Jasper scans the floor a moment before writing it down on the whiteboard.
“Anyone else, ladies?”
Camila giggles as she elbows me in the arm. “Hear that, Bizzy? Jasper is already likening us in the same regard.”
I make a face at her. “He may be milking you for information now, but he’ll be milking me for kisses later.” I give a wink his way. “No one else I can think of, sweetie.”
Sweetie? His brows dip down, and he looks equally amused and vexed by my spontaneous nickname.
I shrug over at him. “I can work on it. But back to the case—I’ve got nothing. In fact, the only other people I know on set are Faith, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley.”
Jasper quickly adds their names. “We don’t discount anyone at this phase.”
“You know”—I lift a finger in the air—“there was something strange about Faith that night. I caught her wiping down the counter where the cleaver was last seen, almost as if she was wiping down any sign of prints.”
“Okay.” Jasper makes a note of it. “I’ll have to ask her about that.” He glances over his shoulder. “I as in me. I can handle the case once we leave this room. I don’t want either of you pursuing this any further.”
Camila raises her hand as if she were in class. And how she longs to be the teacher’s pet. To quote one of Georgie’s favorite sayings, “Too bad, Toots.”
Jasper nods her way and Camila straightens.
“We should write down Kiki’s name, too,” she insists.
“Kiki Woodley,” Jasper says as he writes her name. “Any thoughts?”
Camila purses her lips. “She was making up the fake blood the day of the murder. I bet she wanted to mix in the real thing as she went for the authentic look.”
“Nope.” I don’t mind knocking down Camila’s veil of a theory. “Kiki.” I close my eyes, trying to remember anything that could have been incriminating. “Come to think of it, she did confirm to me that Bates was drinking the night of the murder and that he told both her and Faith that he wanted to play a prank on the crew.” Some of the private thoughts she was having during that conversation come back to me. “She also said that she couldn’t wait until Bates was locked up for good, and that the way things were going, she didn’t think it would be long at all.”
Jasper gives a wistful tick of the head. “Another strike for Bates.”
We wrap up the suspect scrutiny, and I somehow convince Camila into letting us keep the yearbook overnight. I promise to return it to her on set tomorrow as the cast and crew shoot the final scene.
A part of me can’t wait to see Camila get hacked to pieces in a wedding dress. In fact, I might just insist that Jasper stick around for that piece of cinematic entertainment himself.
Once she leaves the office, Jasper turns the lock on his door and a throaty laugh escapes me.
“Why, Detective Wilder, whatever are your intentions?” I sling my arms around his neck and bite down seductively on my lip.
“I think I interrogated you enough.”
“Oh?” A laugh stifles in my chest. “Is it time for my punishment?”
He ticks his head back a notch. “I was thinking something more along the lines of pleasure.”
“Pleasure? I’m not sure an ornery detective like yourself knows the meaning of the word. I think you need to prove it.”
A wicked gleam crops up in his eyes and Jasper is quick to do just that.
Chapter 16
The Country Cottage Café is somewhat quiet, considering the fact the final scene of Cat Scratch Fever is about to commence just outside its doors. The café has been cordoned off to regular guests and Emmie and the rest of the staff are serving the guests in the grand dining room instead.
Fish and Sherlock sit next to me as I leaf through that old yearbook Heather and her friends were in. I’ve got my tote bag with me in the event anyone comes my way so I can bury it in there. God forbid the killer sees me hunting for information. But I can’t help it. I want to wade through this while I watch them set up for Camila’s big death scene.
What do you see now, Bizzy? Sherlock barks from the floor.
Fish hisses his way. She’s perched up on my lap and seemingly perusing the text right along with me.
Would you give her some peace? Fish growls. You’ve been asking that all night and all morning.
It’s true. I scoured this yearbook from cover to cover last night and didn’t find a thing. Poor Sherlock seems about as hopeful as I do that I’ll spot something new.
A breeze picks up and blows the pages over until I’m in another section entirely.
“Huh.” I give a quick glance around the café, but the doors are still shut and the air conditioner doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. “Did you feel that? There was a breeze out of nowhere.”
Sherlock whimpers. It was the ghost, wasn’t it?
I shake my head at him. “I don’t think it was a ghost.”
The salt shaker next to me knocks onto its side, and I gasp as a sea of white granules spills over the bottom corner of the book.
“Fish,” I quickly pick it up. “Be careful.”
It wasn’t me, Bizzy. She gives a weak mewl. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that furry carpet of Jasper’s might be onto something.
“No, it couldn’t be,” I whisper it low as if I wasn’t sure at all and wipe the salt off the glossy page where it landed. Just below my fingers, I see a small
