Page 65 of Romance Is Dead

Finally, Teddy shook himself away, his fist contracting as we moved apart. “That was, uh, good. Good job.”

“All because of you. . . Eddie.”

He pressed his eyes closed. “Please never call me that again.”

My lips cracked into a smile as we continued down the path. We’d have to go back to the hotel, and our murder mystery, eventually. But in the meantime, I was happy to exist right there, at a rundown mini-golf course that had an obsession with cryptids.

Perfect.

Chapter Twenty-one

“I’m not sad he died,” a voice whispered behind me. “He was an asshole.”

“Exactly,” said another. “He felt me up during one of his costume fittings. What a creep.”

“Well, everything happens for a reason,” said the first voice. “Maybe he shouldn’t have fucked up his karma so badly.”

It was the next morning and I was sitting in one of the hotel’s conference rooms along with half the cast and crew as the other half slowly trickled in. Some were talking amongst themselves while others sat quietly as they drank their coffee. Everyone looked anxious. Teddy was sitting next to me, tapping his feet nervously. I glanced at the time—5:58 a.m. Two minutes to go.

Waking up that morning, I’d felt more at peace than I had in months. Getting off set with Teddy the day before had been a balm, even with the horrible events of the day swirling in the background. Returning to the hotel and dropping me off at my room, Teddy hadn’t attempted a replay of our kiss on the back porch. I’d been disappointed until I remembered me turning him down in the closet—maybe it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t tried again. But I could still feel him pressed up against my back, and the way he’d cradled my wrists gently as he helped me practice my swing.

Lying in bed, my room still dark, I’d wanted to swim in that moment just a bit longer, not ready to let the memory go.

But then my phone had dinged with an email from Natasha, the subject line blaring “Outrageous and unfounded claims!” She was asking everyone to meet at six that morning for an “update on the state of production.”

That didn’t sound good.

Now, as the clock rolled over to 5:59, Natasha’s eyes were steely, her mouth slightly pinched. If she’d been angry with Brent for coming to set high, I could only assume she was absolutely apoplectic that he’d gone ahead and died too. Next to me, Teddy rubbed my arm with a crooked knuckle—not obvious enough for anyone to see, but enough to signal he was there.

As the clock ticked over to 6:00 a.m. on the dot, Natasha rose from her seat and stepped to the front of the room.

“Thank you all for coming this morning on such short notice. I’m sure by now everyone is aware of what occurred on set yesterday afternoon.” Natasha’s voice was somber, and she paused as the crowd murmured. “An autopsy is being performed, even though the cause of death is strongly suspected to be from anaphylactic shock. In the meantime, the police will be performing a brief investigation to ensure there is no evidence of foul play. It appears a member of our team has been receiving threatening notes, something the police are taking very seriously.”

My stomach plunged. The killer would already know I’d tattled on them purely by virtue of the police being on set, but I hadn’t realized Natasha was going to rat me out in front of everyone. I glanced around surreptitiously, trying to gauge people’s reactions.

Audrey was clutching a hand to her chest, looking very much like I had during my panic attack. Chloe looked uneasy, her eyes shifting as though she, too, was unsettled there was still a killer on the loose. Mara’s face was blank, giving no clue to her feelings. Our old friend Scott Rossi was scowling in the back row, likely resentful that he’d been questioned about Trevor for a second time.

“Obviously,” Natasha continued, “this whole charade will affect our schedule. Filming will not take place today so the police can conduct their interviews. We’re also still ironing out changes to the shooting schedule now that Brent is no longer here.” She frowned. “And unfortunately, these events have caught the attention of the studio. Representatives will be arriving tomorrow to conduct their own investigation. Everyone must be on their best behavior.”

“Excuse me.” A voice rang out from somewhere behind me. “Sorry, I have a question.”

“Yes?” Natasha’s voice was crisp.

“Just to clarify, a murder has taken place?” It was a camera operator, a woman maybe a year or two older than me. “They just don’t know who did it?”

Natasha gathered herself before answering. “I don’t believe I’m qualified to answer that question. They believe it’s possible a crime could have taken place.”

“Which means they probably have evidence one was committed?” the woman pressed.

Natasha waved a hand. “I don’t—”

“Cops don’t waste their time if they’re not sure a crime happened,” another voice yelled.

And yet another: “And what about Trevor? They said that one was an accident too.”

Voices started to rise, everyone pitching in with their personal and first-hand knowledge of the legal system.

“OnCSI, I saw—”

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