Page 84 of Dead & Breakfast
“Saying that over and over won’t make it true, and the FPI agents will never buy it.” McMartin’s smirk was triumphant, as good as a confession to Arthur.
“I suppose we’ll have to see what the FPI thinks when they look into you. The corrupt sheriff…I guess it’s a cliché for a reason.”
Some of the redness faded from McMartin’s face. He looked a little shaken. Good. Arthur wanted him afraid, wanted the guilt of what he’d done to push him to confess.
Arthur pressed on. “Do you think the FPI will bother to keep the truth about your movie a secret? Or will it be all over the entertainment news by Monday evening? Certainly everyone in town will know.”
Pale beneath his fake tan, McMartin’s smug self-assuredness was finally gone. “They don’t care about that sort of thing.”
“They’ll care because it was motive for attempted murder. What will that do to your eventual reelection campaign?” Arthur asked.
“As soon as they see proof of my alibi, they’ll clear me.”
“Since you refuse to tell me what it is, I have no choice but to assume you’re lying.” Arthur crossed his arms and fixed the sheriff with his best impression of a coy smile. “Come on, what was it? Seeing a married woman? Committing some other crime?”
“No, it was—I was—” McMartin glanced at his oblivious deputy and stepped right up to the bars. “I was recording some new audition material. My agent dropped me because of the movie thing, so I’m looking for a new one.”
Arthur paused. Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected. But it was probably a lie. “Auditions? Why are you so hesitant to show me, then? Isn’t an audition something meant to be seen?”
“It’s what I’m auditioning for that you wouldn’t understand.” He crossed his arms, shoulders hunched.
“I’m certain if you explain yourself properly, I will. You’re the industry professional, after all.” Every good detective knew when to butter up a suspect.
“Fine.” McMartin took out his phone, then hesitated. “You ever hear of the showLove Is Dead?”
Arthur perked up. “Sal and I watch every week, in fact.” Or, they had. Now he wasn’t certain they’d ever view another episode together.
“They’re looking for a new host, so I thought I’d throw my hat into the ring.” The sheriff tapped his phone screen a few times and turned it to Arthur. The video played.
A close-cropped recording showed a glossy-faced McMartin wearing an onyx tuxedo and a cellophane smile. He gestured as he spoke, arms cutting in and out of the frame.
“Find out what happens when love bites back, this week onLove Is Dead!” McMartin said into the camera. And, unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. “Sasha and Maurine’s love for the Count is neck and neck! There’s more than just their hearts at stake.” He hit all the puns with a bit too much force. Sal probably would have loved it.
The time stamp on the video was from last night—just after eight p.m., right around the time Brody had been attacked. Perhaps this was all a little too convenient, though.
“What would someone like you be doing auditioning for a show about matching humans with vampires? You hate paranormals!”Arthur said. And, because Sal wasn’t here to be dramatic for him, he continued. “Perhaps this is one of those deepfakes you claim to fear so much.”
McMartin rolled his eyes. “If you want to get cast in good roles, you have to suck up to paranormals. Everything’s about diversity these days. Can’t get a job as a regular joe anymore.”
Arthur nearly pointed out that the sheriff did, in fact, have a job—and a fairly powerful one, at that, despite beingregular—but he held back. Now wasn’t the time for that particular argument.
“Everyone sells out. I just have to bite my tongue, at least until the residuals start paying out.”
As idiotic as he sounded, Arthur found himself believing the sheriff—about his alibi, not the nature of Hollywood. McMartin wasn’t some villainous mastermind, after all. Just a startlingly inept man with far too much unearned confidence. Arthur had pinned his hopes on the wrong man, and now he was stuck in jail, with his main suspect cleared. He should have run away with Salvatore. He should have given up this whole detective thing long ago. Trident Falls was determined to believe in his guilt. Salvatore’s words rang in his ears from what felt like eons ago, but in reality it had been only a little over forty-eight hours.
If they don’t want us, I don’t know why you’d want them.
But Arthur couldn’t help it—he wanted Trident Falls, or at least what it represented, more than he’d wanted much of anything over the years. No matter how the world kept rejecting him for being a vampire, for being odd, for being himself—he couldn’t give up.
McMartin coughed and gave Arthur a smug look. “I have some actual work to do. Gotta get your case file finished for the handoff tomorrow. You may as well get comfortable in there.”
Arthur returned to his perch on the hard bench, slumping asMcMartin closed himself up in his office. Arthur had only just begun the descent into what promised to be a very long, drawn-out, poorly attended pity party when a familiar pattern of clacking heels approached. He looked up, not realizing he’d known Nora long enough to recognize her gait from sound alone.
Despite himself, and the situation, he shrugged on a smile and stood to greet her. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, ages.” She returned his smile, but it faltered almost immediately. “I should’ve known she was following me. I can’t believe she led the police right to you.”
“That wasn’t your fault. This was bound to happen eventually.” He tried to sound chipper, but Arthur could hardly summon the energy to shrug off his defeat. “Besides, it wasn’t Quinn who led them to me. That voicemail I left at the inn wasn’t exactly my brightest moment.”
