Alden gave her an appreciative look. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh, shut up.” But she grinned just the same.
“It’s a beautiful evening, and I know a good place in Bohemia Beach. Up for a ride?”
She gave him the side-eye at his sultry tone. “Sure. As long as you get me home in time to do some research.”
“I might not get you home at all.”
She quirked her mouth. “That might also be acceptable.”
Yes, he thought. Research could wait until the morning.
Chapter Five
“Tell me again why both of you need to work on this story?” John Restyn leaned back in his chair and popped his gum. The Beacon editor had stayed on after the merger, apparently content with the small raise that came with the doubling of his tiny staff, which Roz only knew about because she’d been privy to all the financial details. The deal had saved her family paper’s legacy and given her ailing mother enough money to retire and move into a senior community in northwest Comet Cove where she could get the care she needed.
“Roz is good at the financial and government angles,” Alden told John. “And I’m good at the other things.”
“I think you’ve both proven you’re capable of all the things, and this is one dead guy,” John said, pushing his glasses up onto his head, where they almost got lost in his chaotic, gray-streaked black hair. They left behind pink marks on either side of his nose. He wore a golf shirt and khakis, standard office fare in Florida.
For this Monday morning meeting, Roz and Alden had cleared off two chairs to sit in front of John’s desk. Issues of the colorful Courier-Beacon—much more colorful than the Courier had ever been—were stacked next to empty coffee cups, full pen holders, an Orlando City lion mascot bobble head, and photos of his twin girls.
“And what financial and government angles are you talking about?” John pressed.
“We did a lot of research yesterday, and then we called Sheryl and talked to her again,” Roz said. She and Alden had spent most of Sunday at his apartment on their respective computers, trying to track down anything they could about Wayne Vandershell.
John’s eyes lit up with interest under his bushy brows, and he looked through his glass wall into the bullpen to see if the freelancer had appeared. She hadn’t, though a few other reporters were out there. “Is she a suspect?”
“Not yet,” Roz hedged. “But she’s got a lawyer.”
John nodded. “Good. So what did she tell you?”
“She and Wayne had a casual relationship,” Alden said.
Roz gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m not so sure she thought it was casual.”
John smirked. “And?”
“And she said again that Wayne was putting down roots here,” Roz said. “And that he was creating a movie studio in Comet Cove.”
“Remember I told you I’d heard rumors?” Alden added. “I think they were about Wayne Vandershell.”
John sat up. “Where? Details?”
This was where Roz knew they had a lot of work to do. “We’re still working on that, but Sheryl said he had a partner who was seeking permits. She also said she didn’t know who the partner was.”
“Sure she doesn’t,” Alden said.
Roz frowned at him before turning back to John. “I think she’s telling the truth. I want to find out who it was. They could know more about him. And if they were filing for permits, there’s a paper trail.”
“Could the partner have killed him?” John speculated.
“We’re a long way from knowing that,” Roz said.
“We don’t have motive either,” Alden added. “Wayne was apparently the golden boy who made Hollywood dreams come true.”
“Wayne Vandershell was going to make Enolia Honeywood’s first hit book into a movie,” Roz affirmed. “Maybe more. And Sheryl said he was going to produce her screenplay, too.”
