by Louise Lynn
Celia pointed toward the stage where the tragedy happened. “He was over there earlier, but I’m not sure now. Have you noticed an uptick in Festival attendance today?”
Hazel pursed her lips and explained the paparazzi situation to Celia, who mirrored her expression. “Figures. And the black armbands. I suppose those are in mourning for the deceased?”
Hazel nodded. “Apparently he had a lot of fans. Despite his personality flaws.”
Celia gave her a look that Hazel understood right away. “He only came for coffee twice, but both times I swear he put more whiskey in it then I did coffee, and he hit on me relentlessly. It was disgusting,” Celia said and crossed her arms, like she was trying to shield herself from his advances even though he could no longer bother her.
“He hit on me yesterday too while drunk.”
Celia raised her eyebrows. “Is that why you didn’t go with the corset today? I thought you were trying to drum up more business for your booth.” A smile played on her lips.
Hazel pouted at her. “Considering I wasn’t at my booth much yesterday, I’m not sure how the business was supposed to be drummed up. Michael and my father are doing fine without a corset, thanks.”
“Fair enough, but you did look cute in it.” Celia gave Hazel a playful nudge in the arm.
Hazel rolled her eyes. Cute or not, it wasn’t really her thing. “Besides Sheriff Cross, have you seen Angela Dane this morning?”
Celia worried her bottom lip. “Is she the redhead?”
Hazel nodded.
“She was headed to the tents. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?” Celia said and rolled her eyes.
Hazel understood that all too well. “That’s putting it lightly. She’s been nothing but rude to everyone I’ve talked to.”
“Who does she think she is?” Celia said and shook her head. Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders when she did it. They complemented her warm brown complexion beautifully.
Hazel shrugged. “Some famous actress, not that it means anything.”
Celia nodded, and without even asking, refilled Hazel’s drink.
Hazel wasn’t even sure how much coffee she’d had that day, but she needed it. “I’ll be around, if you need me,” Hazel told Celia and trotted off.
No one else intercepted her on the way to the stage, though she did feel a little bad for only stopping a moment at her own booth.
Michael’s hair was already deflated and flopping over his forehead, and the front of his shirt was unlaced a ways. Her father hadn’t worn the lacy collar that day, and Hazel couldn’t blame him.
“Anthony Ray looks like he’s enjoying himself. Are you busy today?” her father asked. From the noise behind him, Hazel assumed there was a group getting ready for a photo. She heard voices in the costume tents.
“Yeah. I have to photograph the matinee and the actors involved, and do a few other things.”
She didn’t have to explain what those other things were to Michael or her father since they understood it involved this case.
Michael grinned. “Good luck. Let us know if we can help.”
She wasn’t really sure if she deserved an assistant and dad as dedicated to her business as them, but she was forever grateful for it.
And her father was right, Anthony Ray was enjoying himself. Unlike the day before when he’d been stuck at the booth, now he got to walk around with the crowd and see and smell all sorts of new things. Including trying to chase every squirrel that he noticed.
Which were a lot of squirrels.
At least he didn’t make a beeline for every Stellar jay or else it would’ve taken her forever to make it a few feet down the avenue of booths.
As Hazel headed toward the actor’s tents and the stage, she noticed a few odd things she hadn’t expected.
Number one, several of the deputies were taking down the crime scene tape around the stage where the murder had happened. Had they gotten everything they needed from it? Hazel wasn’t sure, and a frown pulled at her lips.
Second, she noticed Christopher Allen talking sternly to his son in the shade of a large cedar tree. The shadows nearly disguised them, but for Christopher Allen’s bright red shirt with the festival logo on it. He too had a black band around his arm.
Hazel wasn’t sure about Darcy.
Third, she saw a figure with long red hair creeping into Dominic Dane’s tent.
Good.
Just the woman she was looking for.
Hazel took a deep breath and walked toward it.
However, as she reached the tent and prepared to sweep the flap aside, a voice called out behind her, smooth and commanding and all too familiar. “There she is! She’s the guilty one. Arrest her, Sheriff!”
Chapter 9
Hazel spun on her heel, and felt like a child with her hands shoved in the cookie jar right before dinner. She spotted the woman who’d called out, a finger pointed right at Hazel, and long auburn hair fell over the woman’s slim shoulders.
Her face was twisted into a scowl, and Hazel squinted.
Sophia Allen?
No.
Angela Dane.
But she swore Angela had just stepped into Dominic’s tent.
Sheriff Cross was behind Angela, and Hazel noticed the exasperated look on his face as they approached.
“Well, why aren’t you arresting her?” Angela screeched.
Her raised voice had already caused everyone in the vicinity to glance over and now they were staring. Just what Hazel didn’t want.
“Because I’m not in the habit of arresting people because someone tells me to. As far as I’m concerned, she hasn’t actually committed a crime. Have you, Ms. Hart?” Sheriff Cross asked. His familiar smirk was nowhere to be found, and the twinkling in his eyes looked more like the final flicker of a flame about to die.
It had been a long night for him as well.
“What am I being accused of?” Hazel said and put her hands on her hips.
Angela’s eyes narrowed. “As if you don’t know. I explicitly said you had to run all photos of me past my publicist first. And then this happened?” She pulled a copy of the local newspaper from somewhere on her person. She was partially in costume, wearing a flowing skirt that would’ve looked right at home in Hazel’s mother’s wardrobe. Perhaps the thing had pockets, because Hazel hadn’t noticed the paper before.
Right on the cover was a photo of Angela Dane, taken right after the fallen light killed Dominic. She was bent over his body, and blood was on her hands.
Hazel shook her head. “I didn’t take that photo.”
Sheriff Cross sighed. “See? I told you. It’s best to ask first.”
Angela shook her head. “She was the photographer taking photos of the play yesterday, and yet she didn’t take this photo? That’s convenient. Confiscate her camera and check. I don’t believe a word that woman says. Especially with this on the front page of the local paper.”
Hazel held her hand out. “Can I have a closer look?”
Angela didn’t seem predisposed to hand it over, so Sheriff Cross took it from Angela and gave it to Hazel instead.
Hazel mumbled a thank you, and looked at the picture in question.
It was taken right after Dominic had been killed, and Angela had ran on stage, but, it was from the wrong angle. Hazel had been standing at the left of the stage, so when Angela ran out, she turned her back to Hazel in order to lean over Dominic.
For another thing, Hazel could tell from the graininess of the photo, not only that it had been taken at night with a camera that wasn’t quite as good as her Nikon, but that they had been using a long telephoto lens, which she hadn’t been, since she was close enough to the stage to avoid it.
“I didn’t take this because I was on the other side of the stage. There are plenty of witnesses that can vouch for that, including the sheriff himself. And this was taken with a telephoto lens. I was using a wide lens, and there are also people who can vouch for that, including a prize-winnin
g National Geographic photographer, if you’re interested, Mrs. Dane,” Hazel said and handed the paper back to her.
Angela scowled at the use of her married name and tears welled in her eyes. “So, you’re saying the paparazzi have been here the whole time just waiting for tragedy to strike?”
Sheriff Cross rubbed his cheeks, rough with stubble. It was unlike him not to shave every morning, but Hazel didn’t bring it up. “It’s possible. The Festival doesn’t have top-of-the-line security, and telephoto lenses aren’t illegal either. If you want to do something about that, you can hire your own private security. Or duck out of the festival. It’s your choice,” the sheriff said.
“You sound like Mr. Allen. Do you know what they’d say about me if I walked away now? Not only would I be breaking a contract, but they’d call me a diva who isn’t able to deal with tragedy, and that’s not true. Dom might be dead, but I will finish this festival because that’s what he would want. But if I were you I’d keep an eye out for these paparazzi. Invading my privacy at every turn. And you can bet I’m not going to give glowing reviews to this festival, even after I finish my performances here,” she said.
“If you insist. Actually, I was hoping to speak with you about something else, Mrs. Dane,” Sheriff Cross said.
Hazel knew what it was, and she had a feeling that if the woman hadn’t caught her just now, she wouldn’t be privy to this conversation. Of course, Colton would’ve told her what happened after the fact, but getting to see it live meant she could come to her own conclusions without hearing it secondhand.
“And what is that?” Angela said and tilted her chin in that haughty way she had. “Have you found my husband’s murderer?”
Hazel bit back the desire to snort. Unless the killer came out with a tattoo on their forehead that said: ‘I’m the murderer,’ it was unlikely that they would catch the perpetrator in under twenty-four hours.
She didn’t tell Angela Dane that. Instead, she let the woman squirm in the silence that followed.
“Not exactly, but we do have a few questions for you. It’s probably best if we ask them somewhere private,” he said and raised his eyebrows.
Angela’s eyes narrowed, and she swept toward her tent. “Will this do?” she said and ushered them both inside.
Sheriff Cross glanced at Hazel and gave her a discrete nod. Good. That meant she was allowed.
They settled inside her tent. She didn’t offer them a seat, although there were several to choose from.
Angela sat in the largest and leaned back. She gave a faint smile to Anthony Ray, who set about exploring as much as his leash would allow. “Well? I would hope you spend more time looking for a killer than questioning me, but who am I to second-guess the Cedar Valley police force?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Sheriff Cross’s lips. “Sheriff’s Office, actually. Cedar Valley is too small to have its own dedicated police force. I’m responsible for the county, which includes most of the area on this side of Lake Celeste, but you’re not really interested in jurisdiction, are you? Don’t worry. This shouldn’t take long, but I wanted to know something about this.” He opened a tablet he’d held at his side and showed her the photo from the night before.
Angela Dane’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is that when it happened?” she said in a small voice.
“It is.”
Her eyes burned toward Hazel’s suddenly. “And why would you take a picture of that? It’s sick.”
Hazel raised her brows. “I was supposed to be taking pictures of the play, so I was doing my job. And I didn’t know a light was going to fall on your husband’s head. It’s not what you should be paying attention to though,” Hazel pointed out and enlarged the photo on the tablet.
Sheriff Cross didn’t seem to mind, because he just held it up in front of Angela Dane again. “You see that face in the background. Well, it looks a whole lot like you, doesn’t it?”
Angela Dane’s face remained twisted with emotion, though it was difficult to tell which emotion it was. Anger, grief, or some combination of the two? “I was waiting for my cue. That’s what actors do. We wait offstage. Did you think this proved something?”
“You’re smiling,” Sheriff Cross said. “You’re smiling as your husband is being murdered. You don’t think that’s weird?”
Angela’s face paled. “You think I was smiling because of that? I didn’t even know what was happening. I was smiling because he was giving a good performance. For all Dominic’s faults—and there were thousands—he was an excellent actor. And even if we didn’t get along, I always supported his work. Even if he didn’t support mine,” she said and gritted her teeth.
Sheriff Cross nodded slowly, and tucked the tablet under his arm. “All right. I’ll just ask straight out. Did you kill your husband, Mrs. Dane?”
She gave him a thin terrible smile, worse than the one in the picture. “No. Do you plan on charging me with something? If the only thing you’re going on is a smile off stage that’s not a lot of evidence.”
The tension in the air was so thick Hazel could’ve cut it with a knife, but Sheriff Cross didn’t seem to mind. It’s probably what made him a good detective.
He gave the woman an equally chilling smile, and stood slowly. “Not yet. We’re still in the early stages of our investigation, so stick around.”
“I am, till the end of the festival. Not even Mr. Allen is going to get rid of me,” she said and her gaze shot to Hazel. “I’m not the one who had a reason to want Dominic dead. If you’re going to spend all your time looking at me, you’re wasting it when the real murderer is getting away. Get out of my dressing tent. I have work to do.” She turned in her seat like a queen dismissing a lowly servant.
Hazel and Sheriff Cross left side-by-side, and they didn’t say anything until they were a good hundred feet from her tent.
“Well?” Hazel asked and nudged his shoulder.
Sheriff Cross glanced up and his jaw tightened. The shadows from the cedar trees overhead laid heavy on his face. “Now it’s time to get a warrant for her financials and the house they rented together. But she’s right that the picture doesn’t prove anything. Not really. If she did it, we need to find concrete evidence.”
Hazel nodded. “Well, if the killer was up there cutting the cable during the production, it pretty much clears her.”
Sheriff Cross grumbled something that may have been an agreement or not.
Hazel went on. “And she’s right about something else too. Pursuing one suspect who might not be the killer is no way to find who really did this. But, you already know that since you made detective so young and all.”
That smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “I sure did. And it helps when there’s a good investigator looking in the corners of the case I might miss.”
Hazel felt her stomach warm. “A compliment. You never give me those.”
Sheriff Cross rolled his eyes and his fingers intertwined with hers. “Ha! Just yesterday I told you how good you looked in a corset,” he said with a slight chuckle.
It was Hazel’s turn to roll her eyes, and she did. Though her cheeks still flushed. “Well, it’ll also be the last time you see me in one. Possibly forever.”
Sheriff Cross’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I like this outfit too. Also, I’m sorry about her attitude. She’d been ranting about you for at least ten minutes, insisting I arrest you so I couldn’t get a word in, and you hadn’t even taken that photo—which I figured. You usually don’t sell to the Cedar Valley Post unless they pay you a pretty penny, right?” A smile crossed his lips, playful and welcome.
Hazel shook her head. “I only sell to the Cedar Valley Post when they hire me at my exorbitant rate, and Darla Maple hardly ever does. Nor would I have sold this photo to anyone. It’s tasteless, like she said.” Hazel shook her head.
Sure, a photo of a dead celebrity probably moved a lot of papers, but she sure wouldn’t sell one, even if she had it.
“How is Violet today?” Sheriff Cross
asked, and his voice dropped.
Hazel shrugged. “Better this morning, I think. She wants me to look into the murder.”
Sheriff Cross’s jaw clenched, and he folded his arms. A cool breeze brushed through the trees and moved his finely combed hair, so dark it was nearly black. Hazel squeezed her hands into a fist to keep from brushing her fingers through it. “You think that’s a good idea? Especially after the last time.”
Hazel hadn’t forgotten about that. She’d been sore for weeks afterwards. “Well, I didn’t mean hunt them down physically, just help piecing the puzzle together. You know I can’t stay away from this, right?”
Sheriff Cross let out a heavy sigh. “I’m learning that more and more every day. And, as long as you don’t interfere with our official investigation, your unofficial one is more than welcome to collaborate, if that’s okay with you?”
Hazel blinked. She never expected to have to say something was okay with her when it came to their working relationship—whatever it was. “Of course. Does that mean I get access to the crime scene? If there even is one anymore,” she said and motioned at the stage.
Sheriff Cross ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at her iced coffee hungrily. “About that, we worked on the scene for hours after everyone left and collected all the evidence we could. The Festival committee begged my department to get the stage back. Since they only have the one, the entire festival would be canceled without it. So–”
Hazel nodded. “So you did what was best for the town. I understand. As long as you got all the evidence, it doesn’t matter what happens to the crime scene now.”
She didn’t bring up that when her own photo studio had been a crime scene, Sheriff Cross had insisted it stay one until the case was solved. She’d already forgiven him for that, but on occasion it was fun to remind him of their rocky start.
Hazel held the iced coffee to his lips. “How’s this for a trade. You can have a sip and share any leads you’ve found?”
His eyes sparked and he took a long gulp, probably worth three sips of her own, but she didn’t complain. “I could, if I had any that I thought were solid. Of course, we’re looking into the spouse first. There are plenty of rumors that Mr. and Mrs. Dane didn’t get along. Public fights, a pending divorce… But I haven’t been able to substantiate any of it. It’s all hearsay that comes from tabloids.” He said the word like it was the worst thing he could possibly imagine, and Hazel really couldn’t blame him.