Chaos on Camera

by Louise Lynn

  I smacked her hand away. “Not until you think of a plan to get us inside Clark Duncan’s trailer.”

  She scowled at me, rubbing her hand. “I have this one idea, but it wouldn’t exactly make Mom proud of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The snooty cop at the entrance?” I nodded, and she said, “I didn’t mention that he was also super infatuated with Juno in high school. Like, at one point, Adam had to threaten to beat him up if he didn’t stop freaking her out all the time. There was this weird incident in Biology when—”

  “To the point, Ivy,” I said, “I’m sorry but we’re in a hurry.”

  I wasn’t sure how long Michael would allow us on the set considering we were, after all, technically no longer employed.

  “His little sister is in the same class as me in college. During lunch one day, she let it slip that he never got over Juno, and even has a box-shrine-thing dedicated to her in his bedroom. To this day, might I add.”

  “Wow. Now, that’s creepy.” I stood from the chair and slung my handbag over my shoulder. “But at least you’ve given us a plan.”

  Ivy grinned. “Let’s blackmail our way into the trailer!”

  “Mom definitely wouldn’t approve.”

  “Sometimes, detectives have to do questionable things to catch the killer.”

  I had to agree, but a killer who was already dead? Or had somebody else killed Quintessence, then offed Clark before he could expose them?

  At the entrance, Ivy slunk toward the stone-faced cop, who stood completely rigid with his gun visible at his side.

  “Hey, Tyler.”

  “Ivy,” he said, his voice clipped.

  “So, you do remember me, huh? I was rather hurt by you ignoring me earlier, after all we’d been through.”

  Tyler’s eyebrows knitted together, and he glared at her. “What do you want? You do know that’s a crime scene, right?”

  “Well, speaking of that, I need your help.”

  Now, his expression sobered, and he looked a little … smug.

  “As if I’d help some kid,” he said, crossing over his arms, his muscles tightening inside his police uniform.

  “A kid who’s only two years younger than you?” I pointed out. “What’s with everyone who’s a minute older referring to the rest of us infants?”

  Though, I often did so to Ivy, but as a joke. However, the cop reminded me of a customer in San Fran, who only six months my senior, frequently referred to me as ‘girl’.

  He sighed. “I’m working. In case you haven’t noticed, somebody was killed here again. This isn’t a playground.”

  I rolled my eyes and was about to speak, when suddenly Ivy said: “Does Juno know you keep a creepy box filled with all her belongings you stole from her in high school?”

  The blood drained from Tyler’s face, and his shoulders bunched. “What?”

  “Yeah. I know you still have her cheerleading clothes, too. You know, the ones you took from her gym locker? Now, if you don’t help me out, then I’ll go to Juno about this, then her big brother, then the newspapers, and everyone in San Bas will know what a sad little stalker you are.”

  When I saw the veins on his temple start to throb, I added, “You can try to arrest us for blackmailing, but you should know that I have friends at the precinct.”

  For a moment, I thought Tyler would put us in handcuffs anyway. But fortunately, the blood returned to his face and he unfolded his arms.

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing big,” Ivy replied, fluttering her eyelids. “Just a couple of minutes inside Clark Duncan’s trailer. I know it’s a crime scene. We won’t touch anything inside. We may find out who killed him, and Quintessence.”

  “Why can’t you just let us do our job? We’re not cops for fun and giggles, Ivy.”

  “Because last time, you nearly arrested the wrong person,” I said, raising a brow.

  I was relieved when Tyler nodded, and in his silent and menacing way, he marched us toward Clark’s trailer.

  “You’d better not contaminate anything, and stick to the safe area,” Tyler muttered. The door was marked in yellow crime scene tape. “You have five minutes.”

  “That was a relief,” I whispered, once we stepped over the threshold, and Ivy nodded.

  “I thought I was gonna pass out. Your acting’s certainly improved, Olive. Even I couldn’t have lied like that.”

  Well, I had more years of practicing. And I didn’t have an entire crew watching me.

  Once inside, Clark’s trailer sent a shiver down my spine. While forensics had removed the body, the trailer wasn’t the least bit clean, though I could see a clear path that was the “safe zone” and would prevent us from contaminating any of the evidence. The furniture was all made of black Italian leather, which to be honest, suited Clark’s slimy personality perfectly. The fridge in the kitchen had been left open, pooling water onto the linoleum flooring; the bed was unmade; newspapers and documents scattered over the floor and furniture; and the dressing mirror, on the main wall, had been smashed into tiny shards of broken glass. Blood splattered over what was left of the mirror, though I noticed a large chunk of the center was missing.

  The piece of glass that had been used to cut Clark Duncan’s throat.

  I shuddered and shook my arms. “Okay. Let’s get this over and done with quickly.”

  Ivy nodded and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves.

  “Where did you get those?” I asked.

  “From your truck. The cakes,” she said, handing me a pair.

  Oh. Right. I was too caught up in my surroundings to even think properly.

  “Good thinking. The phone,” I said, “hopefully wasn’t on his body when they found him.”

  Otherwise, we wouldn’t find out who’d been the one to kill Quintessence and Clark Duncan.

  I pulled on the gloves and walked over to the dresser. Little of the mirror remained intact and the worktop glittered in the lights—from the bits of glass dotted all over. What surprised me was a framed picture turned on its side. When I pulled it over, I saw Quintessence in her early twenties, kissing a less slimy-looking Clark on a huge yacht. They looked happy. In love. I wondered what had happened to wedge them apart so deeply. I mean, sure, couples drove each other crazy at the best of times. But, murder?

  Andy, my ex-fiancés’ smug face flashed through my mind and I returned the photo as it was.

  Awful people could really test one’s mettle. I knew that first-hand.

  “Olive…” Ivy called.

  I turned to see her body half in the bathroom. “Did you find it?”

  “Umm … yes, but it isn’t pretty.”

  I followed her into the bathroom and peeked over her shoulder. I winced when I saw Clark’s cell phone floating inside a—thankfully clean—toilet bowl.

  “I take dibs on not pulling it out,” I said, nudging Ivy forward a little.

  “Why do I need to stick my hand down a toilet?” she hissed, glaring at me from under her thick choppy fringe.

  “Because you found it,” I said, “and hurry. We really don’t have long. Do you think it will still be working?”

  “It’s an iPhone seven.” Ivy wrapped her hand in a face towel then, taking a sharp breath, dove in. She set the phone onto a clean towel. “They’re waterproof.”

  “What a time to be alive. Good. I doubt we could find a bowl of rice, anyways.”

  I watched in awe as Ivy dried the phone then pressed the home screen button. I was relieved when the phone had battery life, and somehow, still worked. We weren’t supposed to touch any of the evidence, but we didn’t really have a choice. A man’s innocence was on the line.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I watched Ivy unlock the phone and tap into the call log. Me? I was useless when it came to technology, which was why I so often left my cell phone at home.

  “Oh my gosh …”

  “What?” I whispered, nearly on top of Ivy as I peered over her shoulders.


  “The person to call him last night—when we were outside?”

  “Who was it?!”

  “Adam … Adam Fairgrieve.”

  I closed my eyes. Things weren’t exactly tilting in Adam’s favor, were they?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I can’t believe it,” Ivy said for the hundredth time, as I drove toward Adam’s work.

  I took a turn for the strip mall at the other end of town, where Sports 4 Us was located. I hoped Adam was working that day. It probably would’ve been better to call him first to check, but that would’ve given him time to think of a better alibi. I needed to catch Adam off guard to learn the truth.

  Though the chances were small, I really hoped the phone call had just been a huge misunderstanding.

  The clean-up back on set had taken over two hours, and I was sad to see the back of the catering truck. But Ivy and I had agreed to visit Michael once everything had calmed at the set. We wanted to say a proper goodbye, despite all that had happened. I hated to recall how ashen he’d looked when I saw him last. But two deaths in one week was hardly a delightful surprise.

  We found Adam’s Mustang outside the sportswear store. I rolled my eyes at how he had deliberately parked it over two spaces to protect his precious baby.

  Boys and their stupid toys.

  “At least we know he’s in,” I said, closing the truck door.

  My sister was oddly quiet beside me, her gloves stuffed in her coat pockets.

  I wrapped a hand around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. It could all just be a misunderstanding,” I assured her.

  Her green eyes found mine, wide and pricked with tears. “What if it’s not? Adam … I know you guys weren’t close, but it’s Juno’s big brother. She’ll be devastated, and she just found out that she and Matt are expecting a baby—”

  “Wait. Juno’s pregnant?”

  I hadn’t even noticed. But then again, at work, she always wore baggy polo shirts. Whenever I saw her outside she hid her hourglass figure in long sweaters, too, so if she was then she had hidden it well.

  Ivy sniffled. “Yeah. Four months. She was going to surprise everyone next Tuesday, on her day off. She and Tom wanted to ride the Ferris wheel and post a cute picture of little pink baby boots. But now …”

  “We might be wrong,” I repeated, squeezing Ivy’s shoulders.

  “You’re right! Maybe Adam didn’t really kill a man in his own movie trailer by slitting his throat with a shard of glass, and isn’t some crazy psychopath murderer who used to play hide and seek with me and his little sister.”

  I swallowed. When she put it like that …

  “Hello. Is Adam Fairgrieve around?” I asked the shop assistant lingering at the entrance.

  She smacked a bubble of gum between her lips and pointed up the stairs, to the sneakers department.

  “Thanks,” I said, tugging Ivy up the stairs.

  Adam’s tall, muscular frame was reorganizing the sneaker display mounted on the store wall. I cleared my throat and he whipped around, at first smiling, but that faded when he saw me.

  “Now what do you want?”

  “Nice to see you too, Adam,” Ivy said, crossing her arms.

  “We came to ask you something,” I said.

  He straightened, and his knuckles blanched around a pair of Nike sneakers. “What? Come to arrest me?”

  “Why would we do that” I asked, lowering my voice.

  Adam snorted. “Because your detective boyfriend already stopped by and humiliated me in front of all my co-workers. I didn’t do it, and if I did, don’t you think Harper would’ve arrested me by now?”

  Urgh. Boyfriend? Really? And it wasn’t that I doubted Dean’s capabilities, but …

  I crossed my arms, too. “I overheard your conversation with Clark before he died. He thanked you for killing his wife. Don’t lie, Adam. Your number was even in his call log.”

  Adam placed the sneakers back on the shelf. “Thanked me for killing Mary Jones, huh?” He shook his head. “That sleaze bag was thanking me for finalizing his divorce papers. I told you. I didn’t kill Mary.”

  I tried to keep my voice low. “Then why were you there? We saw you kiss—her kiss you —before she died, then you had this cryptic phone call with her husband just before he died. I hate to break it to you, Adam, but you’re cropping up all over this investigation and it’s not looking pretty.”

  “Not that we want you to be the guilty one,” Ivy put in, her eyes turning to the carpeted floor.

  “I know it looks bad,” Adam said, “but all I was doing on that stupid set was looking for Gina.”

  His shoulders bunched and he froze, as if he hadn’t meant to tell us that.

  “Gina was also on set?” Ivy said, raising her brows at me.

  I certainly hadn’t seen her.

  “She was visiting her makeup friend—Sanjay. Look, I’m busy working and I really don’t appreciate you being here unless you’re going to buy something or help me clear my name. I told the cops my side of the story and they left. Now it’s time for you to leave.”

  At that, Adam walked by us without a backward glance.

  My blood froze in my veins. He’d just complicated the case even further.

  Since we didn’t have anything to buy, we quickly left the store.

  “Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse,” Ivy said.

  “Thanks for confirming that, Ivy.”

  “Should we speak to Sanjay?”

  I nodded, and glanced at my watch. It wasn’t even noon yet. “We could stop by the set again to ask him a few questions.”

  “Yeah,” Ivy said, glancing at her semi-black, painted nails. “He’s going to kill me for the state of these.”

  I ruffled her hair. “You can just pull on another pair of catering gloves.”

  She glared at me, but she was startled when her phone rang in her pocket. I’d never seen Ivy move so fast to answer a call, so I suspected it was Wyatt.

  “Oh. It’s you. I mean, how are you?”

  Judging by her tone, it wasn’t Wyatt.

  I unlocked my truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. Ivy slowly pulled herself beside me.

  “Yeah. She’s just about to drive. Hold on.” She held the phone against her chest and lowered her voice. “It’s Dean,” she said, “he wants to speak with you.”

  I took the phone from her and scrunched my face at the screen.

  “Hello, Olive. I just wanted to check in.”

  Check in my foot. Dean rarely ever called me. We usually stuck to emails, or if I remembered my phone, text messages.

  “Detective Dean Harper,” I said lightly, trying my best to sound less tense than I felt. “Is everything alright? How’s the case coming along?”

  Dean sighed across the line. I could hear the wind whistling in the background, mingled with the swishing of waves. He must have still been at the beach. “Well, about that … I was told you peeked in on the crime scene back at the set. That you even blackmailed one of my men to let you inside. Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you are?”

  I grinned at Ivy. “And what would that be?” I teased him.

  “Investigating the case. Woods isn’t particularly pleased, you know, Olive. He thinks you compromised the crime scene.”

  “Is Woods ever pleased?” I sighed, though I felt my cheeks tug into a smile. “Don’t worry. I didn’t touch anything in your crime scene, Dean. Besides Clark’s cell, which was in the toilet. But I used gloves and left it on the bathroom counter! Out of curiosity, have you got any leads?”

  Dean let out what I assumed was a frustrated sigh. “No more than I think you already know of. Most of the crew have alibis. There are only a few we’re still looking into.”

  I chewed the inside of my mouth. “It’s scary to think there’s two murderers on the loose, especially after the whole Jenny Walker thing,” I said, glancing at Ivy, who watched me with those large green eyes of hers.

  Probably so I wou
ld get off her phone and she could text Wyatt.

  “There aren’t two suspects,” Dean replied, and for a moment I thought I’d misheard him due to the sea breeze punctuating his words.

  “You mean, whoever killed Quintessence also killed her husband?”

  “We think so, yes. At least it’s what our evidence tells us. Whoever killed them was the same exact height. Probably close to five feet six, at most.”

  That certainly narrowed down our search. So, the two murders were carried out by one person. Who had the best motive to kill, not only Mary, but Clark Duncan too?

  “That would make more sense since the victims are linked,” I said, and Ivy flapped her hands for me to hurry up. “Okay, I’ve got to go.”

  “I’m heading back to the precinct. Please stay out of trouble, Olive.”

  “You always tell me that.”

  “And yet you never listen,” Dean said, ending the call with an exaggerated sigh.

  That was because trouble always found me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "If Adam didn’t think Gina did it, why tell us she went to the set that night?" Ivy said and crossed her arms. She looked out the truck window at the half-constructed movie set, as I pulled into the parking lot.

  The wind whipped the ocean in the distance into a mad, churning frenzy. Typical for winter in San Bas.

  I shrugged. "Was he supposed to keep that information from the investigators?"

  "Well, if he really loves her, he shouldn’t go implicating her in a murder,” Ivy said and wrapped her scarf around her neck, probably in preparation for the cold sea wind. “Makeup friends or not.”

  I followed suit. "Unless she’s the one who did it," I reminded her. "We can’t expect him to go to prison for a murder he didn’t commit just to save his crazy girlfriend."

  Ivy nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe Gina threatened him not to tell the cops or she’d chop him up in little pieces. She seems like the kind of person who would do that."

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure she’s that crazy."

  Ivy gave me a level look. "If she stabbed Quintessence in the heart and sliced Clark Duncan’s throat, I think she’s that crazy."