Death and Her Devotion
Author: Kendra Elliot
Date: 2016-10-25 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romantic Suspense; Mystery; Romance; Novella; Suspense; Fiction; Thriller; Crime; Mystery Thriller
Description: In the first Rogue Vows novella, Zane and Stevie are about to get an unexpected wedding present…and it’s a deadly one. It should be the happiest weekend of Officer Stevie Taylor’s life. She’s finally going to marry Police Chief Zane Duncan and live happily ever after in Solitude, Oregon. But all wedding plans grind to a halt when a dead body is found at a nearby campground. A vacationing A-list TV actor has been murdered…and all hell is about to break loose. When it comes to a celebrity murder, everyone has a motive—and everyone wants a piece of the action. As news media and paparazzi swarm th
Publisher: Montlake Romance

ALSO BY KENDRA ELLIOT

Bone Secrets Novels

Hidden

Chilled

Buried

Alone

“Veiled” (short story)

Known

Callahan & McLane
Part of the Bone Secrets World

Vanished

Bridged

Spiraled

Targeted

Rogue River Novellas

On Her Father’s Grave

Her Grave Secrets

Rogue Winter Novella

Dead in Her Tracks

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2016 Kendra Elliot
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

e-ISBN: 9781503995529

Cover design by Eileen Carey

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

“Stevie?” Sheila’s voice came over the police radio. “We’ve got a body out at the Crying Indian Campground.”

Stevie pulled a neat U-turn in her patrol vehicle to head in the campground’s direction and picked up her mic. “Accidental drowning?” The Crying Indian site backed up to the Rogue River near a calm eddy, and with the July heat, people were venturing into any water to cool off—people who didn’t know how to swim.

“Not a drowning. Ralph, the campground host, called me. Said the body’s in the woods, and it looks like he was murdered.”

Damn it. Solitude hadn’t had a murder since December, when the police discovered a killer with a penchant for abusing and then permanently disposing of young women. In Stevie’s opinion, there had been enough deaths that month to last Solitude through the next decade.

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Zane and Kenny will be there as soon as they can.”

She floored the accelerator and sped down the empty two-lane highway. Seven a.m. was early for a dead body, and she yawned, cursing her late night.

It wasn’t my fault.

Her mother and her brother Bruce had kept her up half the night discussing the music selections for her wedding and reception this coming weekend. When Stevie finally blurted that she didn’t care what was played, her musical family blew up. To them, music was as important as food.

She understood. Music was part of her soul, but she was tired of deliberating every available option for her wedding and making decisions.

Food. Location. Decor. Table settings. Her dress. Bridesmaids’ dresses. Flower girl dress. Tuxes. Flowers. Cake.

While driving to work this morning, she’d grown deliriously happy as she realized she could avoid all wedding talk for the next ten hours.

Is this normal for a bride?

But the minute she’d entered the police department, her fiancé, Zane, had asked if she’d picked out the song for “our dance.”

At the look on her face, he’d taken a step back and asked if she’d like more coffee.

She pulled into the Crying Indian Campground and parked next to the host’s ancient trailer. Ralph had lived at the campground as long as she could remember, and she suspected the tires of his trailer hadn’t driven on blacktop in decades. Pinecones and pollen covered the tarp over his huge wood stack. FIREWOOD $5/BUNDLE read the sign.

Ralph came jogging up the narrow campground road, waving his old fishing hat at her. The short man’s legs were severely bowed, and Stevie’s knees hurt as she watched him run.

“It’s this way,” he huffed at her, spinning around and heading back the way he’d come. She got out and followed at a slow jog.

“What happened?”

“Dunno.” Ralph gasped for breath, his legs taking twice as many strides as her long ones. “One of his friends came and beat on my door this morning, saying their friend was dead. I took a look, felt for a pulse, and then called Sheila. They wanted to call 911, but I told them calling Sheila direct would get faster results out here.”

Sadly, it was true.

“Nice bunch of guys. Quiet and didn’t cause any problems,” Ralph said. “They said they didn’t want to make a scene this morning and asked me to not wake up any other campers.”

Stevie noticed that every campsite they passed contained a tent or trailer, but no curious faces peered out. An unusual sight for an emergency. The next dozen campsites they passed were empty, but on each site’s post hung a RESERVED tag. A hundred feet ahead, at the end of the campground, she saw four identical tents. “Why are all these sites empty?”

“This group of guys bought them all for the week even though they didn’t use them. Said they wanted some privacy.”

She was instantly annoyed; the group must have kept several families from finding a place to camp. The big black Hummer parked next to the new, bright-blue tents increased her annoyance. Out-of-towners.

Campsite rental was cheap. But for some families it was the only affordable means of vacationing.

Two guys stood by the Hummer, deep in conversation as she approached. A child’s face peered out of one of the vehicle’s lowered windows. “They’ve got kids with them?” Stevie asked Ralph in a low voice.

“Just the one boy. I believe the dead man was his uncle.”

Pity shot through her. He’ll never forget this camping trip.

The shorter of the two men stepped forward and held out his hand as Stevie arrived. “Thank you for coming.” His hand was damp, and his green eyes were rimmed in red. He’d pulled on a cap over his bleached, spiky hair. A tall, skinny man stayed at the truck, holding the boy’s hand through the window. Both men wore spotless, expensive sneakers and Apple Watches. The one at the truck had both of his ears pierced.

Definitely not locals.

Stevie introduced herself. Bleached hair was Josh and the skinny guy was Spider. “Show me the way.”

The men exchanged a look, and Spider spoke. “I’ll stay here with Brandon. He doesn’t want to get out of the Hummer.”

“I’m expecting more officers,” Stevie said to Spider. “Can you send them our way when they arrive?”

Spider nodded, and the young boy ducked his head out of sight as Stevie smiled at him. She and Ralph followed Josh down a dirt path between their tents and deeper into the woods. Crying Indian was a heavily used campground during the summer. Under the tall firs, the packed dirt ground was scattered with pine needles. Every stick or twig that could be used in a campfire was long gone. They passed trees that had huge sections of bark stripped away, the smooth living wood of their trunks exposed. No doubt the bark had been stolen to burn.

“What happened to your friend?” Stevie asked Josh.

“I’m not sure.”

She’d originally thought Josh was in his early twenties, but as she walked next to him, she realized he had to be at least thirty. He dressed young: baggy cargo shorts and a tank top. No wedding ring. Brandon appeared to be about ten, and she assumed Spider was his father.

“Chase wasn’t in his tent when I got up this morning. I didn’t think much of it until I’d been up for fifteen minutes and he hadn’t appeared. That’s when I asked Spider and Toby if he’d said he was going somewhere.”

“Toby?”

“He’s up ahead with . . . with the body.” Josh shook his head and wiped his eyes. “He’s a mess . . . we’re all a mess. The four of us are pretty tight. And finding Chase like that . . .”

“Had either of them talked to Chase this morning?” Stevie asked, stepping over a well-worn root that crossed their path.

“No. The three of us started hollering his name and decided to search.”

The Rogue River grew louder as they walked, and Stevie smelled the cool water and damp moss that covered its rocks. “Who found him?”

“Toby.” Josh stumbled, but Stevie didn’t see a rock in the path. “Oh God.” His voice cracked. “How did this happen to us?”

Stevie spotted a man up ahead. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his cargo shorts, his shoulders slumped, and his cap was slightly crooked. Where Josh and Spider looked as if they spent a lot of time in the gym, Toby appeared to prefer time on the couch. Stevie noted he wore the same expensive shoes and watch. He was crying and had a difficult time looking her in the eye.

Josh and Ralph stayed back as Toby led her past a giant fir, its trunk at least five feet in diameter. On the other side lay a man on his back. A belt was cinched tight around his neck and his arms were stretched above his head. Toby halted several feet from the body.

“I wanted to take off the belt, but the other guys wouldn’t let me,” whispered Toby through a fresh wave of tears. “They said he was long dead and to leave it because it’s evidence.”

“They were right. Stay back, okay?” Stevie pulled out her camera and started taking pictures, working her way to the body. Their friend was dead. Flies were buzzing in his mouth and eyes, and she smelled a hint of decay, something putrid and rotting, over the fresh, wet smells of the river. “Did you touch him?” she asked Toby.

“I shook him, but he was cold. Then the other guys pulled me away.”

“What’s his name again?” Stevie asked as she started taking pictures of the corpse. Same shoes; same watch.

“Chase.”

“Chase what?” she asked with a touch of impatience. Toby didn’t answer, and she turned around to see if he was listening.

Toby looked at his shoes. “Chase Ryan,” he said softly.

Stevie froze and then spun to look at the body, recognizing the hair and face.

Chase Ryan. Big-time TV star.

Solitude Police Chief Zane Duncan plowed through the woods. A half step behind him, Kenny talked nonstop about the Hummer in the campground.

“I’ve never driven one,” Kenny said. “Heck, I’ve never even sat in one. I really think they look good in black, although I’ve seen them in a sporty yellow. It takes a lot of guts to drive a big vehicle in that color. I don’t know if I could do it. Think it’d be okay if I took a closer look at it when we’re done?”

“Might need it for evidence,” Zane said.

“Oh! Good point.”

Zane followed the path that Spider had indicated, wondering what they’d find. Up ahead he spotted Ralph with a guy in a cap. With her camera in hand, Stevie stepped out from behind a huge tree with a third man.

Stevie made introductions and indicated for Zane and Kenny to follow her. Hanging back, Josh slung an arm around Toby’s shoulders, and both men looked ready to collapse. “What happened?” Zane asked Stevie in a low voice as they left the small group.

“These four guys and the ten-year-old were up here for a week of camping and fishing,” Stevie reported as they rounded a fir. “This morning when they got up, the fourth guy, Chase, was missing. After searching, they found him here. It looks like he was strangled with a belt. They said it’s the victim’s belt.” She turned and held a hand up to halt him and Kenny midstride, a serious look on her face. “There’s one more thing. The victim is Chase Ryan.”

Zane couldn’t place the name.

“The actor?” Kenny squeaked. “From Detective Alex Gunn?”

It clicked. “The TV crime show?” Zane asked as shock blew through him. Last night he’d caught a Gunn rerun and shared popcorn with his dog Magic on the couch beside him. He’d frequently relied on the dog for company since Stevie’s mother had insisted she live at home until the wedding. When Patsy put her foot down, people obeyed.

It can’t be the TV star.

Zane stepped around Stevie and studied the corpse. Flies were everywhere. Swelling had distorted the man’s face, and his eyes were clouded. The resemblance to the young detective on TV was rapidly diminishing, but it was still there. Kenny took off his hat and held it against his chest. “I love that show,” he whispered. “What the heck was Chase doing out here?”

“Vacationing. They came up here from Los Angeles to get away from it all,” said Stevie. “The other three guys all work for Chase, but they’ve been close friends for a long time. Spider, the guy out by the Hummer, is Chase’s brother.”

“Isn’t Chase Ryan originally from the Portland area?” Zane asked.

“Yes, all of them are. The four of them went to high school together, and according to Toby, Chase headed to Hollywood along with Josh. When he hit it big, he hired Toby and Spider and brought them south to join him.”

“Hired them to do what?” asked Kenny. “Where can I get a job like that?”

“It sounds like Josh is Chase’s manager, but I don’t know what the rest of the guys do,” said Stevie. “Is Hank on his way?” she asked Zane, referring to the medical examiner.

“He is. Shouldn’t be long. Get enough photos? See anything odd in the area?”

“I marked where I’ve searched,” said Stevie. “But we need to expand the area. I haven’t found anything besides pinecones and dirt.”

Zane crouched next to the body. “Who would do something like this?” He took a closer look at the belt around Chase’s neck and his swelling flesh bulging over the leather. There are three suspects to start with.

“I can’t believe it,” Kenny repeated for the tenth time. “That was one of my favorite shows. It was a police show done right, you know? Raw and gritty and realistic. They didn’t Hollywood up everything. Until they blew up his costar in the season finale.” He shook his head. “There’s no way she’s dead after five seasons of high ratings. I think they’re trying to pull one over on the audience.”

“Not now, Kenny,” Zane muttered.

“Morning, Chief.” Hank appeared with his medical examiner’s bag of tricks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“No offense, but I like it that way,” stated Zane.

“That’s what everyone says.” Hank slid on his glasses, and his thick white mustache and beard twitched as he squatted next to the body. His shorts and sneakers gave Zane an image of Santa on vacation. “Got your pictures?”

Zane nodded, but gestured for Stevie to continue shooting as Hank did a quick examination of the body.

“Rigor isn’t fully set,” Hank mumbled. “I’ll get a temperature to narrow our window. When did anyone see him last?”

“I’ll ask,” Kenny volunteered, and headed toward Toby, Josh, and Ralph.

Zane looked away as Hank slid his thermometer into Chase’s liver. “I’ll leave the belt around his neck until I get him on a table,” Hank said as he moved to palpate the skull. “Hmmm. Feels like some swelling back here. Could he have hit his head in a fall?”

The three of them scanned the area for rocks. None.

“I’ll check it later,” Hank promised. “Hard to wrap a belt around someone’s neck and effectively choke them without some resistance from the victim. Usually the strangulation is secondary after a primary blow or being overpowered.” He checked the man’s hands and lower arms. “No defensive wounds.” With a quick pull, he removed the thermometer, and his lips moved silently as he did some quick subtraction. “I’d say he’s been dead roughly ten to six hours. That helpful for now? I’ll narrow it later.”

“So he died between ten last night and two in the morning,” said Zane.

“Roughly,” emphasized Hank.

“Sounds like Josh was the last one to see him, around midnight last night,” said Kenny, rejoining the group. “I’ll double-check with the guy waiting out by the Hummer . . . the bug guy . . .”

“Spider,” supplied Stevie.

“Yeah, him. I’ll ask if he saw him after that, but Toby and Josh don’t think he did.”

“That tightens our window a bit,” said Zane. “We need to get those guys separated and start asking questions.”

Stevie nodded. “I’m on it.”

Zane studied the dead TV star. The famous Detective Alex Gunn was dead.

Time for me to figure out who did it.

CHAPTER TWO

Stevie watched Josh Black’s hands shake as he accepted a cup of coffee from her. She noticed he simply held it, not drinking.

The man looked shell-shocked.

She’d driven him back to the station while Zane drove the other two men and young Brandon. Kenny had stayed behind to question some of the other campers. A few people had finally emerged from their tents and watched as the wagon from the morgue slowly made its way to the far end of the campground. By the time Stevie and Zane were ready to leave, the number of people had increased to more than twenty.

She’d pulled Ralph aside and ordered him not to talk about the death. Not the name of the victim or what he saw. “Lie,” she directed. “Tell them you were too nervous to get close and see a body. You can say he was from out of town and his friends are upset. No more than that.” He’d agreed, but she’d seen his chest puff up with importance as they walked past the spectators.

Please keep it quiet.

If word got out that the A-list actor had died in their tiny town, it’d become a zoo.

She had led Josh to the tiny conference room while Zane interviewed Toby. Spider and Brandon waited out by Sheila’s desk. The office manager had tried to get the boy to smile with a gigantic cinnamon roll from Nell’s. But Brandon had just stared at it, as if he wondered whether the plate-size roll was actual food. Spider had politely accepted it. Stevie had noticed that Spider’s eyes looked exactly like Chase Ryan’s, but other than that and the hair, which was the same color, the brothers were very different. Where Chase was Hollywood sexy, Spider was awkwardly tall and seemed uncertain how to coordinate his long limbs.

Stevie had felt the same way in junior high when her height rocketed five inches in nine months. But she’d grown into it. Spider seemed continually surprised at how far away his hands and feet were.

She focused on the man in front of her. Josh Black was thirty. He was Chase Ryan’s manager, and Toby was his younger brother. The two sets of brothers had been friends since grade school and had camped at Crying Indian every summer for the last three years.

“Does Brandon always come?” Stevie asked.

“Yes. He’s our mascot. The rest of the year he lives in Portland with his mother, so this trip is one of the few times we get to see him.”

“His parents aren’t married?”

“No. It didn’t work out.” He shifted in his chair and grimaced. “My girlfriend’s pregnant. We haven’t decided if we’ll get married.” He met Stevie’s gaze. “Believe it or not, Hollywood is a hard life. We’re always on the move and there’s no stability.”

“I can understand that Chase would be busy with filming all the time, but you other three guys work for him, right? Is it really so busy that you can’t have a family?”

“It’s a different world.”

Stevie let the silence stretch between them, but Josh didn’t jump in to fill it. He simply looked at her. Visions of the TV show Entourage filled her head. Drinking, partying, women.

“You’re Chase’s manager. What exactly do you do?”

“Everything Chase doesn’t want to do. He hates the business side of acting and trusts me to make decisions for him. Or to bring the important ones to his attention and give my advice.”

“Do you handle his money?”

“Not really. We have a team of accountants and investment guys who do that. But I’m the one who talks to them. Chase doesn’t want anything to do with it. He’s asked me to keep him apprised of any big changes. That’s it.”

“Tell me about last evening. What did everyone do?”

Josh took a deep breath. “We roasted hot dogs for dinner. Then marshmallows. The four of us sat around the fire and drank beer until Brandon fell asleep in his chair. He was put to bed and then we sat and talked for a few more hours.”

“What did you talk about?”

“What didn’t we talk about?” Josh spread his hands. “Work, girls, beer, fishing. Then we each went to our own tent after eleven. Toby went to bed first. Then Spider, and then Chase and I went last . . . I told the other officer I thought it was close to midnight.”

“How did Chase seem? Was he concerned about anything?”

“He’s always concerned. He’s making a lot of money right now, but it could all dry up in a split second. His series could be canceled. He might never get another job and find himself shooting Viagra commercials. It’s like a dark cloud always hanging over his head.”

“I imagine he feels responsible for the three of you in some way too. Without him, you’re all out of a job.”

Josh shrugged. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What will you do for work now? I assume Chase was the only actor you managed?” She pushed, wanting him out of his comfort zone and on edge.

“I’m out of a job,” he said softly. “I went to LA with Chase and I did the acting classes and auditions too. I can go back to it, but I didn’t have the magic that Chase did. He was special, you know? The camera loved him.”

“He was very popular,” Stevie agreed. Josh was right. Chase had the It factor—that special something that’s hard to describe but that you know when you see it. “Who were his enemies?”

Distaste crossed his face. “Chase didn’t have enemies. Everyone loved him.”

“Who’d want to hurt him?”

“I don’t know. It had to be some psycho . . . someone passing through town or some crazy nut who lives here. Surely you know the people around here that would be capable of this. Why aren’t you out searching for them?”

“Yeah, I need to go line up our usual suspects,” Stevie said evenly. She leaned forward and held his gaze. “Step one is to interview the people who were actually there when he died. Like you.”

He looked down at the table.

“Did you hear anything after you went to bed? Who else knew you were camping here?”

Josh kept his gaze down. “I didn’t hear anything, and I fell asleep right away. Chase’s agent knows we’re here. Brandon’s mom, Jenny. Probably Chase’s publicist.”

“Write down their names and numbers.” Stevie pushed a note pad across the table. Josh took out his phone and started copying contact information.

“You don’t know of anyone who had it in for him?” Stevie asked again.

“No.” Josh didn’t look up from his writing. “He’s got the usual weirdo fans who send him hate mail or whatever. We turn it over to the police. There’s never been anything that really concerned us. Well . . . that’s not quite true.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a crazy chick. She was dating an acquaintance of ours but has been obsessed with Chase. She got in a fight with her boyfriend and set his apartment on fire back in LA. He said they fought over Chase. She seemed to think she could actually be with him if this guy wasn’t in her way.” Josh grinned. “She’s nuts. She pops up here and there every now and then, taking pictures of Chase, but we can usually ditch her.”

“She set her boyfriend’s apartment on fire?” That was an angry woman.

“It was a small fire. She showed up in Hilton Head last time Chase was on vacation, but security got rid of her.”

“That’s on the other side of the country.”

“She gets around.”

Josh didn’t seem worried, but Stevie thought it was one of the nuttier stories she’d heard. Maybe this woman’s actions were typical when someone was a big star. “Add what you know about her to that list, please.”

“You’re gonna figure out who did this, right?” Josh asked, his eyes pleading with her.

She looked him over. She’d expected a big Hollywood manager to be screaming for her to call in the FBI, CIA, and NSA to figure out who’d murdered a national treasure. Instead he seemed willing to let their small-time police department handle it.

Something wasn’t right.

Toby was a wreck.

Zane had had to find a replacement box of Kleenex after Toby emptied one during the first two minutes of their interview.

“You and Chase were close?”

“He was like my brother. Sometimes I liked him better than Josh. Actually a lot of the time.” More sniffling.

“What did you do for Chase?”

“Whatever he needed. The four of us share a big house in LA. I do most of the cooking because I went to culinary school. I try to make his life easier so he can focus on his job.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be working in a restaurant somewhere?” Zane couldn’t imagine a job where all he did was cook for a few guys.

Wide eyes stared at him. “When I can live in LA and work the easiest job in the world for ten times the pay? Chase takes good care of all of us. There’s no better boss. He lets us do whatever we want, and as long as the food he wants is in the fridge, he’s happy with me.”

“Now what will you do?”

Toby’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know. Look for a job, I guess.”

“You said when you went to bed last night, the other three guys were still up, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t hear anyone moving around during the night?”

Toby pressed his lips together. “I had several beers. I slept pretty hard until Josh woke me this morning.”

“Was everyone drunk?”

“No. Just buzzed. You know. Enough to be relaxed and happy.” He ducked his head, a look of embarrassment on his face.

Zane knew the autopsy report would say how much alcohol was in Chase’s system. The other three men had appeared to function well this morning. If anyone was fighting a hangover, he hadn’t seen it. “Anyone with an alcohol problem? Illegal drug problem?”

Toby emphatically shook his head. “Neither. Chase doesn’t tolerate any illegal drugs at all in his house.”

“Why is that? Did someone get in trouble? Who was that?” Zane leaned forward. “Which one of you had a problem?”

The man squirmed in his seat.

“Speak up, Toby. You three are going to be under the magnifying glass until we get a lead on who killed Chase. Now is the time to air any dirty laundry. And besides, it sounds like this was an old problem, right?”

“Spider did too much coke one night. Chase was furious.”

Now we’re talking.

“So no hard drugs allowed?”

“That’s right. Pot’s okay, but not too much.”

That’s what they all say.

“We stick to beer when Brandon’s around.” His bloodshot green eyes were earnest. “Obviously no one had planned to drive anywhere last night, so it was okay to get buzzed.”

“It’s the unplanned driving that gets people in trouble,” Zane said. “Did Chase have anyone who hated him?”

“Hell no. Chase is the nicest guy in the world.”

Zane tapped his pencil on the table. “You’re talking about a major TV star. Plenty of people hate them and don’t care how nice they are. Did he have any recent fights or arguments with anyone?”

Toby frowned. “I think you’re making a mistake. Someone we know didn’t kill Chase. Someone came across him in the woods and killed him. You should be looking in the woods.”

“We are. I still have an officer out there.”

“Just one?”

“The county has assigned some deputies to help. It’s enough for now.” Zane crossed his fingers. He’d called Carter in on his day off, but the officer was still an hour away from helping Kenny. “What do you think Chase was doing in the woods after everyone went to bed?”

“Taking a leak?”

Zane’s phone buzzed with a text from Kenny. He read it and frowned. “We can’t find a cell phone that belongs to Chase. Do you know where it could be? My officer says it’s not in his tent or the vehicle.”

Lines formed across Toby’s forehead. “It should be in his tent.”

Zane pointed at Toby’s Apple Watch. “Chase have one of those?”

“Yeah, we all have them. Chase bought them for us last Christmas.”

“Chase wasn’t wearing one this morning,” Zane pointed out.

“Yes, he had to be. He always wears it. I saw it when we were sitting around the campfire last night,” Toby argued.

Zane was positive the body had bare wrists.

“Someone stole it.” Toby’s voice was high. “Whoever killed him stole it. And probably took his phone.”

“So this same guy went through Chase’s tent? While you all were snoring nearby? How would he know which tent was Chase’s?” Zane watched Toby carefully. The man couldn’t sit still in his chair. Zane couldn’t decide if he was truly distraught over his friend’s death or just nervous.

“I don’t know!” Toby yanked another Kleenex out of the box and loudly blew his nose.

“Are your phones linked?” Zane asked. “Can you track Chase’s phone?”

Toby froze, and then his face lit up. “They are! All of us can do that.” He pulled out his phone and started tapping. Zane moved around his desk to look over Toby’s shoulder and watched him open an app to search.

Nothing happened.

Toby wilted. “His phone’s powered off. Someone turned it off.”

“Can you see Spider’s?”

Toby touched the screen a few more times, and Zane heard a faint trilling coming from the waiting area of the police station.

“Yeah, I can see he’s right here.”

“Hang on a minute.” Zane left his office and headed down the hall to find Spider frowning at his phone. Brandon sat beside him, a frosting mustache on his upper lip. And cheeks. “Toby was just testing something,” he told Spider. “Ignore that.” Spider nodded, a wary look in his eyes.

Back in his office, Zane dropped back into his chair and eyed the man across his desk. “So you have no idea who would want to kill your friend?”

“No! Not at all!” Toby said with fervor.

Zane nodded. He didn’t know what to think. “I’m going to chat with Spider for a bit. Will Brandon be okay waiting with you?”

“Not a problem,” Toby assured him. “He’s comfortable with all of us.”

Stevie tightened her grip on her phone. Carly, her sister, who worked for Child Protective Services, had called after she heard a young boy had been present at the murder site.

“Are you sure the child is okay?” Carly asked. “He’s been through a shocking experience. I can find him someone to talk to.”

“I think he’ll be okay. He’s got his dad. He’s clinging pretty tightly to him, and I suspect that’s the best thing for Brandon right now. They didn’t let him see the body. He simply knows his uncle died.”

“Okay,” Carly said slowly. “If you see him acting out, we can offer some sort of help.” She was quiet a long moment. “Chase Ryan. I’m still stunned.”

Stevie understood. Her head had been spinning all morning.

“Everyone thought he was incredibly gorgeous,” Carly said. “He wasn’t my type . . . he was too dark and brooding all the time, but I know a lot of women had a thing for him.”

It felt inappropriate to listen to her sister discuss the looks of the murdered man, and she cleared her throat.

“And the show capitalized on it,” Carly continued in a speculating tone. “I swear they put in a shower scene every other episode.”

The image of Chase Ryan stepping out of the shower was too easy for Stevie to recall.

“And his towel was always just so, you know?” mused Carly. “They knew how to position that towel in all the publicity shots. Low on his hips and ready to drop at the slightest—”

“Carly.”

Her sister sighed. “Sorry. I watched with Mom a few times . . . she thought he was incredible. She would fan herself when Detective Gunn stepped out of the shower.”

“He had a wide appeal.”

“Have you talked to Mom today?” Carly asked.

“No. I’ve been a bit busy. I saw her last night.”

“Planning your wedding has put her over the moon. I haven’t seen her this happy since . . . well, since I don’t know when.”

Since before Dad died.

“I’m sincerely glad she’s enjoying it,” Stevie said. An image of Zane standing at the front of the church popped in her head. Tall, handsome, dressed in a tux, and smiling at her as she walked down the aisle. Soon.

“Will you have time to finish your wedding plans with this new investigation going on?”

“I am finished.”

“That’s not what Mom says.”

“Then Mom isn’t finished. I’m already head over heels in love with Zane. That’s the important part. Now I just need to show up.”

CHAPTER THREE

Stevie walked into the waiting area, where Brandon sat with Toby and Josh, as Zane interviewed Spider in his office. The boy suddenly yanked on Josh’s arm. “Can we leave now?” he asked. “I don’t want to be here anymore.I hate this place!”

Josh patted him on the back and raised a brow at Stevie.

“There’s a small park a block to the east,” she offered. “Why don’t you take him there until Zane’s done talking with Spider?”

The men agreed and left, with Brandon walking between the two of them.

Stevie watched them out the window, Carly’s words about Brandon’s emotional state running through her head. The boy appeared to have good support from his father and his father’s friends, but she’d keep an eye on him.

“He’s a good boy,” Sheila said from her desk. “Polite and well mannered. I think that little outburst was to get your attention.”

“Poor kid. He’s been sitting out here for an hour with nothing to do. Josh said they called Brandon’s mom, and she’s driving down from Portland today. Sounds like Brandon spends ninety-five percent of his time with her, so it’ll be good for him to have her here.”

Sheila sniffed, and the sparkles in her pink eye shadow glittered. “Children need two full-time parents.”

Stevie simply nodded, avoiding a discussion. “Have you heard from Kenny and Carter?”

“Yes, they’re nearly done interviewing everyone at the campground. The county evidence team finished a while ago, and Kenny told them to be discreet about the identity of the victim.”

“Good.” Stevie made a mental note to check in with the county soon and start applying pressure to get some evidence results fast.

The front door flung outward, and a gorgeous blonde woman stepped in. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she clutched a handful of used tissues to her chest.

Stevie blinked. The woman was a dead ringer for Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde, except her face was round, not heart shaped. She was petite, darling, and dressed from head to toe in pink. Flip-flops, shorts, and a cropped top.

“Did you find who killed Chase yet?” she whispered. Mascara ran down one cheek.

How did this woman hear about the murder? Stevie tensed, ready to ask her to leave.

Sheila stood. “Can I get your name, miss?” she asked in her no-nonsense voice.

“Cyndee Sykes. I’m Chase’s girlfriend,” she whispered.

Josh must have called her. Stevie’s heart cracked for the woman, and she stepped forward. “Why don’t you come with me and we can talk in private?” Sheila arched a brow and pursed her lips at the statement, but Stevie didn’t care if she was the only other person in the room and completely trustworthy. The woman deserved a quiet place to mourn.

Cyndee followed Stevie to the room where she’d interviewed Josh. The blonde promptly took a seat and pulled the Kleenex box toward her. She deftly plucked four tissues and wiped her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a bit of a mess,” she said with a sigh. “I just can’t believe it.”

Is she an actress? Stevie couldn’t place her name or face, but the woman was the epitome of Hollywood glitter. She had to be famous or else currently working hard to get there. She could easily imagine the woman on Chase’s arm.

“That’s understandable.” Stevie took a seat. She couldn’t stop staring. Perfect hair, perfect lips, perfect skin. If Cyndee walked into a party, everyone would turn to look. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

A fresh wave of tears flowed. “He was soooo wonderful. I can’t believe this happened. Have you caught the man who did it?”

“We don’t know what happened yet,” Stevie said gently. “We’re still collecting evidence and interviewing anyone who might have seen something.”

“Did his brother or friends see what happened?”

“We’re talking with them, but they were all asleep.”

“When they’re sleeping is usually the only time they stay out of trouble,” Cyndee said softly. “The guys always steer Chase into wild behavior.”

“What kind of wild behavior?” Stevie asked. Drugs? Could the murder be the result of a drug deal gone bad?

“Other women.” Sad eyes sought comfort from Stevie. “None of them approve of me. They’re always pushing Chase at other women.”

“That is a low thing to do. I’m so sorry.” Annoyance shot through Stevie. Relationships were hard enough without the guy’s friends wreaking havoc. She slammed shut a memory of her ex’s asshole friends. “Do you know if Chase was having problems with anyone? Or had an argument?”

“Oh, he argues with his buddies all the time,” Cyndee said. “It’s always something. Money. How they treat me. Their laziness.”

She’s painting a different picture of the men’s relationships. Are the three friends covering something up?

Cyndee frowned, perfect eyebrows coming together. “You really should be out searching for his killer instead of sitting in here.”

Why does everyone think I need to be outside to be productive?

“We’ve got plenty of people working the scene.”

“I saw. I swung by the campground first, hoping they’d let me in, but some officers told me to check in here. They wouldn’t even let me see where he died, and I knew they’d already removed the body.”

“Yes, we can’t have people possibly contaminating evidence at the scene. They did the right thing.”

“Can I see him?” she asked in a high voice.

“Not yet. He’s with the medical examiner,” she said, hoping the thought of an autopsy wouldn’t send Cyndee over the edge. “Is someone here with you?”

“No. I came alone.” She shredded the damp tissues into a pile on the table. She reminded Stevie of a hyper bouncing kitten, and it triggered her protective instincts.

Where am I going to put her?

There was a knock on the door and Zane shoved it open, Spider’s tall frame in the hallway behind him. “Hey, Stevie.” His gaze went to Cyndee and his eyes widened slightly. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were—”

“What the fuck?” Spider shouted, pushing in front of Zane and staring at Cyndee. “What the hell is she doing here? Did she do this? Did she kill Chase?”

Stevie jumped to her feet and blocked the tall man, who was moving toward Cyndee. She wasn’t kidding that they don’t like her. “Back off!” she ordered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cyndee cower in her seat, leaning as far away from Spider as possible.

“What’s going on?” Zane grabbed Spider’s shoulder and pushed him toward the wall, planting himself in front of Chase’s brother.

“She’s a psycho!” Spider hollered. “Don’t believe a word she’s told you,” he said to Stevie, nearly spitting as the words spilled out of his mouth.

Stevie turned to Cyndee.

“I told you they hate me!” Fresh tears ran. “They’ve tried to destroy our relationship from the first day!”

“Did she lie like usual and tell you she was Chase’s wife?” Spider bit the words off. Zane kept one hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place, but now eyed the woman in pink.

“Wife?” Zane asked, his gaze turning hard.

Cyndee got to her feet, tucking more Kleenex into her pink purse. “I never said I was his wife. You know it hasn’t progressed that far, Spider.” She shot him a tragic look. “Thanks for reminding me that now I never will be.”

Stevie looked from the angry man to the petite woman. What is going on?

Cyndee made her way around the small table, heading for the door. “I know when I’m not wanted.” She cast wary glances at Spider, giving him a wide berth.

“You’re a stalker,” Spider ground out. “Get out of here. Chase didn’t want anything to do with you. You’re probably the one who killed him!”

Stalker?

Cyndee whirled on Spider. “I did not kill Chase! I loved him.” Her innocent blue eyes were wide. “How dare you say something like that to me.”

“You’re a fucking nutcase. You’re . . . you’re a pyromaniac!”

Cyndee’s girlish manner evaporated, and a furious woman took over. It was a transformation that left Stevie speechless. “Don’t call me that! If it wasn’t for you and your idiot friends, Chase and I would be together.”

“In your dreams! Your psycho ward dreams!”

She met Stevie’s gaze one more time. “I loved him,” she stated quietly and then darted down the hall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spider said. “Stop her!”

“She hasn’t done anything,” Zane said. He looked at Stevie. “Did you get her information?”

“Crap. No, I didn’t. We’d only been talking a few minutes, and I was trying to calm her down.” A thought occurred to her, and she picked up the note pad where she’d asked Josh to write down the contact information of people who’d known Chase’s location. Below Chase’s agent’s name, he’d written, Crazy stalker chick: Cyndee Sykes.

She snowed me.

“Shit.” She hadn’t looked at the list after Josh finished. She looked to Spider. “That was the woman who Josh told me set an LA apartment on fire?”

“Yep.” An accusing gaze met hers. “And you let her walk out of here.”

“Why is she here?” Zane asked.

“She follows Chase everywhere. He has a restraining order against her back home. She’s not supposed to come within fifty yards of him. I don’t know how she found out about this trip, but I’m never surprised when her head pops up. I think she gets clues from our social media posts. We keep most of our locations secret, but she seems to be a pretty good detective. She drives all over . . . she’s got a little crappy trailer she pulls with a big pickup. She shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

“I’ll ask Sheila to put the word out.” Zane strode down the hall.

Spider glared at Stevie. “She had me fooled,” she confessed. “I really thought she was his girlfriend.”

“She’s good,” he admitted. “She’s fooled hotel clerks and security staff to get close to Chase. Is Brandon still out front?”

“Toby and Josh took him to a park. He’d had enough of the waiting room.”

“He’s a good kid.” Spider rubbed at his chin, his gaze unfocused. “This is going to be hard for him. He really loved Chase.”

“Seems like he’s close to your friends too.”

“Yeah. We’re all family.” He met Stevie’s gaze. “Find who did this, okay?”

“We’re working on it. Do you think Cyndee is a legitimate suspect?”

He sucked in a breath. “My first instinct is to say no. That tiny woman? I can’t see it. But there’s a lot more to her than you can see on the surface, you know?”

“I definitely know.” Lesson learned.

“She’s a stalker?” Sheila huffed at Zane’s news. “I knew I didn’t like her. I didn’t trust her the second she stepped in the door, looking like an actress from a B movie.” He listened as she conveyed Zane’s request for an APB on Cyndee’s truck and trailer. “Just try to come back here, honey,” Sheila muttered as she rearranged the clutter on her desk, banging staplers and coffee mugs. “I’ll show you what we think of liars in this town.”

Zane bit the inside of his cheek. Sheila was personally affronted that the woman had tried something in her police station.

Several soft buzzing sounds had them both checking their cell phones. It wasn’t Zane’s.

Sheila frowned at hers, holding it at arm’s length, and Zane could see many messages. “What’s going on?” she asked as she opened one of the messages and then rapidly scanned a few more. “Zane, Nell says that CNN has announced that Chase Ryan was murdered in Solitude last night. I’ve got the same message from three people.” Her wide gaze looked at Zane. “What’s going to happen now?”

“Shit.” Zane’s brain shot into overdrive. National media. A big star. He called Kenny.

“You still at the campground?” he asked when the officer answered.

“Yes, we finished talking to everyone a while ago.”

“The death was just announced on national TV. Who out there blabbed?”

“I don’t know,” protested Kenny. “Most people are asking me if I know who it is. I haven’t had anyone ask if it was really Chase Ryan.”

“Oh my dear baby Jesus,” Sheila moaned. “Twitter is blowing up. Chase Ryan is trending.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. Sheila has a Twitter account? He didn’t.

“What on earth?” Sheila slid on her reading glasses and brought the phone closer to her face. “Is that real?” she muttered.

“Figure out who is talking and shut them down,” Zane ordered Kenny.

“Isn’t it too late for that?” Kenny pointed out. “If it’s on CNN, what I say won’t mean shit to anyone.”

He’s right.

“Damn it.” Zane didn’t know what to do next. “I want both you and Carter back here as soon as possible. We need to prepare for what’s going to happen next.”

“On our way.”

“Boss,” Sheila said. “You need to look at this.” She handed Zane her phone. It showed a picture of Chase Ryan wearing a cap pulled down to his eyes. His arms were around two young women in a bar, and he was kissing one on the cheek as the girls mugged for the selfie. All three held beers and looked within one drink of falling on their asses.

“What about it?” he asked. He imagined this was typical of every movie star’s daily life.

“It was posted late last night on Instagram . . . way before any news of his death. These girls claim they were with him last night.”

Zane’s heart dropped as he enlarged the picture and studied the wood paneling and deer heads behind the trio. “That’s Fletcher’s Bar.”

“The photo is being shared all over Twitter, Facebook, and the news outlets. The girls had used a Chase Ryan hashtag to brag about their evening.”

“Do you know them?” Sheila’s social media savvy was putting him to shame.

She shook her head. “I don’t.” Sheila tapped on her screen and then scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here’s the account name of the girl who originally posted the photo. The account is private so I can’t see any of her other pictures, but her bio says she likes country music, barrel racing, and NASCAR.”

“Sounds local to me,” muttered Zane. “If the account is private, how can you see the picture of Chase?”

“Someone who could see it took a screenshot and shared it to the other social media sites.”

“So much for being private. I’ll hunt her down.”

“Act fast,” advised Sheila. “The rest of the country and news media know her account name too.”

“And I need to talk again to three guys who claim they all simply sat around a campfire last night.”

Stevie strode out of the back of the office. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking from Sheila’s grim face to Zane.

“You and I need to go to Fletcher’s.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Stevie had to look on Twitter for herself.

Sure enough, Chase Ryan was huge news. #ChaseRyanTowel was trending along with a dozen other related hashtags. Men posted pictures of themselves with bath towels slung low around their hips in homage—so they claimed—to the actor. Women and girls mourned, and two cable networks were already showing marathons of Detective Alex Gunn reruns.

“I can’t believe this,” she said to Zane as he parked in front of Fletcher’s dive bar.

“Me, neither.” His phone rang and he checked the screen. “It’s your brother. Hey, James,” he answered, and listened to the caller for a few seconds. “I know, James. We need to come up with an idea to handle all the media that’s going to storm our town.”

Stevie closed her eyes, easily picturing her brother the mayor flipping out over the expected invasion.

The town definitely needed a plan.

“Tell him to get Nell, Sheila, and my mother working on the logistics,” Stevie suggested. “Those three can organize anything in an hour flat.”

Zane nodded and relayed her suggestion as they got out of the car. Stevie steeled herself as she pulled open the door to Fletcher’s Bar. After Bob Fletcher’s death last winter, she’d expected the bar to close. Surprisingly, the bartender, Jake Powers, had stepped up to the plate and kept the business running. He’d bought the bar from the bank for a minuscule down payment and given it a new coat of paint but kept the name. A few locals had argued that the bar shouldn’t be named after a murderer, but Jake put his foot down, saying it was his bar and he got to pick the name. If they didn’t like it, then they shouldn’t drink there.

Since it was the only bar within a dozen miles, people’s protests soon fizzled away.

Jake was behind the bar. He’d changed since taking ownership. The former spineless drug addict now held his head up and looked people in the eye. He’d power-washed the formerly nauseatingly sticky bar floor and brought in tables that didn’t tip every time you set down your drink. Rumor was that he’d even had a real date or two. Stevie had known him since she was young and was pleased to see the change, but she still didn’t trust him. At all.

He flinched as she and Zane approached, keeping eye contact with Zane and avoiding her gaze. She wasn’t surprised. She’d kicked him in the groin pretty hard last winter, and no doubt the sight of her still caused him pain.

“Know these girls?” Zane immediately held out his phone showing the photo Sheila had sent him, skipping the small talk.

Jake tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and Stevie was happy to see his hair had been recently washed. His shirt was clean too. Maybe he has changed for the better.

“That’s Marnie and her friend,” Jake answered promptly. “Marnie’s my newest waitress.” He squinted at the photo. “They were hanging all over that guy last night, claiming he was some sort of celebrity, but I don’t know him.”

“You don’t watch Detective Alex Gunn, the TV show?” Stevie asked.

“I’ve heard of it,” Jake said with a sour look. “He’s on that?”

“Do you have an address for Marnie?” Zane asked.

“I can do better than that. She’s in the back prepping for the lunch rush.”

Lunch rush? Here? Stevie glanced around, noticing each table was set with utensils and a small vase of real flowers. Is that a salad bar? Her estimation of Jake rose another notch.

“Marnie!” Jake hollered in the direction of the swinging door to the kitchen.

The dark-haired girl from the picture appeared, wiping her hands on her apron, and her surprised gaze landed on Stevie and Zane in their uniforms. “What’s up, Jake?”

Jake gestured at the two of them. “They have some questions about that guy you were hanging on last night.”

Her face lit up. “Chase Ryan. It blew me away when I went to take his order and I spotted those eyes under the brim of his ball cap. No one else recognized him; he was keeping it quiet. But I had to call Gwen to get over here ASAP and see.”

“What time was he here?” Zane asked. “Was anyone else with him?”

The waitress twisted her lips in thought. “Gwen got here at midnight, and he’d already been here for about thirty minutes, I’d say. He was alone. He said he was in town with some friends but had ditched them.”

“Do you know what time he left?” Stevie asked.

Marnie wrung her apron in her hands and blushed. “It was about twelve thirty. We’d done last call at midnight because it was pretty quiet.”

Stevie studied the young woman who no longer would look them in the eye. “What happened after last call, Marnie?”

Marnie glanced at Jake, who watched her with a question on his face. “He asked Gwen and me to go to the motel with him.”

“Both of you?” Jake burst out.

“We didn’t do it,” Marnie said quickly. “He was really drunk, and even though it was Chase Ryan, it felt kinda sleazy, you know?” She looked at Stevie for understanding.

Stevie’s head spun. He propositioned them together? Nausea swamped her stomach. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

Marnie’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Oh yes. He was very clear. Gwen and I joked later that we’d passed up a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

They haven’t heard . . .

“Have either of you listened to the news today?” Zane asked, and both shook their heads. Marnie sucked in her breath, understanding filling her gaze.

“Did something happen? Did he get caught driving drunk?” she whispered. “Can Jake be held liable for that?”

“Hey!” Jake slammed a hand on the bar. “No way is that coming back on me.”

Zane took a deep breath and glanced at Stevie, silently handing over the reins. “Chase Ryan died last night,” she said. “But not in a drunk-driving accident. It appears he was murdered at the Crying Indian Campground.”

Silence.

Marnie looked from Stevie to Zane. “Are you joking?” she asked hesitantly.

“I wish I were,” Stevie said. “You were one of the last people who saw him. Your Instagram photo of the three of you is all over social media and the news.”

“What?” Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. “My account is private! Oh crap. Someone shared it with a screenshot, didn’t they? Is he really dead?” she squeaked.

“He is,” said Stevie. “Did he talk with anyone else when he was here last night?”

Marnie sat on a bar stool, her shoulders slumping. “No. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him. He said he was pretty proud that he could blend in with everyone else.”

“Did either of you see him leave?” asked Zane.

“I barely noticed the guy,” Jake said, and Stevie doubted his words. Jake had been moony-eyed since Marnie stepped out of the kitchen. He would have watched closely if Marnie gave a customer special attention.

“I didn’t see him leave either,” said Marnie. “One minute he was here, and the next he was gone.” Her eyes grew wet. “I can’t believe he’s actually dead. I’ve had the biggest crush on him forever.”

Jake picked at his fingernails.

“What about your cameras?” Zane asked. “Your security system covers the front door, right?”

Jake winced. “It’s been down for three weeks. I’ve got a guy coming to look at it soon.”

“Do you remember any of the regulars who were in the bar at closing?” Stevie asked Jake. “Maybe they noticed Chase leave with someone.”

“Now, Stevie,” Jake began. “I can’t betray the trust of my customers like that. They need to know they can come here and not have their every move reported. Just because the police—”

“Jake.” Zane’s voice was fast and low. “You’re not running a private gentlemen’s club here. It’s a fucking bar and someone has been murdered. Only an asshole would deny us help.”

Jake muttered two names, and Stevie scribbled them down as Zane’s phone rang. He stepped away to answer, and Stevie gave Jake a wide smile, showing all her teeth. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Zane returned immediately. “That was Sheila. All hell is breaking loose back in town.”

Zane asked Stevie to call Josh Black as they drove back to Solitude. He felt as if a storm was brewing around this case.

“Looks like none of Chase Ryan’s friends were straight with us this morning. I want some answers from his manager,” he grouched as she found the phone number. “Pisses me off. What are they trying to hide?”

“Could be anything. Maybe they’re simply trying to hide that Chase was out propositioning women in a bar. His public image is pretty squeaky clean. It can’t be that they’re hiding the fact he was drunk. They had to know the autopsy would tell us he had alcohol in his system.”

“Yeah?” Josh’s voice came through the speakers of the vehicle.

Is that how people answer the phone these days? “Josh, it’s Chief Duncan, and Officer Taylor is listening in. How come no one told us that Chase was at a bar around midnight last night?”

“He must have left after we all turned in.”

“You didn’t hear his vehicle leave?”

“I think we all had a little too much to drink.”

Josh’s answers were feeling a little too perfect for Zane. “You know the word has gotten out, right? It’s all over the media.”

“My phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I’m about to throw it in the river.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Who isn’t? His agent, his publicist, every single person who works on the TV show, every news outlet from tiny papers to CNN. I’d like to know how they got my phone number.”

And I worried the town would have it bad.

“Hey,” Josh said. “Two local news crews have shown up here at the campground, and people are starting to get too close. I don’t want Brandon being freaked out by this. He’s been through enough.”

“I don’t want you guys leaving town yet. Not until we get some more answers.”

“Well, we need to get out of the campground. Any ideas where we could hole up for a few nights? I called the only motel in Solitude, and he says he was swamped with bookings this morning.”

Probably media. Zane looked to Stevie for suggestions.

“There’s a B and B in town—”

“Yeah, I called there too,” said Josh. “Since word of Chase’s death hit the media there are no rooms available for fifty miles.”

“What about the real estate office?” Stevie suggested. “It’s been empty for six months, but it has a full bathroom and a little kitchen facility. It even has a small garage out back where they can hide their vehicle. We can find some cots . . . it only has a few small windows, so it should be private.”

“We’ll take anything at this point,” said Josh. “We’ll start packing.”

Zane ended the call. “I’d really like to know who leaked it to the media.”

“Could have been someone from the county crime scene team or Ralph or a person at the campground who paid close attention. It doesn’t matter now. It’s out there and we have to deal with it.”

Zane pulled onto the main street and caught his breath. Four news trucks were parked across the street from the police department. People milled on the sidewalks and streets. Large cameras were balanced on the shoulders of men, aimed at talking reporters. Two cameras swung his way as he drove closer. “Holy crap,” he muttered. “How’d they get here so fast?” He fought the urge to wave at each person he passed in his vehicle.

Small Town Rule #1: You wave when you pass someone on the street, whether you know them or not.

I won’t wave at all these reporters.

“The station names on the vehicles indicate they’re all out of Medford, which isn’t that far away. The Portland stations will probably be here next, and then the nationals.”

Zane parked in front of the police station and glanced in his rearview mirror. Nell’s little grocery store had a line out the door. At least one good thing would come out of the media circus: people spent money to eat. He hoped the local restaurants were up to the job.

Stevie noticed too. “Shoot. I was going to grab a latte. I’m not going near that place now.”

“Let’s go in the station and see if your brother has come up with a plan to handle the influx of people.” They stepped out of the vehicle, and Zane spotted a half dozen reporters headed in his direction. “Inside. Now.”

“You can’t hide. You’ll need to talk to the press.”

“Later.”

Inside the station, Stevie found her mother, her brothers James and Bruce, Sheila, and Nell with their heads together as James took notes. Her older brother looked relieved to see Zane and jumped to his feet as they entered.

“We need to hold a press conference,” James announced.

“Slow down,” Zane ordered. “We’ll get there.”

“I’m getting nonstop phone calls asking for information.” James wiped his forehead, his eyes slightly dazed.

“Tell everyone there will be a press conference at”—Stevie looked at her watch—“four p.m.?” She raised a brow at Zane. He nodded. “That will shut everyone up for a while and give us some time to prepare.”

The group let out a collective sigh of relief. “Nell, don’t they need you at the store?” she asked the older woman.

“They’ve got it under control,” Nell said. “I called in both my girls to help. We’re going to run out of fried chicken, but I sent my brother-in-law out for more. He’ll chop the heads off himself if he needs to.” She looked pleased. No doubt her store would do a week’s worth of business in a single day.

How long will this last?

“What have all of you come up with so far?” Zane asked. James gave a quick rundown. The group had considered the needs for regular media, paparazzi, and fans. All these people would require housing, food, bathrooms, garbage pickup, and parking.

Stevie’s head spun. We don’t have room for this.

James looked at his list. “The biggest headache is hotel space. It’s been wiped out from the coast to the valley. People are going to be sleeping in their cars, which means we need porta-potties set up around town. We’re worried about the noise too.”

Ugh.

“Can someone open up the real estate office and make certain there are some cots in there?” asked Zane. “I’m moving Chase Ryan’s brother and friends in there until we know what happened to Chase.”

“I’ll handle it,” said Sheila.

Zane engaged James, Sheila, and Nell in a deeper conversation, and Stevie took a seat between her younger brother Bruce and her mother. “You don’t have to be here for this, Bruce,” she said with a smile. “I think they’ve got it under control.”

Bruce glared at her. “Maybe I want to be here. I can help, you know.”

Stevie held up both her hands. “Just saying.” Her brother did look pretty good. His girlfriend had been murdered last Christmas, and he’d broken a leg after being run off the road and left stranded in his car in the snow. His recovery had been slow, both emotionally and physically.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Bruce said. “I was a big Chase Ryan fan. I guess being a star doesn’t guarantee a long and happy life.”

Patsy patted his hand. “Why don’t you go tell the reporters about the press conference?”

Bruce headed out the door.

“Is he okay?” Stevie asked. “I was surprised to see him here. I swear he hasn’t left the house in months.”

“When I told him what was going on, he insisted on coming. I think he needed to get out. He’s been talking more and more about looking for a job outside of the music industry.”

“No!” exclaimed Stevie. Her brother had slaved for years to get his band off the ground. Out of the four Taylor siblings, Bruce’s soul held the strongest connection to and love for music.

“He’s not depressed about it, and he’s interested in expanding his horizons a bit. Maybe he’s realizing he can still have his music, but it might not support him financially.” Patsy’s unfocused gaze looked past Stevie, and she sat quietly for a few seconds.

A small chill went up Stevie’s spine as she realized her mother was experiencing one of her “feelings.” Does she see something horrible about Bruce?

“He’s going to land on his feet,” Patsy stated finally. “I can see he’s going to be happy. Very happy.”

Relief swamped Stevie. Bruce deserved some happiness.

“Will you have time to stop by the grange later?” her mother asked. “I want to show you my idea for your reception’s table decor.”

Stevie blinked. She hadn’t thought about her wedding in hours. “Whatever you do is fine with me. I don’t think I can make it.”

Patsy’s face fell. “It’s so beautiful. I managed to get some lovely roses—”

“Mom. I trust your taste, okay?”

“But you should have the final say.”

“I don’t mind a surprise.” Images of Chase Ryan’s corpse battled with images of roses in her brain. “I need to focus on this case right now. I’ve got a million things to follow up on.”

“Will you have time for the wedding?” Patsy quipped.

Stevie knew her mother was actually serious. “I will.” She took her mother’s hand, giving Patsy her full attention. “Don’t take my distraction for disinterest. I’ve been looking forward to this day for months. I can’t wait to be with Zane. Thank you for doing this for me. I know all your hard work will make it a perfect day.” The words came from her heart. What would I do without my mother?

Patsy pulled her close, touching her forehead to Stevie’s. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you more.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The organizational committee had gone their separate ways, each one with a job to keep Solitude’s head above the rising sea of people. Every time Stevie glanced out the window, more people had congregated across the street. Carter had been assigned to corral the media in the huge clearing next to the grocery store and herd people away from the front of the police station. Stevie watched him have words with one photographer. Carter’s back stiffened as the big photographer waved his hands and mouthed off in protest. Carter stood his ground, and Stevie was glad she couldn’t hear the exchange of words. She doubted they were pleasant.

Carter moved quickly to stop a young woman with long, black hair as she made a beeline for the police station door. Stevie breathed a sigh of relief and focused on Kenny’s interview notes from the campers at Crying Indian. She didn’t need any more Chase Ryan groupies bursting through the door.

To her surprise, Carter opened the door a minute later, letting the woman enter ahead of him. “Hey, Stevie,” he said. “I think you’ll want to talk to this woman.”

Stevie scowled. The Asian girl was striking. Another groupie? “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Jenny Blair,” she stated with an expectant look.

The name meant nothing to Stevie. “I’m sorry, but why are you here?”

“I’m Brandon’s mom. I was told to wait here for him.”

A small shock rolled through Stevie. She’s not a groupie? “I don’t suppose you have proof of who you are?”

The woman frowned. “I have a driver’s license . . . but it doesn’t say ‘Brandon’s mom’ on it.”

“Let’s see it.” Stevie studied the plastic ID. Jenny lived in Portland. That part lines up with what Josh told us. But Stevie wasn’t about to be snowed again. “You’ve talked to Spider?”

“I spoke with both him and Josh this morning,” said Jenny. “Their last call said they were leaving the campground to move into some place in town and that they’d meet me here. I’ve been driving for over four hours. Do you have any water?” she asked.

“I do.” Stevie still wasn’t convinced the girl wasn’t a scam artist. “Do you have any pictures of Brandon?”

Jenny’s face lit up, and she pulled out her phone. Her wallpaper was a shot of Brandon in a pool.

“How about a picture of the two of you?”

The woman wrinkled her forehead and starting searching through her photos. “Why are you—oh Lord. Don’t tell me Cyndee’s been here already?” She glanced up with wide eyes and held out a photo of her, Brandon, and Chase.

“You know Cyndee?”

“I’ve heard all about her. No wonder you’re being cautious. I appreciate it.” Jenny ran her finger across the screen and showed Stevie a half dozen photos of her and her son. Many of them included the guys Stevie had met that morning.

Stevie went to grab Brandon’s mother a water bottle.

Jenny accepted it with gratitude. “I wanted to get something to drink at that deli, but it’s crazy out there. And it’s getting hot.”

“I suspect some enterprising teenagers will soon show up with coolers of water bottles to sell at a nice profit. Sit down and tell me about Brandon. I met him this morning and he seems to be doing all right. He’s sticking close to Spider.”

Jenny sat in the chair in front of Stevie’s desk. She picked at the label on her water bottle. “I miss him. We’re rarely apart.”

“I understand he lives with you while his father lives in LA.”

Her brown eyes were sad. “Brandon’s father didn’t want to get married. We’d been dating for a year or so when I got pregnant, but he was about to move away. He even accused me of getting pregnant to keep him from heading to LA.”

Stevie blinked. To her, Spider hadn’t seemed the type to strike out like that, but his words to Jenny must have been spoken in a highly emotional moment. “That’s horrible.”

“Portland is my home. I wasn’t about to leave. It’s a good place for Brandon to grow up.”

“He doesn’t see Spider very often, does he?”

Jenny shifted in her chair, her gaze moving to the crowds out the window. “This trip once a year is about it.”

That poor boy. The yearning look on Jenny’s face told Stevie she still had strong feelings for Spider. Stevie decided to change the topic. “Do you know much about Chase? We’re trying to find someone who could have been angry enough to murder him.”

Jenny met her gaze and held it for a long time. “I wouldn’t know.” She shifted her gaze back to her water bottle.

Stevie’s bullshit meter went off. She knows something.

“Spider never expressed any concerns about having Brandon in close proximity with Chase? Perhaps because Chase had been threatened by someone? As his mother, I assume Brandon’s safety is your main priority.” Stevie felt low for playing the mother guilt card, but Jenny was hiding something.

“Those guys would never let anything happen to Brandon,” Jenny snapped.

“Well, your son was fifty yards from a murder last night. I’d call that a close call.”

The mother paled.

“What aren’t you telling me, Jenny? What is more important than finding the person who killed your son’s uncle?”

She opened her mouth and closed it, an internal battle in her eyes.

Stevie waited.

Jenny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Chase is Brandon’s father, not Spider.”

“What?” Stevie sat upright in her seat. “Why . . . who would . . . oh my goodness . . . does Brandon know?”

“Yes, he knows . . . they all know, but we emphasize to Brandon that Spider has an important role in his life. Chase isn’t . . . paternal, and Spider really steps up to the plate. Brandon knows he can’t tell people about Chase. He understands.”

Stevie couldn’t speak.

Jenny looked directly at her. “It’s important that the public doesn’t know Chase has a son. His image is of an upstanding single man. He broke into Hollywood with that image, and if the fact that he has a son came out, it could harm his career.” Her face crumpled. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now.” She buried her face in her hands and silently sobbed.

That poor boy. Hidden all these years to save face for his father.

She doubted Brandon truly understood.

Her perception of Chase Ryan took a dive. Hearing that he’d propositioned two girls last night hadn’t done him any favors in her eyes, but the revelation about his son hurt her heart.

Jenny wiped her eyes. “Please don’t let it get out yet. I don’t want people tearing his memory apart. I’d always hoped that one day . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Stevie suddenly understood.

She’s still in love with him.

Late that evening, Zane pulled a beer from his fridge. “You want one?” he asked Stevie as he watched her give Magic enough head rubs and hugs to last the dog for the next three days.

“No, I have to drive back to my mother’s in a bit,” she said with a wry look.

“I’d hoped you’d forgotten.” Zane was tired of sleeping alone. Magic wasn’t a sufficient substitute for his wife . . . almost-wife.

“My mother won’t let me forget.” Stevie sank into the couch and sighed. “Today was exhausting.” She flipped on the TV and stilled as Chase Ryan’s face filled the screen in a Detective Alex Gunn rerun.

“Ouch,” muttered Zane as he spotted the show. He took a seat next to Stevie, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, but neither one of them changed the channel. Leaving the sound off, they watched as Chase’s Detective Gunn silently drove through the streets of LA, sunglasses on, confidence radiating, no doubt heading to a crime scene.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” said Stevie. “It feels so wrong to watch this knowing he’s been murdered.”

“I called on the two customers Jake mentioned at the bar. Neither one noticed Chase Ryan in the bar last night or saw anything odd happen. I don’t think either of them would have paid attention if a car had crashed through the front door. They were solely focused on their drinks.”

“Well, that’s no help,” said Stevie.

“You were going to tell me about your talk with Brandon’s mom,” Zane reminded her. There hadn’t been a moment to talk to Stevie since that morning; he’d been pulled in a dozen different directions. The afternoon’s press conference had gone well. Both he and James had spoken, but he hadn’t revealed any facts of the case other than to confirm that Chase Ryan had been found dead under suspicious circumstances. He must have said, “I don’t have the answer to that yet,” twenty times. James had handled the bulk of the conference, focusing on boring topics like managing the arriving crowds and the town’s ability to handle the influx of people.

“Oh, have I got news for you,” Stevie exclaimed. “You’re not going to believe what Jenny Blair told me.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Chase is Brandon’s father, not Spider.”

Zane let that sink in, Stevie’s words echoing in his head.

Why am I not surprised? Something had felt off in the way the guys behaved toward Brandon. Spider hadn’t treated him any differently than the other two men had. He acted like a guardian, not a father. “Does that mean Chase’s assets will go to Brandon?”

“Oh!” Stevie sat up. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I was preoccupied with understanding how a ten-year-old could never tell his friends that his father was a TV star. I hadn’t thought of the financial implications.”

“Where’s Jenny now?”

“She got a room at the B and B. She was smart enough to call before she left Portland and beat the rush of reporters looking for rooms. Brandon is staying with her instead of with the guys at the real estate office.”

“That’s good. We’ll need to confirm that Jenny was actually in Portland last night.”

Stevie nodded slowly. “We have to rule her out as a suspect.”

“She has financial motive. I bet Brandon’s going to be a very rich young boy. She could have easily driven down from Portland yesterday instead of this morning like she claims.”

“You’re right, but I don’t think she’s that type of person,” Stevie said. “You didn’t meet her. She’s very straightforward.”

“She’s also had to sit silently on the sidelines as the father of her child made it big in Hollywood. We don’t know what their financial agreement was. She could have become very resentful for the last ten years. People have killed for lesser reasons.” He paused. “We’ve already met one convincing liar.”

He’d be more than happy to learn that Jenny had been in Portland at the time of Chase’s death. It’d be one more person to cross off his list.

“You haven’t heard from Hank yet, right?” Stevie asked.

“No. He said he’d have preliminary autopsy results for me tomorrow.”

“At the press conference today, you frustrated everyone with your lack of detail.”

Zane grinned. “Is it wrong that I enjoyed that? They were a bunch of wolves.”

“That one reporter was an asshole. I couldn’t believe the questions he asked.”

“The big one with the mustache?” Zane nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind if he got lost in the woods. The question about whether Chase was naked when he was found was pretty tasteless.”

“All his questions were tasteless. He must write for some tabloid rag. Or hope to sell a story to them. He’d better stay away from Brandon. If word gets out that he’s Chase’s son, their privacy is over.”

“That would be a huge story,” Zane admitted, feeling sorry for the young boy. He even felt bad for his mother, although she was still a suspect. He set aside all thoughts of the growing case and focused on the woman next to him, feeling as if he hadn’t seen her all day. “How are the wedding plans coming?”

Stevie burrowed deeper into his side. “I think my mother has it under control. Today I told her to go with her gut on some decisions because I don’t have time to consider them.”

“Do you want to postpone?” He rubbed a finger over the fading scars on her wrists, constant reminders of how he’d nearly lost her in December.

She sat up. “Hell no! We’ve waited six months.”

“Almost seven,” Zane corrected.

“I just want it over with.”

“Thanks.”

She lightly punched him. “You know what I mean. It’s going to be a fantastic day and I can’t wait. I just want to get this planning part over with.”

He pulled her close and kissed her temple. She stiffened in his arms and he instantly let go. “What’d I do?” he asked.

She leaned forward, staring at the TV. “Did you see that?” she whispered.

On the screen, Chase Ryan was at a murder scene, squatting next to a dead body. Zane studied the TV, not seeing what’d caught Stevie’s attention. The camera zoomed out, revealing the rest of the victim, flat on its back. One of the dead man’s arms pointed straight over his head and the other arm pointed out to his left. There was a belt around his neck. Stevie turned on the sound.

“Three o’clock,” said Detective Gunn on the screen. “I’m seeing a pattern.”

“The Clock Killer,” Stevie exclaimed. “Last season, Chase’s character was chasing a serial killer they called the Clock Killer because he left the victim’s arms in the position of the hands of the clock. Each murder moved the hands forward an hour.”

“Chase’s arms were positioned at eleven o’clock,” Zane stated, seeing the body in his mind. “I missed the last season. Did all the victims have belts around their necks? How did it end?”

Stevie thought for a moment. “They did have leather belts, and I think the final victim’s arms were at ten o’clock when they caught the killer, who turned out to be a police officer. But after they arrested the officer, they realized Chase’s partner was nowhere to be found. The officer had caught her and tied her to a bomb that only he could stop. She died in the explosion.”

“So everyone thinks,” Zane added, remembering the fuss the day after the episode had aired. Fans had sworn the next season would start with the character’s surviving the explosion.

Now they’d never know.

“So what’s the significance of Chase’s arms being in the next position of the Clock Killer?” Zane pondered out loud.

“He was the next victim?” Stevie suggested. “Clearly whoever killed him follows the show.”

Zane tried to process the new information. “Do you think it’s important?”

“I don’t know. But it’s definitely interesting. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it at the scene when I first saw him. It’s so clear to me now.”

“We were all a bit shocked.”

“We shouldn’t share this fact with the media,” Stevie said. “It’s too sensational. This death is big enough as it is. Can you imagine the reports if they heard about this? ‘Chase Ryan is the eleventh victim of the Clock Killer.’”

“I’m already avoiding the news. Carter told me three young women have come forward claiming to be Chase’s latest girlfriend. Cyndee wasn’t the only one.”

“Everyone wants a piece of him, even though he’s dead.”

“So far Brandon is the only person who deserves what Chase left behind,” said Zane.

“I think you’ll add Jenny to that list once you meet her.”

“Are you sure she didn’t pull one over on you?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain. She’s first on my list for interviews tomorrow,” promised Stevie. “I won’t be made a fool again.”

CHAPTER SIX

“Ralph is having problems out at Crying Indian,” Sheila announced the moment Zane stepped in the office the next morning.

“What kind of problems?” he asked as he hung up his hat. He eyed Sheila. Her orange lipstick perfectly matched her eye shadow, and it was hard to not stare. She didn’t look exhausted at all; in fact, she seemed to have absorbed energy from the disturbances in Solitude. His day was off to a rocky start: a car with California license plates had parked in his regular spot that morning, and he’d had to park two blocks away.

An insane distance for his sleepy town.

That he’d started off his morning on the wrong foot was an understatement.

“Ralph says people are pitching tents along the highway to the campground because it’s full. Hundreds of people showed up overnight and slept in their cars. They’ve built some temporary shrine not far from the murder site and are filling it with flowers and stuffed animals. And whatever the campground uses for a septic system has been overwhelmed. Everything is backing up and Ralph says the mourners have resorted to ‘defiling nature.’”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.” The orange lips twitched.

“Hunt down more porta-potties and get them out there. Make certain the company knows they need to be serviced constantly.”

Sheila made a note. “And I’ve had a dozen phone calls from news outlets requesting interviews with you—”

“Lord no.”

She looked at him over her reading glasses. “I know. I’ve put everyone off by saying there will be another press conference at four today. I’ve asked Kenny and Carter to spread the word too.”

Zane exhaled. “Thank you.” It would be enough time to get his ducks in a row. “Is Stevie here yet?” Someone had parked in her usual space too.

“Not yet.”

The door opened and Toby Black stumbled in. Zane wondered if all Chase’s friends had dark circles below their eyes. Toby’s hair stuck up every which way, and it appeared he’d slept in his shirt. He looked a lot younger than his twenty-five years.

“Morning, Chief.” The young man gripped a bag from the grocery store’s deli counter. Judging by the grease stains soaking the brown paper, Toby had loaded up on Nell’s sausage breakfast sandwiches.

Zane’s stomach growled. “How were your sleeping accommodations in the real estate office last night?” he asked.

Toby shrugged. “It’s fine. Beats camping in my book. I was never a fan of sleeping outdoors.” He blinked at Zane. “None of us slept well. It sounded like people were walking around the building and trying to look in the windows.”

Zane felt bad for the group. “Sorry. There’s a lot of strangers in town right now, and I think everyone is curious about what happened to your friend.” He frowned. “Do people know you guys were with Chase? Has anyone said anything to you or asked questions?”

“I don’t think so. We told the dude at the campground . . . Ralph . . . that we were leaving town.”

“So maybe it was just people with nothing to do wandering around your place. I noticed a lot of roaming strangers when I drove in this morning.” He wanted to call them tourists, but that didn’t feel quite right. Maybe followers . . . or groupies.

“We’re glad you were able to find us a place,” said Toby. “I’m not complaining,” he added quickly.

“Did you need something?” Zane asked, wondering why he’d stopped in.

“Ummm . . . Josh sent me.” Toby looked at his shoes. “He wanted an update on the investigation and wondered when we could leave.”

Why didn’t Josh call me? Zane had the feeling Josh often used his younger brother as his personal messenger boy. And food delivery service.

“I don’t have anything to report,” answered Zane. “I should have autopsy results this morning.”

“Who’s that?” Sheila snapped, looking out the window. “What’s that guy doing?”

Zane moved to a window, Toby right behind him. Across the street a man in a suit was gathering the reporters and groupies around him. He’d hopped up on a tree stump and was waving his arms, yelling at the slowly growing crowd. Cameras pointed at him, and he ran a hand over his perfect hair.

“Oh no,” groaned Toby.

“You know him?” Zane asked.

“That’s Aiden Tierney. He’s Chase’s agent.”

“What’s he doing?” Sheila asked. “What could he be saying to them?”

“Most likely a bunch of bull,” said Toby. “He’s a good agent, but he can talk for an hour about nothing at all.” He ducked his head, his face reddening. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Did you know he was coming?” questioned Zane.

“I know Josh talked to him, but he didn’t tell us that Aiden was coming.”

“What did Josh tell him about the murder?” Zane hoped Josh hadn’t compromised the investigation.

“Dunno.”

“I better put a stop to this,” muttered Zane. He’d barely opened the police department door when Aiden finished his short speech and hopped off his stump to head in Zane’s direction. Zane folded his arms across his chest and watched as the Hollywood agent came toward him, thankful he didn’t have to wear a suit to work every day. Aiden Tierney was tall and thin, with blond hair that ran straight back from his forehead. He strode with purpose, showing perfect white teeth as he drew closer to Zane.

“Are you Chief Duncan? Josh told me you were in charge. I’m Aiden Tierney; I represent Chase.” His handshake was strong and he looked Zane in the eye, but Zane felt as if he were about to be pitched a Mexican time-share.

“What did you tell those reporters?” Zane asked in a quiet voice as the man grinned expectantly at him. Zane wasn’t about to pretend he’d just met his newest best friend.

The man sized him up and the grin faded away. “I told them who I was and that I’d make certain whoever killed Chase was brought to justice. We lost a national treasure, you know.”

“How do you plan to bring this killer to justice?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes. “By giving you whatever you need.”

That’s better.

“Why don’t you come in and we’ll talk.” Zane pulled open the door, and the man entered ahead of him.

“Thanks for finding my son a place to hang out this morning,” Jenny said to Stevie as they walked toward the police station.

“My sister-in-law, Debra, loves kids. I think Brandon and her boys are going to get along just fine. He probably won’t want to leave when we pick him up.” Stevie had dropped off the boy at James’s house so she could talk to Jenny alone.

“Look at all the people,” Jenny murmured.

Stevie stared. The number of news vans had tripled overnight, and the town’s usually empty sidewalks were full of people wandering, looking in store windows, and carrying cups of iced coffee. “This is insane. Is that CNN?”

“Yes,” replied Jenny. She slid on her sunglasses. “I hate reporters.”

“Have they ever poked around you and Brandon?”

“No. We’ve been very lucky.”

The two of them ducked into the police station, where they found Zane talking to Toby and a man in a suit Stevie didn’t know.

“Jenny!” exclaimed Suit Man, immediately enveloping her in a hug. Jenny met Stevie’s gaze and rolled her eyes.

Toby watched the couple hug with a pathetic look on his face. “I’m gonna deliver breakfast,” he announced, and darted out the door without greeting Stevie. She looked to Zane, who lifted one shoulder at the young man’s abrupt action.

“How are you holding up?” Suit Man asked Jenny in a sad voice. He’d stepped back but kept his hands on her shoulders. Jenny’s expression was one of extreme patience, and Stevie disliked him immediately.

“This is Officer Stevie Taylor,” Jenny said instead of replying to the suit’s question.

Suit Man held out a hand. “Aiden Tierney. I represent Chase.”

His agent? “Even in death?” Stevie asked as she shook his hand. “Aren’t you out of a job?”

He frowned. “Chase was my friend.”

That didn’t answer my question.

“I will always have his best interests at heart,” he added, and turned back to Jenny. “Speaking of which, we need to discuss the next step.”

Caution crossed Jenny’s features. “What are you talking about?”

“I think it’s time to tell the world about Brandon,” Aiden announced solemnly.

Stevie’s jaw dropped, and Zane took a half step backward.

“No!” Jenny snapped, pointing a finger at the agent. “We’ve talked about this before. There’s no need for that. Especially now.”

“Now is definitely the right time,” said Aiden. “What are you going to do for money now? This is our last chance to create a buzz around Chase. If we play it right with Brandon, we can rope in book deals and talk shows. You’re young and attractive. We can make it—”

“That’s enough!” Zane stepped between the two of them. “You heard what she said, and she’s the boy’s mother.”

“This doesn’t involve you.” Aiden glared at him.

“You’re in my office and in my town; you involved me.”

“Aiden,” said Jenny. “This is my final word on the subject. Brandon will have his privacy, and if I find out that you leaked any word of Brandon’s real father, I will sue you for every penny you have.” She gestured at Stevie and Zane. “I have witnesses to what you just suggested. Forget about it and don’t ask me again.”

“But Jenny—”

“No.” She turned to Stevie. “Can we talk somewhere else?” Her brown eyes pleaded.

“Absolutely.” She led Jenny down the hall to the tiny conference room. Jenny sank into a chair and covered her eyes with her hands.

“I hate that guy,” she said softly. “I’ve always hated him. Chase stuck with him because he got him his first big break, but that doesn’t make him pleasant to be around.”

“How was his relationship with Chase?” Stevie asked, pulling herself together. The agent’s audacity had stunned her into silence. Thankfully Zane had been able to find his voice.

“It was good as far as I know,” Jenny admitted. “Chase and I didn’t talk about him much. Aiden wanted to make Brandon public a few months ago. He said the network was talking about not renewing Chase’s show, and Aiden thought if we created some buzz around Chase, it might change their minds.”

“But his show is insanely popular!” Stevie was stunned.

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter. There are other factors that play into a show’s renewal.”

“I take it you refused to let Brandon be exposed?”

“Yes, neither Chase nor I wanted it.”

“How’d Aiden take it?”

“Like we’d destroyed Chase’s career and Aiden’s along with it. He’s a bit of a drama queen.”

“I noticed.” Should Aiden be on their suspect list? How could the murder of the famous TV star be of benefit to his agent? Her mind couldn’t see a logical answer. “Will Aiden benefit in some way from Chase’s death?” she asked Jenny.

The young woman frowned. “I don’t see how. There won’t be any future contracts for him to take his percentage from.”

“Right,” Stevie answered. “I just wondered if there was an angle I wasn’t aware of.”

“Oh. You’re wondering if Aiden should be a suspect.” Jenny nodded in understanding. “He’s slimy, but I don’t think he’d cut off that source of income. Something really big would have had to happen between the two of them for him to hurt Chase,” she said thoughtfully.

Stevie added asking Chase’s friends about Aiden to her mental to-do list. “Did you bring that receipt?”

Jenny dug in her bag and pulled out a slip of paper. Stevie studied it. It was a gas receipt from early yesterday morning in Portland. Jenny had gassed up before she headed south to Solitude.

“Thank you. Is it okay if I give you a copy and keep the original?”

Jenny nodded. “Anything to get that suspicious look out of your and Chief Duncan’s eyes every time one of you looks at me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Zane closed the door to his office, desperate for some quiet. Aiden Tierney was loud. Even when he wasn’t speaking, the man’s very presence projected his loud personality and an overload of energy. It was impossible to relax around him. Zane wondered what it was like to work in the same office as the agent. He sank into his chair with a sigh and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Wedding.

Murder.

Mobs of people in his town.

When will it be over? The wedding was tomorrow. Was he doomed to spend his honeymoon searching for Chase’s killer? They had a Kauai hotel reservation starting Sunday.

Should I see if I can push out our reservation a week or two?

The thought of postponing his first vacation in over a year pissed him off. He’d been looking forward to getting away with his wife for months. Was it time to ask the Rogue County Sheriff’s Office for some extra manpower? He’d already sent evidence to its lab. Maybe he could ask for some more investigation support.

Can you guys find Chase Ryan’s killer while I lie on the beach with a mai tai?

His phone rang. “Duncan here.”

“Zane, it’s Hank. I just e-mailed you a prelim on the autopsy and thought I’d give you a quick call.”

Zane tucked the phone against his shoulder and opened his e-mail. Something in Hank’s voice had driven all thoughts of beaches and sunshine out of his head. “What’d you find?”

“Well, the primary reason I called is because the cause of death wasn’t that belt around Chase Ryan’s neck. It was a blow to his head.”

Zane wasn’t surprised. Hank had suggested at the scene that he didn’t think the COD would be the belt. “Any suggestions about what kind of weapon we’re looking for?”

“Something with a blunt tip. About a half inch wide by three inches long. It nailed him in the back of the head, lower down. Occipital lobe. Someone used a lot of force . . . it was deep.”

“How many times was he hit?”

“Just the one time. It was enough.”

“Could it be a hatchet or ax blade?” Zane asked, considering the types of tools available at a campsite.

“No arc to the depth of the break. He was hit with something with a flat end. I take it nothing like that was found at the scene?”

“No,” Zane said shortly. “I’ll check with everyone again, but there was nothing like that at the scene. Anything else?”

“His blood alcohol level was 0.24. His liver told me he likes to drink on a regular basis.”

“Any illegal substances?”

“A trace of marijuana. Not enough to affect his behavior. No other bruising or injuries. Someone smacked him in the back of his head and then cinched the belt around his neck. I don’t know why they would do that . . . maybe they weren’t certain he was dead.”

“Did you ever watch the show Detective Alex Gunn?” Zane asked.

“I caught the first two seasons.”

“This past season featured a killer who strangled his victims with a belt. And positioned their arms to match the arms of a clock.”

“You don’t say! Well, that’s a new one for me. Sounds like you’re looking for a fan.”

“I wouldn’t call his killer a fan.”

Stevie couldn’t believe her eyes when Cyndee strolled back into the police department. She was still dressed in pink, but today it was a soft baby pink, not the Pepto pink from yesterday. She looked like she walked straight out of a movie again. The only thing missing was a little dog in her handbag. Stevie stood up from her desk chair, prepared to tell the girl to leave, thankful Sheila was out on an errand, but Cyndee held up her hand as Stevie opened her mouth.

“I’ve come back to apologize,” the pink girl stated.

Stevie closed her mouth.

“I’m sorry I misled you. I was really upset, and it made me stretch the truth a little bit.”

A little bit?

“You didn’t have a relationship with Chase Ryan. Any sort of relationship,” Stevie said firmly, determined to keep the girl from fooling her again.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t have feelings for him. They’re very real to me, and I was crushed to find out he’d been murdered. It’s not my fault my feelings weren’t reciprocated.”

Stevie wanted to scream. “Do you realize there are a million women worldwide having the exact same feelings? That’s the thing about celebrities . . . it feels like you know them because they are so public. But in reality they have no idea who you are.” She bit her tongue about the apartment fire Cyndee had started. “You should go back home.”

“But I might be able to help with the investigation.” Blue eyes pleaded with Stevie.

I really doubt that. “How?”

The girl looked around. “Can I sit down?”

She’s using me for attention. It makes her feel important.

The door opened again before Stevie could throw her out. Her mother and her niece Brianna rushed in, their arms full of tulle. “Look at this, Aunt Stevie!” Brianna burst out.

The girl spun in a circle, making the white tulle billow and holding up gold balloons beneath the airy fabric. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

It was a lovely sight. Elegant and airy. Stevie raised a questioning brow at her mother.

“Brianna and I spotted this combination in a bridal magazine,” Patsy said. “I think it would be gorgeous hanging in swirls from the ceiling of the grange. It will blend well with your color scheme.”

Stevie could picture the flowing fabric and rich balloons decorating the sad ceiling of the grange. She’d winced at the yellowing water spots on the ceiling when she’d considered the location for her wedding reception, but it was the only space big enough for the party her mother had planned. Even though it was summer, she’d known better than to plan an outdoor reception. Rain was always possible in the Pacific Northwest.

“It’s lovely,” Stevie agreed. And she knew it’d be inexpensive.

Patsy glanced at Cyndee and back at Stevie, expecting an introduction. Stevie narrowed her eyes and gave a small shake of her head at her mother. Her mother didn’t need to meet the stalker.

“Well, Brianna and I are going to get this hung up and finish decorating the tables,” said Patsy, picking up on Stevie’s reluctance to make introductions. “The flowers came in and they’re just gorgeous! I’ve got two women working on the floral arrangements and the bouquets. I’ll see you tonight at the rehearsal.” She and Brianna dashed out of the office, leaving Stevie wishing she could forget her murder case and go arrange flowers.

Me. Arrange flowers. She snorted.

I’m getting married tomorrow.

It didn’t feel real.

“When’s the wedding?” Cyndee asked.

Stevie turned to look at the woman she’d briefly forgotten due to her thoughts of tulle and flowers. “Tomorrow.”

“Congratulations.” The blue eyes looked accusatory, not congratulatory.

“Thank you.”

“How are you going to work on this case and get married? I can’t imagine it’s getting your full attention. Do you really think that’s fair to Chase? But I suppose that good-looking police chief will keep things running.”

“I’m marrying him,” Stevie blurted.

Cyndee’s mouth formed a large O. “Him?” she squeaked. “You’re both getting married tomorrow?”

“To each other,” Stevie added, since the woman seemed slightly confused.

“You don’t have time for that! Who’s going to search for Chase’s murderer?” She clenched her purse until her knuckles whitened.

“We’ve got everything under control.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t have any idea who killed him, do you?” she shrieked.

“Now, Cyndee—”

“You need to look at those so-called friends of his,” the blonde hissed. “They only pretend to like him. They just like his money and the perks from hanging around with him. If anyone murdered Chase Ryan, it’s one of those guys.”

“Are you accusing one of them?” Stevie asked sharply.

“I just know it had to be one of them. Their friendships were falling apart, and they fight constantly.”

“Do you have any proof?” Stevie was ready for the emotional time bomb to leave.

“No . . . of course not. But if you’ll take a few minutes from all your wedding preparations and look, you’ll find it! There ought to be someone I can report you to . . . both of you! Justice is not being served, because you only care about yourselves.” Cyndee spun around and marched out the door, then slammed it behind her.

Stevie stared at the door. And then laughed until her eyes watered. She grabbed a tissue from Sheila’s desk. What a nutcase!

Sheila opened the front door and marched in. “What was that woman doing in here?” she snapped, fury radiating and posture stiff. “She had the nerve to yell at me to get to work because no one is searching for Chase Ryan’s killer.”

Stevie tried to speak through her laughter but hiccupped instead, brushing at her tears. Sheila eyed her with caution.

“You’re laughing, right?”

Stevie nodded and caught her breath. “She’s crazy,” she managed to say between hiccups.

“Well, I already knew that,” said Sheila.

CHAPTER EIGHT

That evening Zane paced the small platform at the front of the church.

Stevie was late. At least it was only the wedding rehearsal.

“She’ll be here,” Carly assured him.

He grinned at Stevie’s sister. “I know. She wouldn’t leave me at the altar.” But why did his stomach twist as if she had?

“I’ll text her,” Carly said, pulling out her phone. “I’m sure she got stopped on the street by someone with a million questions.”

Zane nodded, remembering the three different people who’d stopped him as he walked to the church. Everyone wanted to talk and ask questions about Chase Ryan.

Zane wanted to get this wedding rehearsal moving. The investigation was at a brief standstill. He was hoping to get fingerprint results on the buckle of the belt that’d been wrapped around Chase’s neck. Last he’d checked, the county lab hadn’t gotten to it yet. He glanced out the window as the sunlight started to dim. Another day gone without their finding the killer.

Beside him Carly’s husband, Seth, poked him in the ribs. “Don’t worry. Marriage isn’t that bad.”

“Is that what my face says?”

“Yeah, you look like you’re waiting in line at the DMV.”

“Was thinking about my case.”

“Let it go for now. You should be thinking about getting married. Finally. You two took long enough.”

“Not because of me.” He stared at the rear doors of the church, willing Stevie to come rushing through.

“She’ll make it,” Bruce added from Seth’s other side. “Stevie wouldn’t dream of missing the rehearsal dinner after this. Food, you know.”

“Thanks,” Zane drawled.

“My mom’s late too,” Bruce added. “Maybe they’re together.”

“She’s still at the grange,” Carly added. “She and Brianna were still hanging decor for the reception, last I heard from them. She said she might be late to the rehearsal.”

“Your mom’s been amazing,” Zane told Carly. “This wedding wouldn’t be coming together without her.”

“She’s like—”

“Zane!” Kenny burst in through the church doors, exactly where Zane had been staring, waiting for Stevie. His face red from exertion, Kenny panted as if he’d been running for hours. “The grange is on fire!”

Carly gasped. “Brianna,” she whispered.

Zane was already halfway down the aisle.

Zane’s lungs hurt from his full-bore three-block sprint.

His gaze locked on the billows of black smoke rising above a grove of fir trees. The old grange building sat on the edge of town, nestled down a long driveway from the main road. It was an unimpressive building, slightly warped and in need of paint, but it had been home to every good-size Solitude celebration in the last seventy years.

Kenny had shouted that he’d called the fire department as Zane left him far behind and sirens sounded in the distance. He knew Seth and Carly had run out of the church after him, but Carly’s high heels had slowed them down. They were somewhere behind him, and he wasn’t stopping to wait. He estimated the fire department was still several minutes from reaching the building. His legs pumped up the gravel driveway, and he spotted Patsy’s Chevy parked to one side.

Did she get out in time? Did Brianna?

Smoke surged out of two broken windows as flashes of flame flickered inside the building. Gawkers stood in groups, watching the historic building burn against the darkening sky.

“Is anyone inside?” he hollered as he approached the first group of people.

Several people shook their heads. “The cop got them out!” yelled one man as Zane raced past. “I think it’s clear now.”

I’ll be the judge of that.

He steered toward a tight cluster of people, spotting a Solitude police uniform in their midst.

Stevie. Relief washed over him.

She was bent over, speaking to her mother and clasping her hand. Patsy was perched on a parking divider with Brianna clutched tightly in her other arm. Zane sucked in a deep breath, feeling his stress lessen at the sight of the three of them.

“Is anyone inside?” he gasped as he came to a stop at their group. He glanced behind him as the fire engine’s big tires crackled on the gravel as it turned into the driveway.

“No. I’m sure it’s clear,” said Stevie. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Mom and Brianna were the only ones inside. I was passing by on my way to the rehearsal when I saw the smoke. The two of them had just dashed out the door when I arrived.”

“Someone threw a bomb through the window,” Patsy stated with fury in her voice.

“A bomb?” Shock rocked through Zane. This fire was intentional? And could have killed Patsy and Brianna?

“It sounds like a Molotov cocktail–type thing,” clarified Stevie. “Two were thrown through the windows while they were working inside.” Her clipped words did not bode well for the person who’d nearly harmed her family.

“The glass broke and then fire exploded inside,” added Brianna. “The tablecloths and tulle immediately caught fire.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Stevie. “I don’t think it can be fixed, Aunt Stevie. Everything was burning. All your beautiful tables.”

Zane squeezed Brianna’s shoulder. “The important part is no one got hurt. That stuff can all be replaced. You and your grandma can’t be replaced.” His voice cracked on the last word. They were safe. But heaven help the person who’d started that fire. Zane wouldn’t stop until he had them behind bars.

“But her beautiful dress was in there . . .” Brianna’s lip trembled.

Zane glanced at Stevie.

The muscles in Stevie’s throat flexed as she swallowed. “Carly’s and Brianna’s dresses were in there too. We were going to get ready in the big dressing room tomorrow before going to the church. I’d just dropped off the dresses this morning,” she said softly. “But it’s not important.”

Zane turned back to the building, studying the flames and smoke. He knew the dressing room was at the far end, and the flames were primarily toward the front. “I can—”

“Zane Duncan, don’t even think about it!” Stevie snapped. “It’s just a dress!”

“But you searched for months—”

“I don’t care! No one is going back into that building for any reason.” The fury in her eyes made her position clear. “We need to focus on who did this.”

“You didn’t see anything?” he asked Patsy and Brianna. Both shook their heads, and he turned his attention to the growing crowds, pleased to see that Kenny and Carter had already created a perimeter and were speaking with observers as the firefighters pulled out their hoses. “We’ll start canvassing the crowd. Someone must have seen how it started.”

Patsy pointed at a pair of teenage girls in extremely short shorts and thin tank tops who were watching the fire with a growing group of people. “Ask those two girls,” she ordered.

“Did they tell you something?” Zane asked.

“Ask them,” she repeated.

Stevie gave a one-shouldered shrug as he looked at her. “I’ll come with you.”

The two of them headed toward the group. “Looks like tonight’s rehearsal is on hold,” Stevie said lightly. She couldn’t hide the worry in her voice from Zane. Her chin was up, but he knew the fire had rattled her.

“What about the reception tomorrow?” He glanced back at the fire. “We’ll need a new location.”

Stevie didn’t say anything, but her step faltered. He took her arm and pulled her to a stop. Despair filled her eyes.

“I know our wedding isn’t important in light of the fact that someone just tried to kill two people we love, but what do you want to do about tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She looked at the burning building. “Is that some sort of cosmic sign?”

“That we’re not supposed to get married? Hell no.” A slow burn of anger started in his gut, directed at the fool who’d started the fire and messed with Stevie’s head. “I know we’re supposed to be together. Your mother, who is the most cosmically connected person I know, has said we’re meant to be. Don’t let this horrible attack affect what’s important to us.”

“I want to marry you. But maybe the cosmos is telling us that right now isn’t the right time.” Her confused brown eyes met his gaze.

He took both her hands, not caring who saw them on duty. “I love you, Stevie Taylor. No arsonist is going to stop our day. I’m marrying you tomorrow, and I don’t care if you’re wearing cutoff shorts and flip-flops. Now tell me you’ll be at the church at one tomorrow.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

She studied him for a few seconds. “I’ll be there. I have no idea what I’ll be wearing.”

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight is about finding out what happened here. Let’s see why your mom thinks these girls know about the fire.” His heart pounded as the two of them continued toward the girls. Is Stevie really having doubts?

He didn’t recognize the two girls and assumed they’d come to town with the rest of the grieving Chase Ryan groupies. They had a city polish to their makeup and clothes that the local girls didn’t have. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing in his book.

“Excuse me, I’m Police Chief Duncan and this is Officer Taylor. We’d like to ask the two of you about what you’ve seen since the fire started.”

“Oh my God,” said the girl who wore her hair in several complicated black braids. “I can’t believe how big it is.”

“When we first walked up, there was only some light smoke coming out of the windows,” said the second girl. She had a stud in her upper lip that looked infected. Zane tried not to stare.

“So you were here for the beginning?” asked Stevie. “How many people were around?”

“We didn’t start the fire,” pointed out Pierced Lip. “We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“We’re not accusing you. We’re just collecting information,” Stevie said smoothly. “What were you doing in this area?”

“We were walking along the main road,” said Braids. “We’re camped a little ways out of town and decided we wanted some Dairy Queen.”

“Did you notice anyone acting suspicious?” Stevie asked.

The girls looked at each other, and Pierced Lip scratched the red area around her stud. “There was a woman running along the road before we got to the driveway,” she said. “I thought it was odd because she wasn’t dressed for running.”

“What was she wearing?” Stevie asked.

“A pink skirt and cute top.”

“Her top was cute, wasn’t it?” Braids asked with enthusiasm. “She had on pink sandals too.”

“Was she young and blonde, with her hair in a ponytail?” Stevie asked.

“Yes,” they chorused.

“But she didn’t look like someone who would start fires,” Braids said firmly. Pierced Lip nodded in agreement.

“You’d be surprised what a pyromaniac looks like,” Stevie said drily. “Did you notice anything else unusual?”

The girls had nothing else to add, and Zane stepped away with Stevie. “Cyndee?” he asked in a low voice.

Stevie looked grim. “Sounds like it. I saw her earlier today and she was wearing exactly what the girls described. We know she has a problem with arson.”

Zane glanced at the grange. “But why now? Why this building? This doesn’t have anything to do with Chase Ryan.”

“But it has everything to do with us.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Cyndee threw a fit today when she found out we’re getting married tomorrow. She says we’re not working hard enough to find the killer and was furious that we’d take time away from the investigation for something personal.”

Zane was astonished. “You’re joking, right? Are you saying she started the fire to stop the wedding?”

“I’m saying exactly that. Or she did it to get back at us for not working the case 24-7.”

He looked over at Patsy and Brianna as an EMT checked them out. Carly and Seth had joined them, and Brianna had firmly attached herself to her mother. Seth caught Zane’s gaze and moved in their direction.

“She could have killed Patsy and Brianna,” Zane said in a low voice as Brianna’s father approached.

“Exactly,” agreed Stevie. “She’s lucky no one was hurt.”

“What happened?” asked the county investigator as he joined them. “I can tell by your faces it’s not good.”

Stevie brought Seth up to speed.

“Do you know where she’s staying?” Seth asked, clenching a muscle in his jaw as he spoke. “I’d like to have a word with her.”

Zane suspected Seth wanted more than a simple word with Cyndee. His daughter had been in the building where the woman threw a flaming explosive. Cyndee was going to find out you don’t endanger kids. Or mess with the Taylor clan.

“According to Chase Ryan’s friends, she’s got a trailer,” said Zane. “I’ll get a better description and get everyone searching for it. There’s only so many places she could be.”

He stepped away to call Josh. He wanted to find Cyndee and her trailer tonight.

No one came to his little town and attacked his family without big consequences.

His evening was not turning out as he’d expected. Or as he wanted.

CHAPTER NINE

“Ralph spotted the camper a few days ago,” Stevie told Zane as she watched the road for the turnoff past Crying Indian Campground, thankful there was still sufficient light from the late sunset. “He said he hadn’t bothered to report it for illegal camping since hundreds of people are currently doing the same thing. He figured everyone would eventually leave.”

“How’d he remember this particular one when you talked to him?”

“He said he had a camper like it back in the seventies.”

“Spider said it’s a piece of crap,” said Zane. “But recognizable.”

Stevie hit the brakes and turned down the dirt access road Ralph had described. Her SUV bounced over the rock-hard ruts. She eyed several tents and small trailers tucked far back in the firs. An occasional campfire was burning nearby. The area was close enough to Crying Indian for people to walk to use the facilities, but since it wasn’t part of the campground, they were essentially squatting on government land.

Zane shook his head as they passed the illegal campers. “I don’t have time to do anything about this.”

“Nope,” Stevie agreed. “I suspect Ralph is right that they’ll leave soon once the glamour wears off.”

“What glamour?”

“Of being close to the location where the famous Chase Ryan died.”

“Is that the trailer?” Zane leaned forward and pointed. Stevie studied the tiny oval silver camper. Airstream trailers always reminded her of the little tin tea set she’d had as a child. She stopped on the dirt road and got out of the SUV, wanting to tap the trailer with something metal to see if it’d make the same noise as her silver cups when she’d clanged them together.

“I don’t see a truck,” Zane said. Spider had told them Cyndee hauled the trailer with a big old truck.

“Looks like she’s not here,” said Stevie, scanning the area. The weight of her bulletproof vest was heavy under her shirt. Kenny hadn’t worn one last summer and had nearly lost his life. Now Zane fined the officers twenty bucks if he caught them outside the department without one on. The area was quiet, the sunlight was fading, and she wondered if the sight of the Solitude police SUV had sent some squatters to hide deeper in the forest.

“Let’s knock.” Zane led her through dusty weeds and grass to a flat area, where the camper sat under some firs.

Cyndee’s trailer had to be the smallest Stevie had ever seen and could win an award for the most dents. On the side they approached, it had one tiny window and a door that looked as if it’d been cut out of the metal with a can opener. A small tank of propane sat behind the hitch.

“This can’t be right,” said Stevie as they stopped a dozen feet from the door. “Cyndee looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine each time I see her. She wouldn’t live in something like this.”

“Spider said it was really beat up, and this looks like someone took a baseball bat to it. I think we’re in the right place.”

“Maybe she’s abandoned it.”

Zane cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello, anyone home?”

A curtain fluttered. Stevie stared at the window, ready to hit the ground if a rifle was pointed her way.

“Cyndee, can you come out for a minute?” Zane asked. “It’s the Solitude Police Department.”

The door slowly opened and a small head peeked out, the inside camper light illuminating her blonde hair. She eyed the cops and then fully opened the door.

Stevie blinked. It wasn’t Cyndee, but it was a miniature carbon copy. She estimated the young girl to be about ten years old. “Hi, are you Cyndee’s daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Alex.” The child was rail thin and wore ripped shorts with a dirty T-shirt. The contrast to her mother’s movie-star polish stunned Stevie.

“Is Cyndee here?” Zane asked. He sounded as startled as Stevie felt.

The last thing she’d expected was to learn was that self-centered Cyndee had a child.

“No, have you seen her?” Alex asked. “She left early this morning to get milk and hasn’t been back.”

“She’s been gone all day?” Concern shot up Stevie’s spine. It was nearly nine o’clock. “Did you call her?”

“She left her phone here. We just have the one.”

“Where’s your father?” asked Zane.

“Don’t have one.” Alex shrugged with one very skinny shoulder. Stevie could see her bones shift under her shirt. “Do you have anything to eat? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Zane, can you grab a granola bar out of the truck?” Stevie was dismayed by the child’s condition. “Can I see the inside of your camper?” Stevie asked Alex. She wanted to assess the food situation. As officers they had every right to enter a private dwelling if a child appeared to be in bad circumstances. She was five seconds away from calling her social worker sister.

“It’s sort of a mess,” Alex said as she backed out of Stevie’s way. “I was supposed to clean, but I was too tired.”

“Is it normal for your mom to be gone all day?” Stevie stepped up into the camper and automatically dipped her head as she entered the tight space.

The child looked thoughtful. “Not really. Usually she’s only gone an hour or two. Depends how far away we camp from stores. We must be far this time.”

It’s just a few miles down the road.

She opened the fridge. Beer. Water. A dark slimy bag of salad mix and condiments.

Not what she wanted to see left behind for a child. She quickly snooped through the few cupboards. No crackers, no cereal. Just a few cans of vegetables and broth. Not the sort of thing a child would bother to open.

Zane appeared and handed Alex two granola bars. Her eyes lit up and she immediately ripped one open.

Stevie’s heart cracked, and she exchanged a look with Zane. “There’s not much to eat.”

“Call your sister,” he ordered.

She pulled out her phone, but her attention was caught by an image taped to the wall above the small bed at the far end of the trailer. Chase Ryan. The photo appeared to have been ripped out of a magazine. There was a large black X across his face. Stevie moved closer. The entire wall was papered with images of the TV star’s face. Each one was inked with the black X. A few photos showed different women as his companions. Stevie couldn’t see the women’s faces because they were obliterated with black ink.

“Holy crap,” Zane muttered behind her as he took in the images.

“Look at those.” Stevie pointed to a shelf. Chase Ryan action figures, all the TV show DVDs, coffee mugs, T-shirts, and ball caps. Cyndee had gathered every collectible related to Chase and his show.

“This looks like an episode script,” said Zane, picking up a clipped stack of paper. “It’s been signed by the entire cast.”

“That must have been expensive,” whispered Stevie. “No wonder there’s no food.” Her fury had been rapidly growing as she took in the items. “I don’t know what’s going on here.”

“What’s going on is that she’s neglecting her daughter in her pursuit of the impossible,” stated Zane. “Wait a minute. What’s this?” He picked up two cell phones. One was a sleek new iPhone and the other was an old BlackBerry. “Alex, I thought you said your mom only had one phone.”

The girl wiped the crumbs off her lips before speaking. “She does. She’s always complaining about it. I don’t know where that other phone came from. I saw it yesterday for the first time.”

Zane frowned and powered on the iPhone. “Plain sight,” he said quietly to Stevie, referring to any future questions about whether they’d searched the trailer illegally. After a few seconds, the screen lit up with an image of Chase and his three buddies.

This has to be Chase’s missing phone. Stevie’s heart started to pound.

“She must have been there that night,” she said in a low voice to Zane. “The guys said the phone was missing the next morning.”

“We can’t talk here.” Zane glanced over his shoulder at the child. “Start taking some pictures. Start with the food situation and those marked-up pictures of Chase.” He picked up the BlackBerry. It was on and didn’t ask for a passcode as he started pushing buttons.

Stevie made a quick call to Carly, who promised to be there within minutes, and then she moved into the “kitchen” and started photographing the interior of the camper.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked as she started the second granola bar. “My mom isn’t going to like you doing that.” She frowned at Stevie, and the resemblance to Cyndee grew stronger.

“How old are you?” Stevie asked.

“Thirteen.”

Stevie nearly dropped her phone and turned to study the child. “You are?”

The small elfin chin rose. “I’m small for my age. My mom was too.”

Stevie froze as a thought struck her. No. She’s way too old to have been named after Chase Ryan’s TV character. “I like your name,” she told the small girl. “It can be a boy or a girl’s name. Mine’s the same way. Stevie. My real name is Stephanie, but no one ever calls me that.”

The girl’s shoulders slumped. “My real name is Kylie, but my mom changed it a few years ago.”

“Why did she change your name?” Stevie asked faintly, strongly suspecting she knew the answer.

Alex twisted her lips. “She likes that guy.” She pointed to the photos of Chase on the wall. “I’m just glad she picked his TV name and didn’t name me Chase.”

“Do you not like the name?” Stevie was shocked. Cyndee was so fanatical about Chase Ryan she’d changed the name of her daughter to that of someone he played on TV.

“It’s okay. I always liked Kylie better. It’s more girly.”

“Stevie?” Zane said in an odd voice from the back of the trailer. “Can you take a look at this?”

Her suspicion rising, Stevie took the three steps to reach him. He was staring at the BlackBerry.

“Watch this.”

She leaned close to see a video on the tiny screen. Trees. A campfire. Guys around the campfire. Guys yelling at one another around the campfire. She recognized Chase, Josh, Spider, and Toby. Chase was wearing the same clothes they’d found on his murdered body.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Chase was clearly drunk, and all of them appeared to gang up on him. She caught her breath as Josh stepped forward and slammed his hands into Chase’s chest, sending him stumbling backward, nearly into the fire. “Your cock is going to ruin your life!” Josh shouted. “Get it under control!” The other guys chorused in agreement. Their words were slightly slurred and their jerky movements told Stevie they’d had too much alcohol.

Chase caught his balance and rushed Josh, swinging a fist at his face. Josh neatly sidestepped the movement, and the guys all howled with laughter as Chase went stumbling past him. Stevie heard Cyndee take a sharp breath in the background of the video—she assumed it was Cyndee filming the argument.

She watched for another thirty seconds. The men continued to argue, and Chase was held back by Spider as he tried again to attack Josh. He turned his rage on Spider, who finally shoved him away. Chase stomped off, and Cyndee filmed him climbing into the Hummer. The video ended as he drove away from the campsite.

“This has to be from the night he died,” Stevie stated.

“None of them even tried to stop him from driving drunk.” Zane was furious. “We’re lucky we only had one casualty that night.”

“None of the guys mentioned this fight,” Stevie pointed out. “According to them, it was a typical evening, and no one saw Chase drive away. I’m pretty certain all of them just witnessed it.”

“We need to have another talk with them. I’m getting real tired of people not telling me the truth.”

The crunch of tires outside made Stevie peer out the window. “It’s Carly.”

“What’s going on?” Alex finished the second granola bar and stared at Stevie with suspicious eyes. “You didn’t call child services about me, did you? My mom has always said they’d try to separate us.”

Stevie sighed and sat next to Alex. “I’m concerned that your mom isn’t here and that she didn’t leave you with anything to eat. I’m also worried about your mom. I saw her earlier today and she was very upset. Until we find her, I’d feel better if you were with a trustworthy adult. As soon as your mom turns up, we’ll make certain you see her.”

Alex’s pale-blue eyes studied Stevie, and she felt the weight of the child’s assessment. “Are you lying to me?” she asked Stevie.

“No. I’m sincerely worried and won’t relax until there’s an adult to help you.”

“I know how to take care of myself. I’ve done it before.”

Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “For how long?”

Alex seemed to backpedal a bit. “For a few hours.”

Stevie wondered if she’d been about to claim a few days, and she would have believed the girl. Stevie fully accepted that Cyndee would leave her daughter alone overnight. “That’s my sister who just arrived,” she told Alex. “She’ll find you a place with lots of room and a full fridge, and I’ll let her know the minute your mom turns up. Promise.”

The child stared a moment longer and then nodded. Stevie sighed in relief. Alex could have made the situation very ugly.

She handed Alex off to Carly. “Where are you taking her?” she asked her sister in a low voice.

“Heidi and Dylan Jones have room.”

“Oh good.” Stevie knew Carly had been friends with Heidi forever. She had a nice family with a few kids.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Carly asked as she put Alex in her car and closed the door.

“Well, it depends on when we find her mother—”

“No, not that. The wedding.”

Stevie had completely forgotten. She rubbed the back of her neck and avoided her sister’s prying stare. “I’ll find something to wear . . . you and Brianna should just wear nice dresses . . . and we’ll meet at the church as scheduled. The reception will have to be postponed for a few weeks.”

“Oh, Stevie. I’m so sorry.” Carly squeezed her hand.

She smiled. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll get the ceremony done. I think that’s the important part, right? I know Zane will be fine with whatever we do as long as we’re finally legal.” Her heart twinged at the thought of all her mom’s hard work at the grange, and she tried not to think about her dress.

She and Carly had made three long road trips to stores in Portland to find the right dress. Stevie had finally decided on a lovely gown, elegant and simple.

Small Town Rule #2: Living in a small town means you are totally fine with driving four hours to find a good clothing store.

She swallowed hard, remembering the swish of soft silk under her hands. It was only a dress. Not important. She glanced back at the man still glaring at the BlackBerry in his hand.

He’s what’s important.

“This time tomorrow, Zane and I’ll be married,” she said. The statement felt surreal, as if she were quoting a movie. Until she said the vows before the minister and heard the words from Zane’s lips, it would still be a hazy fantasy. “I love him,” she told Carly with a smile. “The loss of the reception and dress aren’t essential.”

We could be mourning the death of Carly’s daughter at this moment.

Or our mother.

“I think the fire showed me what’s truly important, and it’s my family and the fact that I’ll be marrying a man who makes me crazy.”

“I hope you mean crazy in love,” said Zane behind her.

She whirled around after giving Carly a glare for not warning her that Zane was behind her. “Absolutely. I can’t wait for tomorrow. Reception or no reception.”

“Me too,” he agreed with a grin that made her heart take a double beat. “But first, let’s ask the guys again what really happened the night of Chase’s death.”

CHAPTER TEN

Stevie was exhausted from the long day.

“We’re taking a break from the investigation tomorrow,” Zane promised as Stevie drove back to town from Cyndee’s trailer. “I’ve asked Rogue County to keep an eye out for Cyndee as a suspect in the grange fire. And I don’t care if Cyndee shows up and freaks out because her daughter is staying somewhere else. Tomorrow is for us.”

“We’ll make it work,” agreed Stevie. The sunlight had fully vanished and the roads were dark as she drove toward the old real estate office where Chase’s friends were staying. “Justice can wait a few hours while we get married.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” grumbled Zane.

“We’ve only known each other a little over a year,” Stevie pointed out. “It takes time to figure out if a future is possible.”

“I knew the first time I saw you.”

His determined statement took her voice away. “You did?” she squeaked.

“You bet. The moment we met, when you stepped into my office the morning after Roy asked me to take over as police chief. I knew right then it was over for me.”

“Huh.”

“Not that way for you?” he gently teased.

“I found you good-looking,” Stevie admitted. “But usually I get to know someone before I decide if I’m going to marry them. For all I knew, you had the ego of twenty men and allowed mold to grow in your shower.”

“Deal breakers?”

“Definitely.”

She glanced at his profile in the dim light. Strong jaw. Decisive chin. I can’t imagine my life without him now.

A golden glow hovered over the town, and Stevie wondered if the networks had set up a dozen bright lights to deliver their latest news reports. I’ll be glad when Solitude is simply ours again.

“Stevie.” Zane leaned forward in the passenger seat, staring at the glow. “Is that coming from . . .”

“It can’t be.” She floored the accelerator and sent the vehicle surging down the road. Thirty seconds later she pulled to a stop across the street from the flaming real estate office. Zane called in the fire as she dashed to assess the situation. Situated on a quiet cross street in the town, this location didn’t have the foot traffic that the main road did. Two men stood near the office, both talking on their cell phones, also calling in the fire. The real estate office was a tiny one-story building, and the fire appeared to have started in a small shed connected to the primary structure. The flames had engulfed the entire shed and spread up the wall to take over the roof of the office.

Déjà vu swamped her. Another fire? Cyndee.

“Is anyone inside?” Stevie shouted.

“I just got here,” said the first man. “I banged on the door, but no one answered.” He pointed at a two-by-four. “That was propped up against the door handle. If someone had been in there, they would have been trapped.”

Stevie darted around to the back of the office and spotted the black Hummer through the window of the tiny garage. There was a good chance the guys were inside.

Drunk and asleep?

Adrenaline shot through her as she ran up the steps to the back door and spotted another two-by-four wedged under the handle. Who trapped them inside? She ripped it away and pounded on the door, rattling the locked handle. “Josh?”

Thank goodness Brandon is with his mom.

Zane came around the side of the office. “The flames are taking off. Can you hear anyone?”

“No. Their vehicle is here and both doors were blocked.”

“What the hell? I think we need to check inside.” He picked up the two-by-four and focused on a window.

“Careful!” Stevie warned, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“Both back windows are open a few inches. Breaking a window won’t make a backdraft.”

Stevie looked away as he swung the board at the window. The old, cheap pane shattered, leaving deadly teeth of glass in the window frame. He knocked out the rest of the window as Stevie stepped back and checked the flames on top of the roof. She’d seen smoke start to appear inside the office, crawling along the ceiling.

“Toby!” Zane yelled through the window. “Spider! You guys in there?”

He grabbed a rickety chair from the far corner of the back patio, set it next to the window, and started to climb in. Stevie took a deep breath, hearing fire engines in the distance. “Let’s wait for the firefighters.”

“It’s barely smoky inside,” said Zane. “It’ll take me thirty seconds to clear the house.”

“The entire roof is on fire!” she argued. “It could collapse.” She grabbed the back of his shirt. “Don’t go in there.”

“Zane?” Toby appeared in the rear room of the office, rubbing sleepily at his face. He wore only boxers. He stopped and stared at the broken glass on the floor. “What’s going on?” His eyes grew wide and he looked up at the ceiling, slightly ducking his head. “What’s that noise up there?”

“The office is on fire!” Stevie shouted. “You need to get out before the roof collapses!”

“Holy shit!” Toby whirled around and vanished.

“Who’s inside?” Zane shouted after him.

“All of us!”

Stevie heard Toby yell at the other two guys. Zane tried to move through the window again, but she held on to him. “They’re coming.” I hope.

The seconds felt like hours and the layer of smoke along the ceiling rapidly grew until the upper third of the room was full. The crackling and hissing from the flames grew louder.

Moments later all three appeared, barefoot and half-dressed, clutching various belongings as they hunched over below the thick smoke. They were terrified.

“Watch the glass!” Stevie ordered. They stepped gingerly around the broken glass, fumbled with the lock at back door, and dashed out. The five moved to the street, away from the flames, and stared at the fire.

“What the fuck?” said Josh, his bleached hair flat on one side. “We could have died in there.” Toby and Spider were stunned silent, gripping their cell phones and clothes. All three of them had bloodshot eyes, and Stevie smelled pot hovering around them.

She wanted to smack each of them in the head.

“Someone blocked both doors before starting the fire,” Stevie told the friends. Two fire engines arrived, and Zane stepped away to talk to the firemen.

“The doors were blocked?” repeated Spider. “Cyndee,” he said in a disgusted voice. “What the hell is she thinking?”

Toby didn’t say anything. He swayed, his half-open eyes indicating his drugged state.

All three of them would have slept through the fire, Stevie knew. Smoke inhalation would have overpowered them before they were coherent enough to realize what was happening.

Fury rocked through Stevie. Cyndee tried to murder them.

Crashing sounds thundered as the roof collapsed, creating an eruption of flames and sparks. The group backed farther away from the disaster.

Stevie couldn’t pull her gaze from the inferno. We could be investigating three more murders.

It would be a long time before Cyndee had custody of her daughter again.

Two hours later the three friends slumped in the tiny meeting room at the police station. The fire was out, but the real estate office and nearly all their belongings were a total loss. Zane felt bad for the trio. They’d had a run of bad luck and now looked like dogs that’d been beaten and abandoned by a dumpster.

But he wanted straight answers.

“The three of you told us that Chase drove off after all of you went to bed that night,” Zane started. “You admitted you’d all had a bit to drink, but that everything was fine until you discovered his body the next morning. Do I have that part of the story right?”

Three heads nodded.

He looked at each one of them. Spider and Josh met his eye, but Toby wouldn’t look up from his lap, where he methodically picked at the hem of his T-shirt. After the fire he’d appeared more stoned than the others, but he’d perked up and been fully alert during the last hour. Zane saw no problems with interviewing him now.

Stevie stood up. “Can you come with me for a minute, Josh? You too, Spider.” The three of them left the room.

Zane’s heart was heavy. He and Stevie had agreed to separate the three guys before bringing up the video. He hadn’t liked Toby’s lack of eye contact after his statement, and clearly neither had Stevie. They’d planned to first show the phone video to Josh, but instead she’d hustled him and Spider out of the room, and Zane agreed with her choice.

Something was up with Toby.

“I’m going to show you something, Toby,” Zane said to the young man. He held out Cyndee’s phone, steeling himself for his reaction.

“What . . . ,” Toby’s voice trailed off as he watched.

On the phone, Josh screamed at Chase and the other men’s voices chimed in.

Air rushed out of Toby’s lungs, and he hunched in his chair, trying to fold in on himself. His gaze was glued to the screen and his pupils dilated.

He’s terrified.

“I need to talk to my brother,” Toby muttered.

“Why?” asked Zane.

Toby’s head slowly moved back and forth, his focus still on the video. “Did someone at the campground film this?”

“Something like that.”

“Josh,” he said under his breath. “I need to talk to him first.” The young man’s face turned red, and sweat appeared on his upper lip. He ran a hand across his forehead, avoiding Zane’s gaze.

“Before what?” Zane heard the sounds of Chase driving off and stopped the video.

Toby burst out of his seat toward the door and tripped over a chair leg. Zane jumped and caught him by one arm as he fought for balance.

“Let me go!” Toby shoved Zane and broke out of his grip, stepping backward and eyeing him in terror.

“Go where?” Zane asked calmly, knowing Toby was losing control. I’ve set him off. The young man was in flight mode. Panting and wide-eyed and thrashing his arms.

“Get out of my way,” he shouted. Toby lunged to one side, got a grip on a heavy storage box, and flung it toward Zane’s feet. Zane sidestepped and grabbed Toby’s arm again as the young man threw himself at the closed door.

Zane wrenched Toby’s arm behind his back and crushed his body weight against the man, pinning him against the door.

“You’ve got to let me go!” His shout was wet with spit and tears.

Zane held him immobile. “That video was from the night Chase died, wasn’t it?”

Racking sobs answered him.

“What happened when Chase came back to camp that night?”

More wet sobs.

“Did you see him when he came back?” Zane leaned harder into his back. “What did you say to him, Toby? Were all of you still angry with him?”

“He’s . . . he’s . . . always screwing around!” Toby spit out. “He risks everything when he does it. His career, our jobs! He’s going to ruin it all!”

The hair on Zane’s arms started to rise. He knew he was seconds away from getting the truth about what had happened to Chase Ryan.

“When he came back, he was bragging about banging some girls. Spider and Josh had gone to bed, but I was still up.”

“Then what happened?” Zane held his breath. He felt Toby’s lungs expand as he sucked in a deep gasp of air, one side of his face squashed against the door.

“It was an accident,” he whispered through wet lips.

“What was an accident?” Dread filled Zane. No, Toby. I’d hoped it wasn’t you . . .

Toby’s harsh breathing filled the tiny room and Zane felt as if they were both standing on the tip of a precipice. Unspoken words floated around them, threatening to knock them over the edge.

“I hit him in the head with a rock!” The words burst out of Toby. “He went down and stopped breathing!” He took a ragged breath. “I tried CPR but nothing worked and I panicked and tried to make it look like some weirdo fan had choked him with the belt!”

There it is. Zane exhaled.

“He made me so angry!” Rough sobs hampered his words. “Over and over he screws around without thinking about who it affects.” All the fight drained out of Toby, and his body sagged against the door.

Zane backed off a fraction, allowing Toby to draw a decent breath. He waited for a long moment, expecting a giant wave of triumph for solving Chase Ryan’s murder, while Toby’s sobs grew deeper and more gut-wrenching.

Nothing happened.

Instead Zane was overwhelmed with pity. There was no satisfaction. No sense of accomplishment. A lifelong friendship had ended in murder and a cover-up. Zane knew the act had been in the heat of the moment, but now Toby would pay for it for the rest of his life.

Zane’s victory was hollow.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The weather was celebrating his wedding day. It was sunny and gorgeous but not too hot. Zane closed his eyes and inhaled, catching the scents of sweetgrass and roses. The blue sky promised a carefree and happy afternoon.

But first his wife needed some time alone with her father.

He opened his eyes. Stevie stood twenty feet away talking to her father’s grave. She bent over, one of her hands stroking his gravestone as she spoke. Her beauty punched him in the gut for the tenth time that day, and he marveled at his luck.

My wife.

An hour ago they’d stood in the church before their family and friends and taken their vows. Carly had shown up with four dresses for Stevie to try on that morning, donated by her friends. Stevie told him that one had been a perfect fit and she’d instantly known it was right. It wasn’t a long, white wedding dress. It was a sundress of several layers of gauzy teal that floated and flitted around her knees. She’d never looked more beautiful.

Before the service, the women of the town had shown up with their arms full of flowers from their gardens. Stevie, Carly, and Brianna had fashioned their bouquets on the spot, each choosing the flowers she wished to carry. Patsy had snipped a rose and pinned it to Zane’s shirt. “You’re amazing,” he’d told her. “We can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re very welcome.” Patsy had fondly kissed him on the cheek. “I know you’ll love my daughter the way she was meant to be loved.”

He planned on it.

His best man, Seth, had poked Zane in the ribs as Stevie walked down the aisle. “Close your mouth,” he’d suggested.

“Something borrowed and something blue,” Stevie had joked about her teal dress as she met him—on time—in front of the minister. With gigantic grins, her brothers had walked her down the aisle. Early that morning Patsy had ordered all the men to abandon their rented tuxes. “Wear what makes you comfortable,” she’d said. “Formality is forbidden today.” After a series of group texts, the men had agreed on shorts and casual shirts.

The ceremony was a blur. Zane repeated stuff; Stevie repeated stuff. The minister talked too much, and the whole time Zane stared into Stevie’s brown eyes, thankful she’d come into his life.

That part he remembered.

“Zane.” Stevie waved him over to the grave. Her cheeks were wet, making his heart tighten, but she smiled.

Zane took her hand as he reached Bill’s grave, feeling his own regret that the big man hadn’t been able to attend his daughter’s wedding. He’d been Zane’s mentor and friend.

“I could feel him there today,” Stevie whispered. “I swear I heard his voice at one point.”

Zane didn’t doubt it.

“Mom said he thought of you like a son,” she added.

“I thought of him like a second father. He was a good man, Stevie. I hate that he died so early.”

She inhaled deeply and wiped her tears, gazing at the grave for another long minute. Zane heard the rush of the Rogue River nearby, and birds chattered in the trees. There were worse places to spend eternity.

“I’m ready,” she stated. But she didn’t turn to walk away.

Zane waited.

Ten seconds passed, and she finally turned. He held her hand as they walked through the soft grass back to his vehicle. “Did we give Mom enough time to set up for lunch?” she asked.

Zane checked the time. “I think so. She said to stay away from the house for an hour so she could prepare for a family meal. She felt bad the reception was ruined.”

“It’s fine. We’ll have a party another time. A nice, quiet family meal sounds perfect.”

“Meals with your family are never quiet.” Part of him wanted to simply take her home and finally be alone with her.

She laughed. “True.”

“Are you packed?”

“I’m all ready for our flight tonight. I can’t wait to get in the blue water and lie on the beach.”

“Lord, me too. It’s been a long few days.”

“Has Toby said anything else about Chase?” Stevie asked.

“No. He’s been silent. Aiden is flying in a lawyer for him.”

“And the other guys?”

“They’re still stunned. Josh is crushed that his brother is sitting in jail for killing their friend. And there’s been no word on Cyndee. I’ve notified every agency in the state and Northern California to keep an eye out for her.” He stopped and turned toward her. “I don’t want to talk shop today.”

She smiled. “Agreed. No more. Let’s get to my mom’s and eat so we can get away earlier.” Her eyes were full of promise.

Excitement shot through him. “Sounds perfect to me.”

Stevie stared at the rows of cars parked in the field next to her mother’s house. What on earth? She looked at Zane. “Did you know about this?”

“Hell no.” He scowled, and she knew his plans for an early escape had just been put on hold.

A stream of people walked from the cars to the main house, all carrying covered dishes. “They brought food,” Stevie exclaimed. “It’s a potluck. How lovely!” Her chest filled with love for her enterprising mother. “Looks like our reception is going on as scheduled.”

Zane parked, and the vehicle was rushed by children who danced in circles around his truck, waving their arms. “They’re here! They’re here!” She spotted her nephews and Brianna in the crowd of two dozen children. She stepped out and was nearly knocked over by hugs. She met Zane’s gaze over the hood, her eyes filling with tears as children tugged at her hands. Zane loaded one boy onto his back and grinned back at her. “I guess these are our escorts to the party.”

They were hustled around to the back of the big house, where tables were scattered across the rear lawn and a temporary dance floor had been set up near the apple trees. Bruce’s band was warming up, and the notes of “Sweet Home Alabama” filled the air. Women fussed over a long table of food, and she saw her mother bustle out of the house, giving commands to a group of high-school girls with their arms full of paper plates and cups.

Stevie dashed up the deck steps to her mother and enveloped her in a hug. “Thank you so much. This is better than anything we could have done at the grange.”

Patsy pulled back and looked her in the eye. “My daughter deserved a reception. Today. I was up half the night making phone calls, and people were thrilled to help. I don’t think there’s ever been a wedding reception with more volunteers.” She leaned close. “Everyone loves you and Zane. They wanted to express their appreciation for the job the two of you do.”

Tears threatened. Out of the corner of her blurry eyes, something white caught her attention. “Is that my cake?” A four-tiered white cake garnished with fresh flowers graced the table at the far end of the deck.

“Of course,” said Patsy. “Your cake is the one thing that wasn’t already at the grange. I simply had them deliver it here.”

“I’d completely forgotten.”

Carly pushed past her mother and wrapped Stevie in a bear hug. Over her sister’s shoulder, Seth grinned at the two of them. “She had a hard time keeping this a secret all morning,” Seth said. Zane appeared, and Seth clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand. “Congratulations again,” he told her husband.

My husband. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from her handsome man.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on Toby at the jail tonight so we can get out of town,” Zane told Seth.

“Not a problem. Your officers have been stretched too thin the last few days.”

“No work talk!” ordered Patsy. “Today is a celebration. My daughter finally coming to her senses.” She nodded triumphantly.

“Hey!” exclaimed Stevie. “Why does everyone act as though it’s taken ten years to get to this point?” She moved into Zane’s arms, loving the feel of his solid muscle wrapped around her. “The path we followed was perfect. Everything has happened as it was meant to happen, right?” She looked into his eyes.

“Everything is perfect,” he answered, pulling her in for a kiss.

“Good answer,” she said a moment later as she came up for air. “Unchained Melody” streamed across the yard, and Bruce started to sing, his rich voice shaming the Righteous Brothers.

“Would you like to dance, Mrs. Duncan?” Zane took her hand, moved toward the steps to the dance floor, and turned to look at her, his smile bigger than she’d ever seen it.

Happiness tumbled through her as she got lost in his brown eyes.

Why did I wait so long to marry him?

“For the rest of my life.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Rogue River and Rogue Winter novella series started as an idea proposed to us by our editors at Montlake Romance. So we’d like to thank JoVon Sotak and Kelli Martin for putting the concept of writing a joint project in our heads. Writing is normally a very solitary occupation. This type of collaboration was a whole new experience for both of us. We discovered that the only thing better than having writer buddies is having one to help you plot murder. On paper, of course.

Melinda Leigh
Kendra Elliot

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photograph © 2014 Marti Corn Photography

Inspired by classic female heroines such as Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls Wilder, Kendra Elliot has always been a voracious reader. Now a Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Kendra won the 2014, 2015, and 2016 Daphne du Maurier Awards for best Romantic Mystery/Suspense. She was also an International Thriller Writers finalist for Best Paperback Original and a Romantic Times finalist for best Romantic Suspense.

Kendra was born and raised in the rainy Pacific Northwest, where she still lives with her husband and three daughters, though she’s looking forward to the day when she can live in flip-flops. To learn more about the author and her work and to connect with her, visit www.KendraElliot.com.