"Weeeeeeell…"
Another four letter word popped out. "Tell me," he said flatly.
"I might have possibly riled up Alia."
"Alia?"
I nodded, sipping my tea before I continued. "Alia Altor. The one who plays the Dragon Queen. I found out that she had plenty of reasons to want Frost dead." I quickly filled him in on what I'd gleaned from Alia about her belief that Frost was her father, the blackmail she'd employed to get her current role, and the fact that she'd been shaky with her alibi all along.
When I finished, that vein in his neck was throbbing like a metronome. "So you think Alia followed you back here and pushed you into the pool?"
"It's possible," I agreed. "Then again, the Prince is missing."
"Prince?"
I nodded. "Jaden Plume," I reminded him. "Remember, he got that payoff from Selma Frost yesterday? Well, no one has seen him all day. He's not in his hotel room or on set. No sign at the Tipsy Moose either." Which just about covered every spot in town.
"And you'd know this because?"
Great question. "Uh, well, when Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt showed up, they insisted we look for—"
"Whoa!" Ramirez held up two hands. "Your mother is here? In Moose Haven?!" That vein looked ready to pop.
"Yeah. Kinda."
"Kinda." His back teeth ground together.
"Look, it's totally not my fault. I told her not to come. I told them all not to come. But Marco insisted on buying plane tickets and—"
"Marco's here too."
"Kinda."
He looked like his blood pressure was spiking dangerously high. "So, the police are focused on Dana, we have your mom, Mrs. Rosenblatt, and Marco all playing detective, and someone has attacked my wife."
"Kinda?" I said, though it sounded more like a question.
His jaw tried to make diamonds of his molars.
"I'm fine," I reassured him, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "No harm done."
He shot me a look.
"Okay, a little harm done, but I'm fine." I put a hand on his arm. "Really."
He sighed, but at least he unclenched his jaw to do it. "I just want you to be safe, Maddie."
My heart swelled, and I fought back tears. "I know."
"Please, just leave this all to the authorities, okay?"
I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn't let me.
"I know you're worried about Dana. But I'm doing everything I can to make sure the investigators handle this impartially."
I nodded. I knew he was. I just had my doubts about whether impartiality was going to be enough.
I cleared my throat, attempting to steer the focus back to our suspects and away from me and my meddling friends and family. "You said you were going to look into Jaden Plume's background. Did you get a chance to yet?"
He nodded, looking out the window, almost as if still scanning for whoever had pushed me in the pool. "I did."
"And?"
"And there wasn't much to see," he said. "He had a couple of drunk and disorderlies in Riverside County and a minor assault charge in Reseda."
"Assault?" I asked, liking the sound of that.
He nodded. "Bar fight."
"Anything else?" I sipped my tea.
"Just employment history. Last three jobs he had were all short term—worked as a gardener for a couple of months, a dishwasher before that, and most recently as a janitor at a medical center in Beverly Hills."
I frowned. "I guess a lot of actors have day jobs, huh?"
He nodded. "Plume looked pretty new on the acting scene. No major roles noted before this one."
I looked out the window, watching some of the cast pull into the parking lot. "Tarrin mentioned Frost had fired the last Evil Prince. Maybe Jaden was all he could find on short notice."
Ramirez shrugged. "Who knows." He glanced down at the time readout on his phone. "But unfortunately, I've got to get going."
"Where?" I asked.
"To the station."
"Oh? A new development?"
He paused, and I halfway thought he wasn't going to tell me. "Possibly. Bartlett's bringing J.R. Ravensberg in for questioning. He's allowed me to sit in."
I tried to stifle the smile I felt bubbling up. "Does that mean his chain mail suit was a match for the metal C in Frost's cuff?"
He nodded slowly.
Turns out the smile was unstiflable. "Then that's proof Ravensberg killed Frost!"
"It's an indication he was with Frost shortly before his death," Ramirez amended.
"And he was angry at Frost," I added. "Over more than just the script, in fact."
Ramirez frowned. "Dare I ask how you know this?"
"Ellie told me," I said, quickly relaying the story she'd told of Ravensberg showing up at Frost's production company with his lawyer. "He threatened to sue."
Ramirez ran a hand across his jaw. "Have you run into anyone today who didn't have a motive to kill Frost?"
I couldn't help a smile. "Dana."
"Let's hope Bartlett agrees with you." I watched him tuck his wallet and keys into his pocket.
"I, uh, don't suppose Bartlett would let me tag along with you?" I asked, giving him a big smile and batting my eyelashes at him. "You know. In a very I'm-leaving-it-to-the-authorities kinda of way?"
I expected resistance, but Ramirez surprised me by answering, "He's going to have to." He must have seen my surprise as his expression softened. "Because there's no way I'm letting you out of my sight."
On any other day, that might have been insulting to my strong, independent woman self. But right then, I didn't argue, instead grabbing my purse, slipping into a dry pair of flats, and quickly following him to the door.
* * *
The nearest Royal Canadian Mounted Police station was several miles in the opposite direction from the movie set. We parked Ramirez's rental car in the small lot behind the brick building and were directed by a receptionist with hair bigger than my minivan to a pair of chairs along the wall to wait.
The station was tiny compared to LA standards—consisting of about four officers total, who all looked slightly bored at their desks. The walls were covered in watercolor paintings of trees and the de rigueur moose heads. One of which was wearing a Canadian Mounties hat. The flooring was wide wood plank. The walls were off-white. Or dirty. Hard to tell which. There was no two-way mirror, no stenographer present, no sense that any crime beyond hunting without a license had ever been processed there.
Ramirez and I settled into the offered chairs, and a few minutes later, the front door opened again and Bartlett appeared, ushering a clearly disgruntled J.R. Ravensberg inside. I hadn't seen him since our ill-fated trip to the cabin, and time hadn't been kind to him. While he'd traded the chain mail for more traditional open collar shirt and khakis, his hair was uncombed and in need of a trim, his beard was scraggly and uneven, and he was still wearing the pointy elf shoes.
Bartlett waved him to a chair in front of the desk. "Take a seat, sir."
Ravensberg's head swiveled slowly toward Ramirez and me. My breath caught when I saw his flash of recognition in his eyes. Instead of sitting as directed, he stood rooted in place, staring.
"I know you."
"No, you don't," I countered.
"Sir, have a seat," Bartlett repeated.
Ravensberg pointed at me. "You're friends with that murderer girl."
I managed to keep my tone level. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He narrowed his eyes at me and smiled as if knowing he had something on me. "Oh, I think you do."
I cleared my throat and carefully examined a piece of lint on my pants.
Ravensberg didn't argue further because Bartlett dropped a hand on his shoulder to push him into a chair. I felt Ramirez's eyes going from me to Ravensberg, suspicion radiating off of him. But he said nothing, and I pretended not to notice.
Bartlett dispensed with the preliminaries and pushed a button on an ancient recorder—the
kind that used actual tapes. He dictated the date, time, and location into it while Ravensberg sat brooding.
Then the sudden jangle of metal hitting the desk claimed everyone's attention as Bartlett dropped the chain mail. He perched on the corner of the desk, facing Ravensberg. "Want to tell me about this, sir?"
Ravensberg looked stricken. "Don't you dare damage my hauberk!"
Bartlett pulled out his notebook and picked up a pen. "Now, why would you have a hauberk?"
Ravensberg blinked up at him. "Why wouldn't you?"
Bartlett gave him a steely stare. Ramirez made a growling sound in the back of his throat.
"Okay, okay," Ravensberg said, putting his hands up in a surrender motion. "It helps me get into character as I write. Happy? I've confessed to your crime of fashion."
"This isn't the time for levity," Bartlett told him. "I don't think you appreciate the situation. Let me fill you in. This metal shirt of yours matches an item found at the scene of Jasper Frost's murder."
Ravensberg said nothing.
"Now, either you can answer my questions, or you can spend some time in one of our cells while you await your lawyer." Bartlett paused. "And there aren't any more flights into Saskatchewan today, so it could be quite a wait."
The ropy muscles in Ravensberg's forearms tensed as he gripped the arms of his chair. "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"I want to know how it happened that part of your hauberk here ended up at the murder scene," Bartlett said.
"I didn't murder anyone." Ravensberg crossed his arms over his thin chest.
"Did you see Frost on the day he died?" Ramirez jumped in.
Bartlett cut him a look but said nothing.
"Maybe." Ravensberg looked as defiant as my twins when I told them it was bedtime. "I didn't note the date of his death."
"Friday," Bartlett supplied. "Did you visit him on Friday evening?"
Ravensberg moved his lips back and forth above his unshaven chin, as if mentally trying on a few answers before spitting one out that he liked. "Possibly."
"Did you visit him at his trailer on the film set?" Ramirez clarified.
Ravensberg shrugged. "What, you gonna charge me with trespassing?" He slipped me a pointed sidelong glance.
I picked at that lint.
"So, you did see Frost on the evening he died?" Bartlett clarified.
"Fine. Yes, I did."
"Why?" Bartlett asked.
"Why what?"
"Why were you there that night?"
"Well, it was the only chance I had to get him alone, wasn't it?"
Bartlett remained patient. "And why did you want to get him alone?"
"Because I wanted to talk to him," Ravensberg shot back. "And he was avoiding me. I didn't go there to kill him."
"Talk to him about what?"
I had a pretty good idea, but I leaned forward a little, not wanting to miss a word.
"Jasper Frost was an idiot. An egotistical idiot," Ravensberg spat out.
Well, I couldn't argue with him there.
"Is that what you went to his set to tell him?" Bartlett pressed.
"No!" Ravensberg frowned. "I went to try to talk some sense into him. To explain why he needed me."
"Needed you on the film set?" Bartlett asked.
Ravensberg nodded. "That's right. He needed someone who knew the world. Who could make sure he stayed true to what the fans would expect."
"Like a consultant?"
"Yes." Ravensberg brightened. "A consultant."
"For a fee?"
"Naturally."
"Naturally," Bartlett repeated, eyes going again to his notes. "But Frost had already asked you to leave his set, correct? Last week?"
"Well, I…I knew he would reconsider. That thing last week—that was a heat of the moment thing."
"I see. And how was this moment?"
"What?"
"When you visited Frost Friday night. Was that heated too?"
"No!" he shouted. Then he must have realized how heated that answer had sounded, as he smiled sweetly. "I mean, no," he said in a much calmer voice.
I thought I saw Ramirez smirk beside me, but he covered it quickly.
"So, this advice you were offering Frost. Was he responsive to it?" Bartlett asked.
Ravensberg chewed the inside of his cheek. "No. I told you, Jasper Frost was an idiot."
"So, in other words, he turned you down."
"Yes, he turned me down."
"Did that make you angry?"
"Did it make me—" Ravensberg paused, seeming to realize the implication of that question. "I wouldn't say so."
"Irritated?"
Ravensberg fixed his glare directly on the detective. "Would it irritate you to be treated like an insignificant cog in the wheel of Frost's mega-movie machine?"
"We're not talking about me," Bartlett said placidly. "Did you two have an argument about it?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"What would you say?"
Ravensberg's fingers danced on the arms of the chair as he considered the question. "Alright, fine. I wasn't happy with him."
"Now we're getting somewhere."
"But I didn't kill him. I didn't need to," he said.
"No?" Bartlett raised both eyebrows in question.
"No. Why kill him when I could kill the film? Disintegrate his career? Obliterate his comeback vehicle?"
"So, you told him you were going to do all these things."
"Yes. Of course. I said I was going to release spoilers from the Lord of the Throne movie and tell my fans to boycott the film." He sat back, satisfied with himself.
"If?" Bartlett asked.
"If what?"
"You were going to ruin his film if he didn't…"
"Allow me to consult."
"For a fee?"
"For a fee." Ravensberg nodded in agreement.
"That's blackmail," Bartlett said flatly.
Ravensberg looked shocked.
I couldn't help enjoying Bartlett's style. At least when it wasn't aimed at Dana.
"I-I didn't blackmail him. I simply…laid out two scenarios for him."
"Uh-huh. And what did Mr. Frost think of these scenarios?
Ravensberg's fingers stilled. "He laughed at me. He said the publicity of an angry author would only help sell tickets, not hurt sales. He said people would love the controversy."
"So you were angry," Bartlett said.
"Disappointed," Ravensberg amended.
Bartlett jotted another note. "So, how did a piece of your…what did you call this?" He picked up the chain mail again.
"A hauberk."
"Sure. This…hauberk…get caught in the cuff of Frost's pants?"
"I-I don't know!"
"You had to have been pretty close to him for it to get stuck in his clothes."
"I'm a close talker when I'm angr—disappointed."
"And how did the piece come off the hauberk in the first place?"
"Must have just fallen off?"
Bartlett picked up the chain mail and shook it. It clacked together, but nothing fell off.
Ravensberg shrugged. "Just the one piece must have been loose."
Bartlett made another note. "What happened next?"
"Nothing," Ravensberg said. "I left."
"You just left?"
Ravensberg's eyes shifted from Ramirez to me and back to Bartlett as if pleading with one of us to believe him. "Yes. I just left."
"Where did you go then?" Bartlett asked.
"Home."
"Alone?"
"Yes!"
"Anyone see you? Did you talk to anyone? Did you make any phone calls or go online?"
"No. I mean, yes, but no. I mean…that was too many questions at once."
"Hmm." Bartlett made a humming sound and jotted something down in his notebook. "So, no one can vouch for your whereabouts when Frost was killed?"
Ravensberg licked his thin, chapped lips. "N-No. But I did not kill him."
Bartlett gave him a big smile. "Of course, that's exactly what you'd say if you did kill him."
Ravensberg opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish. Then he must have finally realized that nothing he could say was going to make a difference in that moment. He pursed his thin lips together, scrunching up his face behind his whiskers, and crossed his arms over his chest in Toddler Defiance mode again. "I don't care how long my lawyer takes. I'm not saying another word without him."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ramirez and I left the RCMP station, with Bartlett telling Ravensberg not to leave town and Ravensberg threatening to sue the entire town. I vaguely wondered what kind of retainer he'd had to give his lawyer for all these lawsuits he was imagining up, but at the very least the request for legal counsel halted Bartlett's progress.
"So, does this mean Bartlett's going to be focusing on Ravensberg now?" I asked as we got back in the rental.
Ramirez shrugged. "It's one line of inquiry."
"That answer wasn't as positive as I'd hoped."
He grinned, turning the engine over and pulling out of the lot. "To be honest, Ravensberg could have been telling us exactly how the piece of metal got in Frost's cuff."
I scoffed. "You really believe that?"
"I believe he was there. They argued. The metal bit fell off Ravensberg's shirt and landed in Frost's cuff."
"While Ravensberg killed him."
Ramirez shot me a look. "There's no evidence of that."
I threw my hands up in the air. "There's no evidence that Dana killed Frost either, but that isn't stopping Bartlett."
He shook his head. "Be patient. I'm doing everything I can to help Dana."
"I know," I mumbled. And I did. Ramirez had taken time off from his own caseload and flown all the way to Moose Haven just to help my friend. It wasn't fair for me to take my frustrations out on him.
I was about to apologize when my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I pulled it out of my bag and saw Marco's name light up my screen.
Call me if you can.
Immediately, my heartbeat ratcheted upward, wondering what now.
I hit the Call button and held the phone to my ear.
"Hey, Mads," Marco answered calmly a beat later.
"Hey. What's going on? What happened? What did Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt do?"
Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 19
