Nick stood by the double windows and filled him in on the scene at the Whittaker guesthouse, then said, “It’s possible Feehan camped out there last night and took off first thing this morning, before any of us arrived.”
“And he killed Cutshaw over drugs?”
“No one’s going that far. Not yet.”
“His story about Cutshaw taking off when he found out you were in town could all be BS meant to mislead the police.”
Nick had considered that possibility, too. “How’s Hannah holding up?”
“She’s worried about Rose more than ever. Beth is, too.”
“And you,” Nick said. “Would you be less worried if I came back to L.A.?”
“I’d be less worried if Rose wasn’t so—” Sean broke off with a small grunt. “I don’t need to tell you.”
“Rose is as hardheaded and independent as the rest of you. What’s going on there? Where’s Grit Taylor now?”
“Staring at the pool trying to figuring things out. He’s Elijah’s friend. He’s self-confident, and he doesn’t quit. He didn’t like finding that woman today. Jo’s not happy with the situation, either.”
“Are she and Elijah on their way out there?”
“I won’t know until they show up in my living room. Everyone’s being tight-lipped.”
“You can use my place for spillover company if it gets crowded. That’d give Jo a handy excuse to have a look around and make sure I’ve been straight with everyone.”
“She doesn’t need an excuse. She’ll get a warrant.”
She would, too, Nick thought.
“Is anything Jasper told you making sense now, or setting off alarms?” Sean asked.
Nick moved back from the windows and sat on the edge of the bed, the comforter folded up at the foot. “No, but something about my trip out here’s triggered what’s been happening. Any news on the actor?”
“He hasn’t turned up. I emailed you a photo of him. He hasn’t had much of an acting career. Apparently he’s working on several screenplays.”
“What did Marissa Neal see in him?”
“I’m not in the loop with the Secret Service,” Sean said stiffly, “but as far as I can tell he was something of a departure from the straight-and-narrow for her. High energy, big dreams, big ego. Good-looking, too.”
Nick knew the type. After he disconnected, he checked his email, but he didn’t recognize Trent Stevens from the photo Sean sent. He took his BlackBerry and headed back to the lobby. A woman at the front desk informed him Rose was in the ballroom.
Ballroom?
He got directions and went down a hall and around a corner to a large room that jutted out of the main building, windows on three sides with what in daylight would be breathtaking views of the meadow and the surrounding mountains.
Rose, A.J., Zack Harper and Myrtle Smith were gathered at a long table.
Lauren was on her feet, her daughter on one hip as she welcomed Nick. “Help yourself,” she said, nodding to the end of the table, which was spread with glasses and bottles of wine.
Nick thanked her and splashed wine into a glass. A.J. and Zack’s concern for Rose was evident, but they were circumspect with him, as if the white gas and old kerosene lamp at the guesthouse had confirmed he’d brought an ill wind and bad luck to town.
Maybe he had.
He showed Lauren the picture of the missing actor, without saying who it was.
“A.J. and I see a lot of people in our work,” she said. “I don’t remember this man.”
Her husband joined them and glanced at the actor’s smiling face. A.J. didn’t recognize Stevens, either. “We have the Secret Service breathing down our necks as it is with the Neals coming for winter fest.” His expression turned flinty. “Unless they cancel, given this latest violence.”
Nick slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I hope the police will have some definitive answers by then.”
The flintiness didn’t let up. “You attend fancy parties in Beverly Hills. Could you have run into this actor at one of them?”
“Possibly, but I don’t have any specific recollection of ever having met him. I’m not great with faces. Sometimes Hollywood types come to us for information on smoke jumping and wildland fires.” Nick sipped his wine and observed Rose, her eyes a deep blue in the ballroom’s soft light as she, Myrtle and Lauren went over logistics for the silent auction. He turned back to A.J. “I wish I could be more help.”
“I spoke to Sean. He and Grit Taylor went up to the site where the arson investigator was killed. His death is the reason you came out here, isn’t it?” A.J. didn’t give Nick a chance to answer. “Could Robert Feehan be this serial arsonist you’re after?”
“I’m not with law enforcement, A.J.,” Nick said. “I’m not here on any kind of official business. If my presence is putting anyone in danger, I’ll clear out. I won’t stay.”
The eldest Cameron seemed satisfied. “Fair enough. If Feehan’s mixed up with illegal prescription drugs, that could explain why he’s avoiding the police.”
“He could also be afraid he’s next on the killer’s list.”
A.J. sighed heavily. “If he’s innocent, running only makes his situation worse. He needs to talk to the police and get it over with.”
The two little Camerons were now racing around in circles in the wide, open space. Lauren kept a watchful eye on them. A.J. went to them, handing his wife a glass of wine. Nick watched the young family, pushing back a wave of regret and guilt that he knew would get him nowhere. He had anticipated a certain amount of awkwardness on his trip to Black Falls, given his situation with Rose, but he hadn’t expected to run into violence. He’d figured he’d talk to the lead investigators into Lowell Whittaker’s network about Jasper’s death, check out the Whittaker estate and Cameron Mountain.
Instead not only had he run into violence, he could very easily have caused it just by coming here.
Zack Harper scooped up a glass of wine as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Looks as if your theory about Coleman fuel in a kerosene lamp’s right on target. Some poor unknowing bastard wanders by with a match and that’s it.” He drank some of his wine. “Not pretty. Feehan must have figured the Whittaker guesthouse was the last place anyone would look for him.”
“Assuming what we found wasn’t planted there,” Rose said, holding a glass of wine in one hand as she joined them.
“Is that what you think?” Zack asked.
“I’m just trying to keep an open mind.”
“You don’t have to. You’re not investigating the case.”
Brett Griffin entered the ballroom, still wearing his parka. He looked tentative, his fair cheeks and nose red from the cold. “The woman at the front desk said you all were down here. I just finished talking to the police. I was taking night shots up at Four Corners.” He didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular. “I’d heard rumors about drugs but I had nothing to go on. No evidence to take to the police. I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble over rumors.”
Zack drank some of his wine. “Think that’s what all this is about? A fight between friends over drugs?”
Clearly it wasn’t what Zack believed. Nick glanced at Rose, but she just kept a tight grip on her wineglass and said nothing.
Brett shifted to her. “There’s one more thing I wanted to mention. I didn’t want to get into it before—but now…” Red spots blossomed high on his cheeks. “Derek told me he blamed you for how he lost control last year at O’Rourke’s. The fight hurt his reputation. He felt bad Bowie got arrested. I didn’t want to say anything before now because it just didn’t seem to matter. There was no point.”
“Are you suggesting he wanted to get back at me for what happened?” Rose asked quietly.
Brett glanced around the ballroom as if he were looking for someone to help him.
“Brett,” Rose said, prodding him.
“If Derek felt under pressure—threatened for some reason—I think he’d have tried to strike back at you if he could.”
Rose maintained a neutral expression. “Yesterday morning Robert said Derek didn’t want to hurt me. He said
