Page 48 of Romance Is Dead

“No! No, I don’t. Of course I don’t.” I stood, feigning a yawn. “Thanks for the drinks but I’d better go. Early call time and all.”

Brent frowned. “You still want to come back to my room, though, right?”

“Wow, I don’t think I can. I’m just so tired.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Quinn? This is bullshit.”

“Thanks again!” I made a beeline for where Mara was congregated with Chloe and Audrey at the bar. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind calling it an early night.

“Time to go,” I whispered when I got close enough. “I. . . don’t feel well.” I took some money out of my purse and laid it on the bar for their drinks.

“We can’t leave yet,” Mara whined. “Laurie doesn’t get off until two.”

“We’ll come back another night. I’m sure your vagina will survive until then.”

“Don’t be a party pooper!” Chloe tipped the cowboy hat she was wearing at me. “The night’s just getting started, partner!”

Next to her, Audrey giggled. “Yeah, you haven’t even met our new friends yet.” She gestured down the bar, where two men—one with a hat and one without—waved sheepishly.

“Sorry, guys.” I grabbed Mara’s arm. “Let’s go. Please?”

“Fine.” Mara stood and grabbed her purse. “But you owe me. Big time.”

As the two of us hustled out of the bar, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through my veins. It was strange that Brent would admit to having a grudge against Trevor if he’d actually murdered him. But he clearly still had ill will toward him, and we had evidence that he’d been the one Scott had spotted in the attic the night of Trevor’s death.

Looking over my shoulder as we made our exit, the last thing I saw was Brent, glaring at me from his booth.

Chapter Fifteen

“He could be telling the truth.” Teddy looked skeptical, frowning from his seat on my hotel room couch as he popped a Tums into his mouth. “He’s not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

My hand paused halfway through the blanket row I was crocheting, the stitch slipping off the hook. “Are you kidding me? You’re giving Brent, the one single-handedly responsible for you needing to spend the last hour curled up by the toilet, the benefit of the doubt?” After fleeing The Bar, I’d rushed to my room and texted Teddy in his room, letting him know we needed to regroup. Ten minutes of recounting my conversation with Brent later, this was not the reaction I’d been expecting.

Teddy shrugged, crunching on the chalky tablet. “He doesn’t strike me as the criminal mastermind type. More of the sleazy dirtbag type.”

That I couldn’t completely argue with.

“Exactly. A sleazy dirtbag that got axed from a movie for what sounded an awful lot like sexual assault. And Trevor was the one who got him fired.”

“True.”

“Plus, we found his sweatshirt in the attic, so we know he was up there. Plus, the motive.”

“So, what, do we think he’s the murderer?”

I bit my lip. “I’m not sure. But he’s definitely suspicious.”

“And what now?”

“We need harder evidence. We know he’s lying and being shady, but that doesn’t mean he’s the killer. We know he was in the attic, where he could have watched Trevor leave the props trailer before following him. But we don’t know for sure that he was in the attic that particular night. We need something that would specifically pin him to Trevor on the night he was killed.”

“Or . . .”

“What?”

“Maybe you’re fixating on Brent too much.”

“Excuse me? I told you, he—”

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