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.”

 

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