by Louise Lynn
I glanced back at Ivy and pointed at the truck. "Stay."
She hadn’t reacted well to finding Jenny Walker dead on the street, and I had a terrible nagging feeling that this would be worse. So why was I going? Well, I guess I wanted to see for myself.
The door to Quintessence’s trailer swung on its hinges, and the PA who found her was mumbling and sobbing, snot bubbling from her nose, and tears dripping out of her eyes. Sandra had gone in first, and her brow furrowed as she stared at the movie star’s slumped form.
Bile rose in my gut. There was so much blood, pooling in her lap, and dripping from the knife lodged in her chest.
I turned away, and came face-to-face with Michael, who also stared at her with an odd look of horror and fascination on his boyishly handsome features.
"This is just great. You know, we had funding for this film because of her and Clark. Now, she’s dead," Sandra said, shaking her head.
"Sandy, phone the police," Michael said softly.
Sandra glared hard, first at Michael, then me.
"I’ll do it," I said and rushed out of the trailer. The cold sea wind bit at my cheeks and my fingers trembled as I dialed Dean’s number. I probably should’ve gone for 911, but my brain was a jumbled mess right then.
Mary Jones—dead. Sure, she’d been an unpleasant piece of work. A phony, and she made my life hell back in high school, but that didn’t mean I wanted her dead now.
“What’s going on?" Dean said, his voice tight.
I swallowed, though my throat felt filled with sand. "Mary Jones is dead. I think she was murdered,"
"Where?" Dean asked. I told him, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Okay. Make sure no one messes with the crime scene if you can.”
I found myself nodding, but he obviously couldn’t see it. "Roger," I said and mentally kicked myself as I hung up the phone.
I turned around and noticed the line of people in front of Quintessence’s trailer. I frowned.
“You need to step away from there. It’s a crime scene," I called and marched up to the door.
The rodent-like sound guy I had noticed from before stood in the back, his eyes wide and a slick film of sweat on his forehead. Weird, to be sweating in the cold weather.
"Hey, you guys need to get out of her trailer,” I said and stepped inside as the crowd thinned, just to make sure it was empty now.
"You’re the caterer, not a cop," Sandra said, leaning against the vanity where Mary Jones was slumped.
Someone had pushed her body back, so her arms hung limp at both sides and her head rolled back. Her blue eyes were still open, sightless, and ghastly, and her mouth dropped. Her makeup was smeared on the side, as if she tried to wipe her lipstick off quickly and hadn’t done a thorough job. She still wore her ball gown from the night before.
So, she had gone home. She just didn’t make it to her bed.
Heat rose to my cheeks, and my heart throbbed in my ears. "I might not be a cop, but I’m also not an idiot. This is a crime scene and unless you want to be convicted of murder, I’d get out if I were you," I said, hands on my hips, giving the producer my deadliest glare.
Michael grabbed Sandra’s arm and tugged. "She’s right. Come on."
Sandra melted at the touch and slunk out of the trailer with Michael. As he reached the door, he grabbed my hand as well, warm and dry, with that slight callous on the palm.
I let myself be led out and stood in front of the door.
As we got outside, Sandra looked at Michael’s hand grasping mine and pulled her arm out of his grip. Sirens blared in the distance, and within minutes, police were swarming over the set with Detective Harper and Detective Woods in their lead.
I felt my body sag as Dean came into view and I mentally went over my alibi. Hey, can you blame me? After what happened with Jenny Walker, I didn’t want to ever be in the position where I was a suspect for murder again. This time, I had to be in the clear.
Ivy and I had arrived together and had been amongst a crowd of the film crew ever since, serving food and drinks. That was all.
Dean smiled tightly. "Thanks. Who stepped in here before we arrived?" he asked, as Woods and a group of forensics slowly entered the trailer.
Only about half the movie did, I thought to myself. "I saw a group of PAs, the director, the producer, and me," I said.
Dean’s lips etched into a frown. "You couldn’t help yourself, could you?"
My lips pursed. "You told me to keep everyone out, and they were all trampling your crime scene. So yes. I couldn’t help myself. It’s not that I like dead bodies. I just keep stumbling across them.”
Dean’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll question you when we’re done here."
"Okay, just be sure not to accuse me of this one," I said and felt my mouth quirk up at the corner.
"I don’t think that’ll be necessary," Dean said, giving me a slight smile back.
Flirting at a crime scene—how much lower could I sink?
My heart pounded, and I’m not sure if it was from Mary Jones’s murdered body or Dean Harper’s boyish charm.
When I made it back to Ivy at Unit Base, she paced in front of the food truck, and her hair looked wilder than ever. Not due completely to the wind, either.
"Is it true? People are saying there’s blood everywhere, and she was stabbed, and—”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed. They felt like ice beneath mine. "She was stabbed. Once, I think. And she’s dead."
Ivy let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Just like Jenny Walker."
I shook my head. "Jenny Walker was killed by her husband. This is completely different. Unless Mary’s husband did it,” I said and set about reorganizing the pastries on the table. I needed something to do with my hands while I waited. “That Clark Duncan guy.”
Her husband had been outside the trailer, along with that creepy sound guy. What if they did something to her and we’d just … left them to do it?
I frowned at myself and Ivy set about helping me. We worked for a while in silence, but it weighed heavily on me, like a great black weight draped over my shoulders.
“Or Adam,” Ivy said and plopped into one of the chairs behind the table.
“I don’t think Adam could be capable of murder. We’ve known him our whole lives.”
There was nothing more I could do with the pastries after setting them out, so I joined her and rubbed my hands together. “Yeah. But we also didn’t think Matthew could be capable, and look what he did. The old man was a natural born psychopath.” She shivered, probably recalling all the moments we’d ever encountered him.
I chewed on my bottom lip. “Yeah … And Adam did threaten her.”
The pit in my gut grew. We’d had a similar conversation after Jenny died— reminiscing about her sweet husband Matthew. The one who couldn’t have killed her because he was so nice. He worked at the library for goodness sakes. He did magic shows for the kids. He wasn’t a killer. Only, he was.
Still, we also jumped to some erroneous conclusions too. Most notably Maggie White and Wyatt.
It was best to keep my mouth shut then and get more evidence before I said anything. Plus, like the producer so kindly reminded me, I wasn’t a detective. Neither was Ivy. And Dean and his partner were good at their jobs.
We just happened to have beaten them to the punch last time. That didn’t mean it would happen again.
After a good hour, hardly anyone dropped by the food service table besides a few frightened-looking members of the film crew. And they’d simply grabbed a scone or sandwich and skittered off. Then, I heard the commotion of the cops loading Mary’s body into the ambulance, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Did you see anyone else skulking around?" I asked Ivy. More to keep busy than anything else.
Here I thought working on a movie set would be harder than running the tea shop. Turns out it was a whole lot more boring. But they didn’t have movie stars get murdered every day, either.
This probably meant I woul
dn’t be getting my new kitchen or that wonderful oven I had my heart set on. Probably not the best time to lament about something like that when someone had just been murdered. I wasn’t trying to be callous, just thinking realistically.
Ivy shook her head. “No. Just that Jacob guy who Mary called a creepy weirdo.”
“Yeah, I saw that, too. I didn’t catch much of the husband though.”
“I thought Clark was still in character or something, eating that bag of chips like he owned the place. Didn’t you see him?”
"Who? George Clooney?" I asked and felt my expression go dreamy and my pupils dilate.
Ivy playfully smacked me on the arm. "Clark Duncan. He’s kind of old—close to your age—but he’s still really hot. His hair’s usually all black and slicked back, and his face was set like this. And after Quintessence left, his teeth were bared, and he looked ready to punch someone but in a sexy way," she said.
With Ivy’s hilarious description, it took me a moment to visualize him. It had been dark that night, but now … he played the lead role in a few romantic comedies we’d watched together. Yes! And I could’ve sworn he was supposed to be in some new superhero film, but I wasn’t sure which one. There was something else about him, something that I usually didn’t pay attention to that flitted through my mind.
"Wait. Didn’t they have a wedding in the Bahamas?”
Ivy’s mouth dropped open. "Oh my gosh! I forgot about that. I remember when I read about it in People I just wanted to rip Quintessence’s stupid hair out. It’s like everything in her life was perfect,” Ivy said and stomped her foot.
"Yeah, until someone stabbed her in the heart," I said dryly.
A flush rose to Ivy’s cheeks. "Yeah. Besides that. But still. Clark Duncan wanted to divorce her, which explains the ‘papers’ Mary refused to sign."
I nodded. He’d openly taunted the woman he was married to, and he didn’t flip about her cheating on him. It made sense. “Why was he the lead in the movie if they didn’t get along?"
Ivy shrugged. "I don’t know. They usually don’t let married couples do movies together, do they? I mean, it usually doesn’t work out."
I didn’t pay enough attention to Hollywood most of the time to know if that was true or not. Besides the whole Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez incident.
"Yeah, it seems like it’s not the best idea."
Dean approached a few minutes later, his face an expressionless mask, and my heart dropped into my boots. I half-expected him to slap cuffs around me, but thankfully he didn’t.
"What can you tell me about everything that happened before and after they found her body?" he said, his voice tired and worn down.
I wondered how many other people he’d asked that same question to already.
Ivy and I answered him, and Dean rose his eyebrow at Ivy’s description of both Clark Duncan and Juno’s brother. When I mentioned Jacob, his eyebrows raised even higher.
"And they came from the direction of her trailer?" Dean asked.
Ivy nodded. "You don’t think Adam did it, do you? You were friends in high school, right?"
I snorted. "We dated in high school. That didn’t stop him from accusing me of murder."
Dean stiffened at that and let out a breath. "I’m just looking for the facts. Personal relationships with any of the suspects aren’t relevant. And I am sorry about the Jenny Walker thing. I didn’t think you were involved, Olive,” he said and sounded completely sincere.
I smiled, which wasn’t forced at all. "I was giving you a hard time."
Still, that didn’t prompt a smile from him, which meant something was wrong.
"Come on, Harper. We’ve got work to do," Woods called from across the film set.
Dean’s gray eyes met mine and held for a long moment. "What can you tell me about Adam? His new address? Phone number? Where does he work? I really need to talk to him."
Ivy swallowed and shook her head.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Yeah. You have to cover all your bases. Look at anybody who might’ve done it then cross them off the suspect list when you find out they’re innocent. That’s what he’s doing, Ivy,” I said and rattled off what I knew about Juno’s older brother.
Ivy filled in the rest, such as the store he worked at and that he coached football practice at San Bas High School.
But as Dean turned to go, Ivy’s nails bit into my skin. "They think he did it."
I nodded. "You should probably call Juno."
Chapter Seven
Juno’s eyes were full of tears when we stepped into the diner that afternoon. Since Quintessence had been killed, film shooting was called off for the day. But Sandra did tell us to be there at four a.m. the next morning—which caused Ivy and I to glance at each other, eyebrows raised. If the lead actress was dead, how were they going to continue shooting? And with who?
But it turned out caterers aren’t privy to that sort of information.
And I had signed the contract. If I didn’t show up for work, it wouldn’t look good, and I wouldn’t get my new kitchen, or the money promised.
"Is what everyone is saying true? Is Quintessence Lovejoy dead?" Juno said, the last word coming out as hardly a breath of air.
I nodded, and Ivy took her hands to squeeze them. "We don’t think Adam did it. But the police—"
I felt my jaw tense, remembering Dean and his meeting with Quintessence about security that morning. It hadn’t done anything to protect her.
"The police just want to talk to him. They did the same thing to me with the whole Jenny Walker business. I’m sure it’s nothing serious," I said and forced myself to smile.
Juno’s shoulders sagged, and she wrung her hands. “Can we talk privately for a minute?" she asked, her eyes imploring both of us.
Oh no. She wanted to talk privately? That couldn’t be good.
I nodded stiffly, and Ivy bustled us to the farthest corner in the diner. The lunch rush had already passed, but the few patrons who remained, eyed us curiously. I couldn’t blame them. With all the extra excitement in San Bastion Bay at the time due to the movie, the word of Quintessence Lovejoy’s murder stirred everything up even more.
Juno let out a long breath like a deflating balloon. "Okay, I don’t think Adam did it. He never hurt anyone like that, but ever since it arrived, he’s gone to set at least once a day. I don’t know why, because when I asked him about it he got all weird. What do you think that means?"
I worried my bottom lip and glanced at Ivy.
She grinned, probably trying to ease her best friend’s nerves. "Maybe the film crew needed a football expert and they asked him to come?”
I flinched at how ridiculous that sounded. From what I could tell, the movie they were shooting was about a woman in a seaside town who found out she had mystical powers and was, actually, the long-lost mermaid princess. Ridiculous, but it was based on some superhero comic book, so it was slated to make hundreds of millions of dollars.
Quintessence, of course, was in the lead role.
Though now …
Juno swallowed heavily and didn’t look in the least convinced. "Yeah. You’re probably right. The movie people just wanted to talk to him about something. Maybe the hero was a football player and Mary mentioned something about Adam and asked him to come to set and …” Her voice trailed off.
Ivy squeezed her hand. "Why was Adam visiting Mary Jones?"
Juno stiffened.
She was a terrible liar—probably worse than me—and I felt my body go rigid. If she didn’t tell us the truth, what were we supposed to do then? I’d known Juno since she was born. I’d known her brother since before that. And while I couldn’t picture him killing anybody, that didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. He’d been one of the last ones to see her, after all, before she left for the event.
"That’s the thing. I think he was going to see her. At least once. Then when he got home the other night, I went by his place to return this flannel I borrowed, and he was so mad. I don�
��t even know why, but he punched a hole in the wall of his apartment." She said the last part so quickly it was practically a jumble of words.
Ivy’s face drained of color, and I felt as if mine did the same. "He punched a hole in his wall?"
"Is that bad?" Juno asked and pulled her long platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. It hung to her waist, and she twirled her fingers around it and tugged at the ends.
I found myself doing the same with one of my braids. "Honestly, it’s not great. But maybe he was mad about something else. Maybe someone cut him off in traffic."
Ivy nodded quickly. "Yeah. Or he stubbed his toe. That always makes me angry. I mean, I wouldn’t punch a hole in a wall, but you know.”
Juno nodded and let out another sigh. "You’re right. But, just in case, can you help him?"
"Help him how?" Ivy asked, before I got the chance.
I had a feeling I knew what was coming, and the sensation in my stomach was either dread or excitement. Hard to tell which, considering.
"Help prove his innocence. You know, kinda how you figured out who really killed Jenny Walker. You can do the same thing, and make sure Adam doesn’t get sent to prison for something he didn’t do," Juno said and leaned across the table. It looked like she hadn’t wiped it down yet because there was a sticky mass of steak sauce that her elbow slipped through.
“We’ll do what we can," I said, before I even realized what I’d done.
Ivy nodded. "Of course. You know we’d do anything for you, June Bug," she said and smiled.
Juno gave us a watery smile and wiped her eyes. "Yeah. I should get back to work, but you know where Adam works, right? And where he lives?"
We both nodded. And as we walked out of the diner, the heavy weight that had draped over my shoulders before returned.
"You know, we’re doing this to help Juno and her brother, but what if he’s the one who did it?"
Ivy shook her head, her dark hair swaying around her pale cheeks. A gust of wind came up and blew it into her mouth. She pulled it out and I fought not to giggle. There was a reason I wore mine in braids. "Not possible."
