“I sure did.” Her eyes pick up a sparkle I haven’t seen in them before. “I got Peter to agree to arbitration this afternoon. That means no messy court battle. I’m not in this to ruin either of our lives. I just want to hurt the man where it counts.” She leans in. “Below the financial belt.”
A nervous laugh expels from me. “Well, I hope you get exactly what you want.”
“Oh, I will. That will be the easy part. The hard part for me will be moving on. I really did care for him.” She wrinkles her nose as she glances over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to find Camila ranting to Peter. “Rumor has it, she landed the part by way of the casting couch. What do you think he sees in that woman that he doesn’t see in me?”
“An easy target,” I say without missing a beat, and Jane belts out a laugh.
“No truer words have ever been spoken.” She pats me on the arm. “I knew I liked you, Bizzy.” She starts to take off then backtracks. “And word to the wise, there’s a cleaver on set today. I’d watch your back if I were you.” She gives a little wink before taking off.
Fish yowls, and I bend over to pick her up.
Did you hear that, Bizzy? The killer is still on the loose and the production team is essentially weaponized once again.
Sherlock winds himself around my legs and whimpers. Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’m not leaving your side. But just in case, we should probably call Jasper.
“Not a bad idea,” I mutter. But Jasper texted about an hour ago and said he was running surveillance videos from local hardware shops to see if he could find the culprit who’s been planting cleavers around the inn. He already ran the security footage from the inn itself, but with the influx of bodies, it was impossible to tell who was doing what. We’ve discovered six more cleavers, each not so discreetly hidden around the property. Jordy found three, and guests found the rest.
Whoever is trying to jangle my nerves is doing a great job. I’m just grateful most guests aren’t particularly aware of the cleaver-based drama.
I’m about to text Jasper when Peter storms in my direction. His brows are narrowed, his expression as angry as the ocean behind him, and he’s walking at a quickened clip.
“Peter,” I say, unsure of what’s about to pop out of my mouth next. “Um, we’ve made an extra batch of those delicious s’mores bars you and your team seem to love so much. They’re on the refreshment table. Be sure to help yourself.”
He grunts in lieu of a response. If only Heather had lived to finish out the scene, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense the new lead is dishing out. Who the hell cares if the dress makes her look hippy? I guarantee no one is going to notice once the blood starts to flow.
“S’more’s bars? Thank you,” he says as he glances back to the refreshment table. “That sounds like just what I need.”
“Oh, I just had a thought,” I say and I pull Fish in close to my chest. “You might want to keep an extra eye on the cleaver this time—just in case.”
Those serious eyes of his laser right through mine. “Just in case.” He tips his head curiously. Did this girl just threaten me? Why not. Join the club. Jane and Camila didn’t mind doing it. I don’t see why this seemingly sweet thing should miss out. “There are two cleavers. A clean one for the beginning of the take and one in makeup for the final result.”
My eyes widen at the thought. “Peter, were there two cleavers the day Heather was killed?”
“Yes.” He gives a circular nod as if he were confused as to why I’d ask. “Thank you for the treats.” He barrels past me like a man on a culinary mission.
“Two cleavers?” I whisper to myself and Sherlock barks.
I don’t like that look in your eye, Bizzy.
Fish buries her head in my chest. I don’t either. Tell me when it’s over.
I spot Bates Barlow digging through his pockets until he comes up with a cigarette and I land in front of him before he has a chance to light up.
“Bates,” I pant through a smile. “Can I ask you a question?” My heart drums inside my chest because what I really want to ask feels overtly brazen. But I never said I was above being just that. “The day that Heather died—you had the cleaver last, right?”
He tosses his hands in the air as if I were holding him at gunpoint.
“Not me. I was told to put it on the counter and I did just that.”
“Told by whom?”
“Faith.” He hitches his head to the left. “She’s the boss. I’m just the worker bee.” He wiggles his cigarette in my direction. “Excuse me. I got to sneak in a quick smoke. This scene is making me antsy.” Let’s hope the new girl doesn’t end up with a cleaver in the back. Regardless, I think this is the last thriller for me. I hear there’s good money in comedies—and less casualties.
He takes off and I head over in Faith’s direction where she’s busy pointing the small crowd around her toward the waterline and they quickly scuttle in that direction without her.
“Faith,” I say as I head onto the sand and my feet feel the intense heat emanating off of it right through my shoes. The sand can get blistering on triple digit days like this and the heat can last straight through evening. “Hey, I just have to know something.” I wince because I can feel a flood of words ready to vomit from me.
Sherlock sniffs around her ankles and she quickly pats him on the back.
“Anything,” she says. “Shoot.”
Fish twists in my arms as if to get a better look at the woman.
“Peter says that
