“I can’t believe she invited us to stay the night,” he griped for about the thirtieth time since they’d left Queens early that morning.
“You have to admit, it would have been convenient,” she said, not looking up from her phone, where she read the latest e-mail from the wedding caterer.
“It’s inappropriate. She’s a suspect.”
“Which is why I politely declined,” Jill said patiently. “Hey, do you think meatballs are too pedestrian? It says here they can stick rosemary in them as little skewers, which sounds kind of nice…”
“It sounds ridiculous,” he muttered.
She sighed and put her phone down. “If you don’t want me to talk about the wedding, you can just say so.”
“I don’t want you to talk about the wedding.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine.”
Jill felt irrationally annoyed, which wasn’t fair. Of course Vin didn’t want to talk about the wedding. Not many dudes gave a shit about appetizers and party favors.
Well, Tom did. But that’s because it was Tom’s wedding. And because he was, well… perfect.
Perfection was tiresome.
Jill shoved the thought away before it had a chance to fully form.
What was wrong with her?
She was marrying Tom.
And yet she couldn’t seem to stop needling this man. This man who’d always been there for her, in his crusty, monotone kind of way.
Jill put her phone and her notebook away. No more wedding talk. It always put her in a bad mood.
And if the fact that planning her wedding put her in a bad mood was really alarming, she pushed that thought aside too.
“Hey, has your Spidey sense given you any more tingles about Holly Adams?” she said. “Since we discovered that she wasn’t as forthcoming about her and Lenora’s history as she could have been?”
That was a major understatement.
In Jill’s research to unearth Lenora Birch’s complicated career in Hollywood, there was one name that came up over and over:
Holly Adams.
Despite early rumors that Holly Adams would be cast as the lead, it was just announced that the much coveted role went to Lenora Birch…
Once again, Holly Adams and Lenora Birch are fighting for a plum role. Casting insiders say their money’s on Lenora…
Holly Adams has made no secret of her excitement about the project, but early rumors indicate that it was Lenora Adams’s audition that wowed the producer…
“I need to spend some time with her,” Vincent grumbled. “I can’t pluck theories out of the air.”
“Really?” Jill asked dryly. “Since when?”
“She wasn’t straight with us last time,” Vincent said. “Which wouldn’t bother me if she hadn’t made such an effort to convince us she was telling all.”
“You’re mad because she played us,” Jill concluded.
He was silent for several moments. “Yes.”
She smiled, surprised at the admission. “Well, she’s an actress. It’s her job to fool people. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“That’s the problem with our growing list of suspects. They’re all actors. Speaking of which, how’s the list coming?”
Ah yes. A list. Jill loved her lists.
Jill and Vincent’s partnership was a solid one for two reasons:
The first was the most obvious—he was bad cop, she was good cop. They practically defined the cliché.
The second was subtler.
Vin was the feelings guy; the one who paced and observed and pondered until a breakthrough occurred.
Jill was more about the data; she trusted his hunch—always. But then it fell to her to figure out how to act on it. Where to look for the proof. How to maneuver the suspect into a confession.
Or in complicated cases like this one, how to narrow down their suspects from all of Hollywood to a viable list.
Jill had spent the last ten days glued to her computer, most of those with Vincent hovering over her shoulder, which hadn’t been annoying at all.
“The list is almost done,” she said, stalling.
He glanced over. “You’re not telling me something.”
Jill turned to look out the window, wondering if now was a good time to give him the news, since he was preoccupied with driving, or if it would make him swerve off the road in irritation.
“You know, I don’t think you realize how lucky we are that Holly Adams lives so close to New York,” she said, deciding to ease into it.
“Close? We’ve been in the car for two hours, and we’re not even halfway there. Fucking rush hour.”
Here we go.
“She’s a lot closer than the rest of the suspects.”
He was silent. “Explain.”
“Lenora Birch was an actress, Vin. A Hollywood actress.”
More silence. “Tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he said. “Tell me we’re not—”
“Going to California?”
He groaned. “No. No fucking way. I don’t care how many enemies she has in Beverly Hills, she didn’t die there. The crime was committed in New York.”
“I’m aware of that, thanks. But based on what I’ve learned, if you’re a big name in Hollywood, you’re either in LA, or you’re in New York. There’s a lot of crossover. And four of the names I keep coming across on the Lenora Birch enemy list?”