Then something else occurred to me.
Maybe she really was behind moving the body, only not how we’d thought. Maybe this was all some elaborate scheme to set me up and make me look like a fool. It was safe to say she didn’t like me, and she seemed ambitious enough not to think twice about sabotaging people to benefit her own career.
Lauren threw up her hands. “Whatever. We’re an hour and a half behind schedule. Let’s get started.”
I wanted to point out that I’d warned her in the text I’d sent the night before, but it would have been wasted breath.
“Okay,” Lauren said, “to accommodate Summer’s special needs”—she used air quotes to insinuate I was being a diva—“Karen has rearranged the schedule again. She’s set up a series of interviews for most of the day so our ‘star’ can sit her pretty little ass in a chair all day.”
I was past caring what Lauren thought of me, but I did want the respect of the crew. A quick glance assured me they knew what was going on. They all seemed sympathetic, all except . . . “Where’s Bill?”
“You don’t need to worry about Bill,” Lauren said. “That’s my job.”
I shot a worried glance to Dixie, who was sitting at her own desk. Had Lauren figured out that Bill had offered to help us and fired him? But Dixie gave me a reassuring smile, and I was pretty sure she’d been in contact with him. He was probably out getting B-roll.
Lauren went through a list of six interviews, which ranged from a couple who thought their housekeeper was stealing from them to a husband and wife who questioned which neighborhood dog had impregnated their Yorkie show dog, and a follow-up visit with the adulterer’s wife, Nettie Peabody.
“If you’ll give me your spare outfits, I’ll put them in the back,” Karen said. I was taken aback when I realized she was addressing Dixie and me.
“What?”
She gave me a blank look. “You were supposed to bring two or three extra outfits to wear for the interviews.” When I didn’t say anything, she added, “We’re filming all those interviews today, but we don’t want it to look like they happened on the same day.”
That made sense, but it was the first I’d heard of it. I glanced at Dixie again, and she gave me a sunny smile. “Got it covered.” Then she reached down into her oversize bag and pulled out a smaller bag.
Karen took it from her and looked inside.
“How are you going to explain the bruises on my face not changing over multiple ‘days’?” I asked, the sound of my own voice sending shock waves of pain through my head. I already needed another round of over-the-counter painkillers.
“Seriously, Summer?” Lauren groaned. “I thought you were a professional. Makeup.”
Of course. And any other time I would have realized that. Maybe I should call today off. “Sorry, Lauren,” I sighed as I rubbed my temple. “This is my first foray into reality TV.”
“Keep it up and your next reality show will be filming a porno.”
“Excuse me?” Luke asked from the doorway.
My mouth dropped open when I saw him. What was he doing here?
“Can I help you with something, Chief?” Lauren asked dryly. “Because this is a closed set.”
“Then maybe you should have closed the door.”
She walked over to him, but something in her had changed. There was a certain swagger in her step that suggested she wasn’t any less attracted to Luke after seeing him covered in vomit. “This is private property, Chief.”
The way she kept saying chief made me wonder if Lauren had a thing for law-enforcement officers.
“And I’m standing in the threshold.”
Lauren tipped one shoulder higher and tilted her head just a bit to the side, a slightly dismissive gesture, but it was obvious she was coming on to him. “I might be able to invite you in if you’re a good boy.”
“Is that an invitation to be in one of your pornos?” he asked sarcastically.
She got flustered and took a step back. “I don’t make pornos,” she said, outrage filling her voice.
“And the last time I checked, neither does Ms. Butler.”
Lauren put a hand on her hip and her gaze narrowed. “Is there something I can help you with, Chief Montgomery?”
He looked down at her with cool disdain. “You? No.” His gaze lifted to me. “I need to speak to Ms. Butler, but it’s not urgent.”
“She’ll be busy all day,” Lauren said, glaring up at him.
“Surely she gets a lunch break. Isn’t that union rules?”
My eyes widened in shock. I’d told him plenty about movie and TV-show sets during our summer together, but he’d never seemed particularly interested. This was proof he had paid attention. I knew he wanted to talk to me about Otto, but I was surprised he’d gone to the trouble of dropping by the office.
Lauren turned her glare on Karen.
“Yes,” Karen said, getting flustered as she glanced down at her tablet. “But we haven’t scheduled a time yet. We have two interviews to get to this morning, and we never know how long those will last.”
Luke turned to my cousin. “Dixie, you’re her assistant, right?”
She sat up straighter in her seat. “Yeah.”
“Would you give me a call when Ms. Butler gets a lunch break?”
She gave me a glance as though asking permission, so I gave a tiny nod. She turned back to Luke. “Yeah. Sure.”
Luke’s gaze landed on me for a few seconds as though studying me to make sure I was okay. “Thanks.” Then he headed down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop.
“What was that about?” Lauren asked.
“I have no idea,” I said, not wanting to get into it. If she found out this was likely related to Otto, she’d probably figure out a way to film it.
“You need to keep your personal life out of the workplace.” Then Lauren started barking orders to start the first interview.
The morning dragged on. Nettie came in to hear her report, and we explained that while we’d gotten plenty of proof of her husband’s cheating, my camera had been stolen.
“You mean someone else has photos of my husband in his skivvies?” she screeched.
My mouth parted as I turned toward Dixie. The whole world was going to see him without a shirt, though they’d see every last bit of the couple’s dirty laundry, and she was worried about a few tame photos.
Dixie quickly took over. “Don’t worry, Nettie. He doesn’t look all that great in them, so no one’s gonna be pinnin’ him up on their wall.”
She only calmed down after we reluctantly agreed to get more photos. Lauren made us run the scene again, this time pretending to show Nettie photos on my laptop.
The next clients, Derick and Mallory Hinton, were the ones with the dog—which they’d brought with them. The Hintons were in their thirties and didn’t look like they were from around Sweet Briar. They seemed too polished. Derick wore expensive dress pants and loafers and a silk tie he wore with his fitted (and probably tailored) dress shirt. Mallory wore a designer black dress and heels and carried a Prada purse.
Dixie greeted them and motioned the two to the chairs in front of my desk before maneuvering her chair closer.
Mallory cradled her Yorkie to her chest. The dog had a pink bow between her ears and studied me as though trying to decide if I was friend or foe. “Our little Fifi was violated.”
“Now, Mallory,” Derick cooed, rubbing his wife’s arm, “Fifi doesn’t seem the worse for wear.”
Mallory turned on her husband with fury in her eyes, jerking her arm from his touch. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Derick. You’re a man.”
“Oh, my God, Mallory. Not that again. She’s a dog.”
Mallory became even more outraged. “A dog? She’s like a child to me! And our child was raped!”
While their argument would probably be good for ratings, it was making my head hurt even more. “Did you witness the event that led to Fifi’s impregnation?”
She pressed he
r lips tightly together. “No. Well . . .”
“Mallory,” I said, “before we know if we can help you, you have to give us something to follow up on. But first, let me ask you this: what do you plan to do when you find out which dog impregnated Fifi?”
“Stop saying impregnated. You make it sound . . . normal.” She shuddered. “My poor dog was violated.”
“Was she injured?” I asked.
She frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“Y’all aren’t from around here, are you?” Dixie asked in disbelief.
“No,” Derick said, “we’re from Atlanta, and we were told Sweet Briar is a bedroom community of Dothan.”
“I see,” Dixie said, then turned her attention to Mallory. “Mrs. Hinton,” Dixie said, drawing out her name, “you do know how all that works, don’t you?”
“What works?”
Dixie narrowed her eyes. “When a dog goes in heat.”
“You mean when she’s on her period?” Mallory asked.
“Okay . . . ,” Dixie said with forced patience. “So you know that a lot of dogs in heat are lookin’ for . . . a boyfriend.”
Mallory’s eyes widened. “What? Not my Fifi. She’s a lady.”
Dixie’s eyes twinkled. “You know what they say—a lady on the street and a freak in the . . . alley.”
Mallory gasped in horror and clutched her dog tighter.
“We’re getting off track here,” I said. “Back to my original question: What do you plan to do if you find out which dog . . . is the father of Fifi’s puppies?”
“Sue for child support, of course.”
I blinked, sure my concussion had given me hallucinations. This was insane, but obviously Lauren knew all about this woman’s brand of crazy. Hell, she probably already knew who the culprit was. Dixie and I had a part to play, and we were expected to deliver.
After we discussed all the possible ways Fifi could have gotten loose (Derick admitted he had let her out unsupervised while Mallory was enjoying a spa day), we told them we’d get back to them. Then we ran the scene two more times. Proving she was as tired with the takes as we were, Fifi got down, peed by the window, and snapped at Dixie when she tried to pick her up.
“Good riddance,” Dixie said when they walked out the door. “Is it lunchtime yet?”
I gave her a suspicious look. I knew why she was so eager.
“Be back in an hour ready to talk to the Davises about their daughter,” Lauren said. “And Summer and Dixie, you need to have already changed your clothes.”
Dixie was busy tapping on her phone, but she glanced up at me. “You should change before you go to lunch, Summer. I bet the blue dress I brought for you will make your eyes pop on camera.”
“She’s right,” Karen agreed, oblivious to the real reason Dixie was suggesting the dress.
“Fine,” I huffed. “But I know what you’re up to, Dixie Belle Baumgartner, and you’re wasting your time.” I refused to get my hopes up.
“Helpin’ you look good on camera? I know I am; you already look great.”
I snorted. “Suckin’ up won’t help you now.”
Karen found the dress and handed it to me, along with a pair of nude flats that weren’t mine. Dixie.
I went into the bathroom and changed. I was zipping up the back when Dixie knocked on the door. She opened it before I could respond and handed me a tube of lipstick. “Here. You need this.”
I gave her a hard look in the mirror. “To be interviewed by the police chief about the pretend janitor?”
“Oh,” she said, getting excited, “just like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.” She grabbed the bottom of my dress and started to lift. “Quick. Take off your panties.”
I slapped her hands away. “I will do no such thing! This is a professional . . . meeting. Dressin’ me up like a Barbie doll isn’t gonna change that fact.”
“Lookin’ like a Barbie doll did you good in all those pageants your momma put you in.”
I pushed her out into the hall, getting grumpy. “The only thing that stuck with me from all those damn pageants was cupcake hands.” Then I made a face and held my arms slightly out from my body, my fingers pressed together and curved inward as though I was carrying cupcakes.
“No wonder you won Junior Miss Supreme of Bixley County,” Luke said from the office.
My gaze jerked up, and I flushed when I saw him. “It was Junior Miss Supreme Princess,” I said. “And it was a long time ago.”
“Your momma still has the trophy and the tiara,” Dixie said.
I spun to face her, feeling dizzy from moving so fast. “What?”
“Yeah. In her trophy room. She has all of ’em.”
I felt a pang of rejection and hurt. She had kept my trophies and tiaras, but she’d turned her back on me. Why did I care so much? It wasn’t like I wanted them anyway.
I’d always been Momma’s path to glory, and she’d left me behind when I’d stopped being useful. In the end, my mother had chosen the pageants over me. It hadn’t come as much of a surprise, but there was still a big gaping hole in my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Summer?” Luke asked in a low voice, next to me now. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t forget she needs to be back by one fifteen,” Dixie said, sounding a little too pleased with herself.
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke said with a grin.
He put his hand at the small of my back as he guided me to the door. Karen gave him a long, appreciative glance, but Lauren scowled.
“You got yourself a new admirer,” I teased when we were on the sidewalk.
“Your boss?” he asked in disgust. “I think I’d rather become a monk.”
I laughed, and he looked down at me, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothin’.”
“No,” I said, feeling self-conscious. “What?”
For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he smiled, and his eyes lit up with warmth. “I always liked your laugh.”
Heat spread through my body, pooling between my legs, and I resisted the urge to slap myself. Really, Summer? You are so easy.
But I wasn’t, and I knew it. Not with other men anyway. Yet I always had been with Luke. All he had to do was give me that look that drove all the women crazy, and just like the rest of them, I’d come running.
I couldn’t be that girl anymore. Because while we had undeniable, off-the-charts chemistry, after I’d grown up a little, I’d realized we would have never worked out. Luke was too dead set in his ways, and he expected me to fit into that pretty picture. He wanted a wife to raise his kids and devote her life to him. And while I’d wanted that when I was seventeen, I couldn’t be that person now—nor did I want to be. Sure, I wanted the husband and the kids, but I needed more. I’d been forced to grow up quickly after Momma deserted me, and I’d learned to stand on my own, even if it looked like I was doing it badly. But one thing was certain: I needed a purpose other than being someone’s wife.
Besides, I was tired of fitting into other people’s pictures. I wanted to make my own picture, but I was beginning to think changing the scenery in it could be a good idea.
“You can’t remember my laugh,” I said. “It’s been too long.”
“No way I’d ever forget it,” he said. “Hearing you laugh was one of the best parts of that summer . . . and the countless phone calls.”
My steps faltered, and I wrapped my arms across my chest. What was he up to? “Where are we goin’?”
He glanced toward the courthouse, then back at me. “The police station.”
I had a moment of panic, but as soon as I calmed down enough to think, I realized it made sense. He wanted me to tell him what I knew about Otto and the janitor who wasn’t really a janitor. “Okay.” I started walking again, setting off another wave of dizziness that made me stumble.
“Maybe walking’s not a good idea,” he s
aid as he grabbed my elbow. “Why don’t you wait at the office and let me get my car. I remembered how you liked to walk, so I thought . . .”
“That I’d want to walk. Yeah, I’d like that. Let’s just take it slow.” I started across the street toward the police station, Luke catching up with me a second later.
We were silent the rest of the way, and I was even more irritated by how utterly exhausted I felt when we walked into the air-conditioned building.
The young woman behind the desk brushed heavy auburn bangs from her eyes and jumped up when she saw me. “Oh! You’re Summer Butler! You’re even prettier in person.”
“Thanks,” I said with a weary smile.
“Amber, we’re gonna be in my office. Hold my calls unless it’s important.” Luke wrapped an arm lightly around my back and steered me toward the short hall to the left.
Her eyes twinkled as her gaze dropped to his arm. “Sure thing, Luke.”
Luke led me down a short hall to a door with a glass window that said LUKE MONTGOMERY, CHIEF OF POLICE.
I stopped for a moment to take it in.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothin’.”
“You have to tell me,” he said with a smile in his voice as he pushed the door open. Just as I expected, it was as neat as a pin, but there were several files stacked on a brown leather sofa on the wall across from his desk.
“This was your dream,” I said. “And you did it. I’m just admirin’ it.”
He leaned over and picked up the files off the sofa, setting them on his desk. “Sit,” he said, extending an arm toward it.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I said. “I thought we’d do this in an interrogation room.”
“No,” he said softly, “it’s not like that. I just want to talk to you as a friend.”
I looked up into his face, my body filled with so much longing I had to resist the urge to reach out and pull him to me. “Are we friends?” I asked in a tight voice.
Deadly Summer (Darling Investigations Book 1) Page 23