“But I’m always good.”
“Except when you’re not,” Alden purred.
She snorted softly, feeling her face heat. Maybe it was an inappropriate time to flirt, but his teasing took her mind off what they’d just seen. And knowing Alden, that was exactly what he’d intended.
They reentered the main room. Enolia Honeywood sat at the table by the podium, signing books. It appeared she’d already worked through most of the queue; maybe a dozen people remained.
“Did you get a book?” Roz asked Alden.
“No, I didn’t. I guess I won’t now.”
“You should.”
Alden gave her a funny look. “Really?”
“Yes. I want Enolia to know your face. And I want you to tell her you write for the paper and want an interview.”
Alden smiled. “So we can ask her about what happened here today.”
“Not just that, but yeah. You can get your celebrity gossip, too.”
“With a side of murder,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Four
“I can’t believe she said yes so fast,” Alden said as he guided his Miata toward the beach. He relished the drive down palm-tree-lined streets, even if he didn’t put the top down. He wanted Roz to be happy, and Roz said she didn’t want to show up at Enolia’s house with convertible hair.
“I can’t believe I’m spending my Saturday afternoon off working,” Roz replied.
“You know you couldn’t resist this story. And at least we got to have a nice lunch at the E-Tea Room.”
“Weird lunch,” said Roz. “Everyone was so freaked out.”
“Violent death does that to people. I hoped we might get some good gossip in there, given it filled up with Enolia Honeywood fans right after the signing. But mostly they just chattered about what we already know.”
“Which isn’t much,” Roz pointed out. “You got good quotes, though.” She shot him a warm look that made him want to skip the interview and take her somewhere with a bed. A big, bouncy bed.
But they were already neck-deep in this story. They’d spent an hour and a half at the Beacon office—er, The Courier-Beacon, he reminded himself—putting together a quick article for the website, including a couple of Hai’s photos. Everyone else was off today—one of the joys of working for a small-town, weekly newspaper. When news broke on the weekend, Roz almost always stepped up. Given this story was right up Alden’s alley, he had to join her. Besides, he wanted to. Working with her was pure fun.
They’d tried to dig up background information on Wayne Vandershell, but there wasn’t a lot. Google led them to one of those sites full of entertainment profiles and credits, where he was listed as producer on a few films Alden had never heard of. He had a couple of social media accounts that mostly showed him hobnobbing at film festivals. And his name didn’t come up on any county property or criminal records. Sheryl had told Roz that Wayne was “putting down roots here,” but if that was the case, they couldn’t see the trees or the forest.
“Why do you think Enolia was so amenable to talking to you today?” Roz asked.
“Convenience, I suppose. Maybe she wants to get her press out of the way. She has a book to push.”
“I suppose she needs to do publicity like everyone else, but it’s already on the bestseller lists.”
“Fear not. Soon, all your questions will be answered,” he intoned with mock gravity.
“If only. Speaking of … that was a murder scene back there, wasn’t it? I thought maybe he’d been shot,” Roz said. “Did you see that debris on the ground? Was there a shell casing?”
Alden winced at the thought of Wayne lying there. “I’ll have to look at the phone photos. I confess, I didn’t dwell on the scene. I didn’t want to look at it any longer than necessary. It was ugly. I guess we have to ask why someone would shoot him. A robbery?”
“Maybe not. I texted Duke earlier to ask if Wayne had been robbed, and he told me he still had a wallet full of cash in his pocket.”
“You texted Duke?” Alden tried not to sound jealous. “And why wasn’t that in our story?”
“He asked me to hold that information back for now, in case it’s relevant to the death. I agreed because I expect more from him later. I don’t want to burn him.”
