“You think it was Addison?”
“It makes sense.”
“How?”
She swirled her drink. “Let’s ask her. Here she comes now.”
I turned around and saw Addison making like an express train for our station. She’d pinned her hair up, and her pale skin gleamed against a scarlet slip dress, backless. She looked like a little girl playing dress up, but her face was so stiff with anger that her lips didn’t seem to move
“That was low even for you,” she hissed.
Portia regarded her over the martini. “I simply dropped a word to your prospective agent that there was no way you’d be legally allowed to sell that potboiler of yours. Talbot Creative owns your work product.”
“Not if I wrote it before I signed that contract. Which I did.”
Portia lowered the glass. “Too bad you don’t have the money to argue that in court.”
Addison was seething, but there was something else glowing about her besides anger. Something righteous. She wore the confidence of someone with a secret weapon in pocket, and I got a twist of apprehension.
She straightened her shoulders. “Congratulations on a great season. I hope you got everything out of it you wanted. And more.”
“Meaning?”
Addison turned on her heel and left without saying a single word to me. Portia watched her walk over to Nick, who welcomed her with a grin and introduced her around. Quint threw back the rest of his drink, signaled a waiter for another.
“What was that about?” I said.
Portia’s voice was laced with satisfaction. “Addison’s shopping a screenplay about Jessica’s murder. A bio-pic. It never got any traction before, but now, if somebody’s trying to kill Nicky, it smells like a potential hit.”
Across the tent, Addison slipped her arm around Nick’s waist. He turned his face to her, and I was struck by the raw emotion I saw there. As if the two of them were in a room of their own.
Portia continued. “See, the story didn’t have a proper ending before, but now there’s a twist. Agents love a twist.” She set her drink on the bar and pushed it away, untouched. “So there you go. Why would Addison want to kill Nicky? She wouldn’t. But if somebody else is trying to murder him, that’s a gravy train she can hook her little red wagon to.” She shook her head. “Too bad the killer missed. A hit would have pumped the advance into seven digits.”
“You said she wouldn’t be able to sell it.”
“Not outside of Talbot Creative. But Quint would pay her six figures for it, easy.”
“So he could kill it?”
Portia gave me an amused simper. “Oh honey, hell no. He’d ride that puppy all the way to Sundance. Don’t buy his act. He loves publicity. Just not the unprofitable kind.” She waved to someone across the tent. “Speaking of acts, I have to go mingle. I suppose you do too, if you’re going to find that script.”
She waggled her fingers at me and disappeared into the crowd. The hum of conversation had grown louder, a buzz that filled the tent, packed now with bodies. I raised my glass to my lips…
And then I stopped short.
Rico sat at a table next to the band. He had a beard now, trimmed sharp as a scimitar, and his waist was smaller than I remembered, though he was still stocky in the chest, big boned and broad shouldered.
I pushed down a mild panic. Should I duck out? Hide? Call Trey? Before I could decide, he spotted me. He did a double take. And then he grinned and shoved his chair back. I grabbed my bag and met him halfway.
The grin widened. “I didn’t expect—”
“Shhh!” I grabbed his elbow. “Come with me.”
I dragged him toward the corner, shooting a look at the camera. My phone started buzzing instantly. Trey. I pulled Rico into a quiet spot behind the partition that disguised the sound system.
“You don’t know me,” I said.
He arched one magnificently studded eyebrow. “The hell I don’t.”
“I’m undercover.”
“As in?”
“On a case.”
Rico frowned. “Where’s Trey? Does he know about this latest nonsense?”
“It’s not nonsense, and yes, he knows. That’s him texting. And he’s listening to every word we say because I am wired, my friend. Like a double D bra.” I moved closer. “Didn’t you see him at the valet station?”
“We didn’t come in that way. We had to use the employee entrance.”
“We?”
“Dante and me. It’s his gig. I’m tagging along.” He pointed toward the band stand, where a slight black guy with a serious face and round glasses sat behind a cello. “I almost didn’t come. I told Dante I wasn’t going to any more weddings, but he said this one paid serious money, so—”
“Wait, what? Did you say wedding?”
“Shhh!” He leaned closer. “That part’s confidential. But yeah, a surprise you-know-what. The newest white girl thing. Next he’ll be playing gender reveal parties and flashmob prom-posals—”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
At that moment, Nick went up to the band, hand in hand with Addison. As if on cue, the singer smiled at them and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m gonna turn the mic over to my man Nick here for a second.”
I felt my stomach drop. Suddenly I knew why Nick had been so insistent on attending this party, why Addison looked like she had a bomb behind her back.
“Aw hell, they’re getting married!” I said.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Nick’s smile was sheepish, but genuine. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the first season of Moonshine.”
The applause that followed was hearty. I snatched up my still-buzzing phone and called Trey. He started talking before I could get a word out.
“What is Rico doing—”
“Never mind,” I said. “They’re getting married, so you need to get down here!”
“Who’s getting married?”
“Addison and Nick. Right now!”
“Now?”
“Yes, now! Get down here!”
Addison took the microphone. She was skittery and jazzed, her smile wide, eyes too bright. “But we have a confession—Nick and I are celebrating something a little more
