“How so?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not about to let them get away with all of this.” Wickham took the iron from the hearth and poked at the fire.
After I’d freed myself from my winter wear, I wrapped myself in an afghan and curled up on a leather sofa near the fireplace. There had to be somethingwe were missing, maybe even something obvious. “I don't know any of your groupies well enough, but Harley and Zoe... what do you know about their personal lives?”
Wickham joined me on the couch, and I shared my blanket with him. “I should’ve paid more attention.”
“I’m okay with you not paying too much attention to other girls.” I gave him a playful nudge.
Wickham’s right dimple emerged. “Well, I’m feeling guilty because when I’m with the group, I’m so focused on the music that I don’t think much about their personal lives.”
I didn’t know enough about any of them to make any judgments either. But a few things I’d observed seemed a bit off. “Alex helped coach Harley with what exactly? And what do you mean by he and Zoe worked on lyrics? Do you suspect that the girls might be jealous of each other?”
“But wouldn’t that pin them against each other rather than against Alex?” Wickham’s shoulder rose and fell with his breath.
I so wanted to be finished worrying about all of this. I breathed in the scent of the crackling fire and pine. Being snowed in at a cozy cabin with George Wickham should have been the dream of a lifetime.
“Alex was kind of a jerk though. I bet he ticked one of them off,” I said.
The embers in the fireplace faded, and Wickham stood up to add another log. “I got the impression that he was playing with people’s emotions to get what he wanted. And more than anything, he wanted money. He was going to charge me heavy interest on what he lent me. He kept trying to connect us with huge record labels too...”
“Okay, so you’ve got Alex willing to mess with people to make a profit, and maybe wanting to dismantle the band. If we’re considering the two girls as our suspects, which of them might have had a financial connection?” Tree branches scratched against the window outside, making me jump. Then the wind whistled through the cracks around the door. So much for that break between the storms.
Wickham grimaced and shrugged. “Neither of them seemed to be hurting for cash.”
My head ached. “We should call the car rental place and see if we can see the face of the person in the wig, if they have security cameras. We can lure themout or something.”
Wickham pulled his laptop from his overnight bag and set it up on a writing desk by a window. “It was Reliability Rentals, or something, right?”
It was only about two p.m., so the company should be open still. Wickham looked up the number and dialed, then asked for details. Of course, they wouldn’t help him without a warrant.
I picked up Detective Ortho’s business card from the coffee table in front of me. “Maybe the police will have better luck.”
“I think that woman hates me.” Wickham frowned. I handed him the card, and he read it.
“It’s worth a try.”
He shrugged and dialed the number.
“So?” I asked when he hung up.
“She’s not thrilled about taking a tip from a ‘person of interest,’ but she said she’ll check it out.” Wickham ran his hand over his face. "I think we should leave here as soon as they plow the roads."
“Unless the killer follows us back home. Plus, there’s another storm coming in. Nowhere is safe if they’re stalking us.” I frowned. “This doesn’t feel much like married life, does it?”
Wickham’s expression dropped, and he ran his fingertips down my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, even considering that is on hold until we know we’re safe. I feel like I’ve put you in danger, Lydia, and I’m struggling to forgive myself for that.”
When people said things like that to me, I always wished I had one of my older sisters, Jane or maybe Lizzy, to help me know how to respond.
“Well, you’re not the killer, so this isn't your fault.” I shrugged. It was the best I could do.
“No, I’m not.” Wickham nodded. “But if I’ve put you on a murderer’s hit list, I might as well be.”
His comment wasn’t funny. Not really. And every part of me was done with all of it. “You know what? You’re a little melodramatic.”
Wickham scoffed, feigning a personal offense.
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s kind of charming. But, come on, you and I are going to take on the world together, and someone else being a murderer doesn’t make you one.” I slid my hand into his much larger one and pulled him toward the door. “Let’s finish this.”
