“Sounds as if he was a wise man.”
“Oh, he was brilliant.” She gently extracts Fish from my arms. “Guess what, you precious little bundle of joy?”
Bizzy? Fish belts out a hearty meow. A little help, please. I’ll claw her eyes out if I have to. I’d hate for this to get messy.
Sherlock barks and yanks Fish by the tail, plucking her right out of Kiki’s arms in the process.
Kiki bucks with a laugh as the two of them give chase right here in the tent.
“Well, that escalated quickly.” She looks my way. “You’re never going to guess what happened this afternoon.” She takes a step in and I fight the urge to take an equal step away from her. “I convinced Peter to use Fish in the film! That is, if it’s all right with you. I thought what kind of a movie named Cat Scratch Fever doesn’t have a cat in it? I mean, I get it, Heather—and now Camila is the sex kitten in question, but still. Peter said he loved the idea. He’s going to do a few still shots of her and place them artistically throughout the film. She’s a doll and she’s going to be the star of the show.”
Sherlock stops short in front of us and lets out a whiny groan. And what am I? Chopped bacon? Actually, chopped bacon is my favorite. Hey? Now that I think about it, I bet Jasper really likes liver. That’s one of his favorite sayings.
Kiki’s entire torso vibrates with a laugh. “Okay, Sherlock Bones. I’ll talk Peter into letting you in on the film, too. Maybe you can chase Fish away during the final shot. I bet it’s something the two of you rehearse just about every day.”
“You got that right.” Any tension I may have brought into the tent with me suddenly dissipates. Kiki is so friendly, I feel like I can talk to her about anything, and lucky for me, because I’m about to do just that.
“Kiki?” My eyes drift to a table set up just a few feet away with a bowl full of red liquid and a board lying next to it with that familiar looking prefabbed flesh wound Kiki constructed out of glorified slime the night Heather was killed. I remember being fascinated by it. I take a step in that direction and note a thin silver blade embedded in it from the side and a shiver runs through me.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” She walks over and gives the red liquid in the bowl a stir. “This? I’ll admit, it can be a bit unnerving.”
“Yes.” It strums from me numbly. “It can.”
Kiki had the second cleaver that night and neither Jasper nor I realized it.
My eyes meet with hers.
The sun has settled, dusk has turned to flat black, and the whites of her eyes glint from the lamplight.
“Kiki, you knew Heather, didn’t you? From before? Outside of this movie?”
The pleasant expression on her face quickly melts away as she glances to the sand.
“Yes, actually.” She blinks up at me. “She got me this job. I feel terrible admitting it. But she’s always been so nice to me. Did she mention it? I mean, it’s okay if she did. But she was always telling me to keep it low. She didn’t want people to know she was kicking a job to someone she knew from way back when.”
“Well, you are definitely good enough to be here,” I say, glancing back at the blade covered with sticky goo. “I don’t think anyone would argue that. I’m sure Heather thought so, too. I don’t think she’d hire just anyone, no matter how long she’d known them.”
“I’d like to think so.” But I happen to know better. I could have been making her look like a clown and she still would have hired me. The guilt was eating her up inside.
A breath hitches in my throat.
“Kiki.” Her name sinks from me with a touch of disappointment without meaning to. “Is your last name Bradley or Hatterman?”
“Brad—” She stops cold and her eyes widen with fright. Did I hear her right? I swear a little time in the sun and my head is thumping. I’d better get out of here and get some rest. Better yet, head home back to Breckenridge for good.
“It’s Bradley.” I nod. “You chose Woodley as an ode to Woodley Heights. You were related to Aileen Bradley, weren’t you?”
Something just shy of a groan evicts from her.
“How did you…?” She shakes her head my way, her mouth agape, unable to finish her sentence.
“Kiki, your sister was smothered to death. She didn’t drown. She was murdered, but you know that.”
Her cheek flinches as if I struck her.
“Bizzy”—she takes a staggering step back—“who told you this? Did Heather say something? It’s not a big deal.” She shakes her head as she continues to move away from me.
“But it is a big deal, isn’t it? You knew Rachel Hatterman, didn’t you?”
Kiki butts up to the table and that fake blood runs around the lip of the bowl. She freezes solid with her eyes locked over mine.
Fish lets out a hair-raising screech. I don’t like this, Bizzy. Why are you asking her about her poor sister? She looks crazed.
Sherlock barks. I’d run if I were you.
But I can’t.
It’s as if my feet are stuck in the sand.
I need to know the answers to the burning questions running through my mind.
Rachel. Kiki closes her eyes a moment. So beautiful. She looked glorious in that yellow dress.
Yellow dress.
Why does that sound familiar?
That picture of Rachel in her bridesmaid’s dress comes back to me. And then a flash of something Kiki was thinking that first day I met her flits through my mind. Georgie had asked if she was available for weddings and she thought to herself, I haven’t
