palms over my jeans. “The national forest is closed at night.” I averted my gaze. Unless they have the magic key to the guard gate like Fargas and Sebastian. “That’s not something that happens a lot. You probably won’t see anything like that again while you’re here.” Not a chance in Haiti.

  “Bummer.”

  I zipped up and pulled my hands inside my jacket sleeves before ducking back outside, into a crowd of people who’d probably seen that tape, too. I needed to assemble a street team and take down those cameras...without being caught on camera. I ground my teeth. Someone needed to stop the madness before my first sex tape went viral.

  Chapter Fourteen

  First Fridays had become date night for Sebastian and me. No matter how busy he was, he never missed a Friday night. Originally, the mayor had suggested First Fridays as a gimmick for drawing in a few extra dollars during tourist season. I was young when the tradition started, and back then it only happened on the first Friday of each month during tourist season. The little shops stayed open an extra hour and ran specials until closing. Within in a few years, the community latched on to First Fridays with both hands. By the time I graduated high school, First Fridays had become a weekly event lasting late into the night. These street fair-style celebrations now began early in the spring and continued until the winter weather insisted otherwise. I hadn’t missed a Friday since I moved home.

  I squeezed Sebastian’s fingers. His slow, lumbering pace put me at ease. Sebastian had loved the island from his first visit, and walking through the streets with him, sensing his contentment, sent butterflies through me. Anxiety and general malaise was a hazard of his job, but none of it showed. Tonight, he was mentally present and almost smiling. His lazy half grin kept me guessing. I fizzed inside with desire to touch his lips. The street buzzed with enough activity and excitement to set a recently-shot-at girl’s nerve on edge, but beside Sebastian I felt untouchable.

  He projected a steadfast confidence I’d always envied. Sebastian treated nothing with nonchalance. He was a rock, a refuge, an unwavering solace. He oozed the very things I craved and it gave me chills to be inside his world. Sebastian let very few people past the shield that protected his work, identity, location or heart. When he touched me, I instinctively understood I’d broken all those barriers even if he didn’t always give voice to the notions. He didn’t talk about his feelings, and ironically, as a counselor, I appreciated that about him.

  The final remnants of Indian summer were slipping away, and the night was cool. Overhead the sky twinkled with stars, as if someone had poked thousands of holes in rich velvet fabric and stretched it over the world. Everyone on the street sparkled with contagious energy. Kids noshed on caramel apples and other food on sticks from corn dogs to kabobs.

  Sebastian lifted our joined hands. “Look.”

  Across the street, a pocket of women in stretch dresses and miniskirts circled Vance Varner as if he were giving away cash. I did a mental eye roll. “That’s Vance. He’s a cast member. Have you met him?”

  Sebastian moved in Vance’s direction, stopping within earshot. “Not officially.”

  “He says he was in his trailer while everyone was on the beach that night.” I peeked at Sebastian, whose expression flattened. “I’m not getting involved. I just happened to see him and asked if he perhaps killed two people. He said he didn’t, so I wondered if he could prove it.”

  We stopped a few feet behind Vance’s harem and listened. He spoke above the crowd and held his shoulders in a stiff pose with his chin at a tilt. Always modeling. Maybe trying to give the crowd his best side. A woman on his right asked for an autograph, and I laughed.

  Sebastian turned curious eyes on me.

  “He autographed Claire’s shirt. You should ask her about it.”

  Sebastian pulled us closer to the little crowd. “Is he posing for something?”

  I followed the direction of Vance’s chin. “Sebastian.” I whispered, tugging him down to me.

  He leaned close to my ear.

  “I think you’re right. Watch. He keeps his chest angled to that storefront. He’s posing. I bet there’s a hidden camera over there and he’s trying to get face time.” I’d ranted about the cameras hidden around the island for thirty minutes while I got ready for First Friday. I couldn’t get enough nerve to tell Sebastian about our potential internet debut. Claire and Adrian had been in the kitchen, and it wasn’t a story I wanted to share with either of them.

  Sebastian released my hand. “I’ll look for a camera. Settle down. Your eye’s twitching.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Stay here and t
ry not to get arrested.” Sebastian walked toward the storefront in question.

  For the record, I’d never been arrested, officially, but I’d consider going to jail worthwhile if I could eliminate every voyeuristic camera on the island.

  I headed for Vance. “Hi, Vance. How’s everything going? Pretty night tonight.”

  His fans adjusted their halter tops and made room as I slid into the mix.

  I looked quizzically at the storefront across the way. “You’re awfully interested in that dollhouse shop. Do you know something we don’t know, Vance?”

  He shook his head, as if I tried his patience. “What are you doing?”

  “People on this island deserve to know when they’re being videotaped. I think you’re setting the stage somehow because you want more time on camera.” I looked for Sebastian.

  “Lady,” Vance snapped, “I don’t need to scheme to get face time. I told you that.”

  People walking nearby stopped to stare.

  I made my best innocent face. “The way I see it, models have a short shelf life. More airtime could help you get a role in something that pays the bills when your agent stops calling you for print ads. So, I have to wonder. Where do you draw the line? How far would you go to stay on camera?” I inched closer and lowered my voice. “I bet it’s hard to get ahead on this show when the other contestants are sleeping with the host.”

  His nostrils flared.

  “You can’t compete with boobs, Vance.” I gave him a two-palms-up, out-of-your-control taunt.

  Vance sucked his cheeks in and puffed air like the Big Bad Wolf. A vein on the side of his neck bulged. “I had nothing to do with what happened to Rick and Anna. I get plenty of time on camera without trying. Fans ask for this.” He bumped a fist against his chest. “People want to see it. They want me on camera.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. I couldn’t cross Vance off my mental list of suspects, yet his body language and pupil dilation all indicated he was telling the truth. He believed people watched the show to see him, but I couldn’t get a good read on his response to the murders. All he seemed to care about was his self-importance.