Despite the courtesies and Blake’s seeming candor, as she and Alden said goodbye and headed out, she had an uncomfortable sensation that they knew less than they did before they began.
Writer Sheryl—and Nicole, via Sebastian Esquivel—apparently had production deals with Wayne Vandershell. But Sebastian wasn’t thrilled with the dead guy, and Blake Burbage seemed to think Wayne had been leading him on.
Could the cool Blake Burbage have killed Wayne Vandershell?
Chapter Thirteen
Alden opened the passenger door for Roz, then walked around and slipped into the low seat and cranked up the Miata. He left the roof up, sensitive to Roz’s desire to keep her hair tamed, even though it was pinned up in an adorable twist that made him want to undo it and run his fingers through it. Wasn’t that half the fun in putting it up in the first place?
She was awfully quiet as the gate opened.
“You OK with what just transpired?” he asked as he rolled through and headed south on the beach road.
“What? Sorry, I was just thinking … and yes. You were clear. We report the truth. And we’re not out to make anyone’s life miserable. Unless he killed the guy.”
Alden snorted. “So I’m not the only one who had that thought.”
“I mean, he sounded more annoyed than angry, but he is a good actor.”
“Very good.”
“And he had opportunity—he could have confronted Wayne on Saturday,” Roz went on. “No idea about him tampering with the vape pen, though. It does seem like two crimes. Tampering seems cold and deliberate, but anyone who spent time with him could’ve found a way to do that. The thing is, they had no guarantee the vape pen would kill him. Harm him, certainly. But kill him? Was it mischievous? Malicious? While hitting him seems like an act of anger.”
“The vape pen was certainly dangerous. Maybe the saboteur was ticked off that their battery hadn’t exploded yet and wanted to make sure of the thing,” Alden suggested.
“What an indirect way to kill someone. It’s America. They could’ve just shot him.”
Alden barked out a surprised laugh as he paused at a red light. “Sadly true, but you have a point. Even if it was all just a sinister prank gone horribly wrong, it’s a good story, what with all the broken dreams and celebrity connections.”
“And there’s more, don’t you think? I think Wayne was in the business of building up people’s dreams, but I don’t know if he ever intended to make any of them come true.”
“It does seem that way,” Alden agreed, pressing forward as the light changed. “Though Enolia seemed to like him. Maybe Mae did, too. Sheryl more than liked him. And who knows about Nicole Esquivel?”
“All of them women,” Roz noted wryly. “But have they told us everything?”
“They’ve told us very little,” he admitted. “One thing we know for sure is that he hadn’t delivered on any of his promises. Or maybe I should say implied promises, based on what Blake said. How many of his acquaintances wanted him dead?” They were getting into the more commercial area of hotels and restaurants and tourist emporiums. “Need anything before we head to the movie studio? Coffee? Hamburger? Novelty beach towel?”
She snickered. “Thanks, but I’m good for now. Though maybe we can hit the Milky Way sometime. I’ve been craving their butter pecan ice cream.”
“Funny, I was just thinking we need to go back there.”
She gave him a warm look, and he knew she was remembering that lovely day when he talked her into staying in Comet Cove.
“I should probably work off that Reuben sandwich first,” she said.
“I can think of a few ways to do that.” He shot her an impish grin.
“Ha!” He loved her flustered smile. “We have to work work,” she told him, pulling her laptop from her bag. “I’m going to type up some of these notes while you get us to the studio.”
“Which is where exactly? Other than near the airport.”
“Oh, right.” She picked up his phone where it was plugged into the car’s upgraded electronics and started the navigation.
Alden let her work on her laptop as he wended south and eventually over the inlet bridge (how many times a week did he drive over that bridge?). He drove past the southside neighborhoods, the wildlife preserve and Vesper Lakes Golf Club.
The land started to open up a bit, with patches of scrub pine and palmettos between sprawling lots and industrial-looking businesses. The far south end of Comet Cove still had room for development, though maybe not for long.
What developers giveth, hurricanes taketh away, he mused. Though there was no sense in borrowing trouble.
