Josie’s twin sister, Trinity Payne, was a journalist who’d spent years anchoring a national network morning program before starting her own show,Unsolved Crimes with Trinity Payne. In a strange twist of fate that often made Josie’s stomach turn, Turner and Trinity had known each other long before he joined Denton PD. To this day, neither of them would disclose the exact nature of their connection except to assure her that it hadn’t been romantic. Normally, she wouldn’t care except that Trinity liked Kyle Turner. Respected him. Claimed that the douchebag Josie had described working with for months was nothing like the man she knew. The man she met when she interviewed him on national television about a big case he’d solved involving the murders of several high-end escorts in his old jurisdiction.
“Electricity and private bathrooms?” Turner echoed. “Why not just get a hotel?”
Josie pulled at the collar of her polo shirt, separating the fabric from her sweat-soaked skin while simultaneously leaningtoward one of the AC vents. “I don’t know, Turner. I didn’t invent it. I’m just telling you what it is.”
“Testy,” he observed. “What’s going on with you? Problems with your new kid?”
The air was definitely lukewarm. She wasn’t imagining it. Just what she needed. “You sure you want to go there, Turner?”
She looked over just in time to see his smirk disappear. The lines around his deep-set blue eyes crinkled. One of his large hands tugged at his goatee. That was his nervous tic. Satisfaction unfurled in her stomach. It was rare to knock him off-balance, so Josie made sure to enjoy it when it happened.
“Thought so,” she gloated. It felt good. Even if she was also sweating like it was her job.
When he didn’t speak for a whole minute, she couldn’t resist poking him. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
He shot her a dirty look. “Goad all you want. I’m not talking about my daughter.”
A few weeks ago, his teenage daughter, Cassidy, had burst into the great room at the stationhouse, looking for him. He hadn’t been there.
I’m here to see my dad…Kyle Turner…he’s six four, crazy curly hair, always wears a suit. Total asshole.
Josie and Gretchen had been so shocked they hadn’t had the wherewithal to ask her questions. Until that moment, they knew absolutely nothing about Turner’s personal life. He never talked about it, and they never asked. He’d never worn a wedding ring. Josie just assumed he was single. She would have predicted a very disgruntled ex-wife—or two or three—in his past but never children. She’d been burning up with curiosity ever since. Or maybe she just liked having something to pester him with.
“Come on, Turner,” she said, aiming another one of the AC vents at her face. “How many kids do you have?”
No response.
“Just the one then?”
One of his eyelids twitched. He ignored her.
“What’s the big deal?” Josie sighed. “Lots of people have kids.”
“Lots of people don’t talk about their kids,” he said tersely.
“Is the reason you don’t want to talk about your daughter because she doesn’t like you?”
“Nobody likes me,” he said flatly. The lack of playfulness in his tone gave her pause. Normally, he owned his lousy personality and smorgasbord of annoying traits. Reveled in them. Celebrated them, even.
She was going to throw out a comment about how it was his fault no one liked him but then he pulled at his beard again. Hard. He was serious. She hadn’t witnessed him being serious very often. As much as he drove her to madness, seeing him so un-Turner-like was disconcerting. She wasn’t sure she liked it, which was ridiculous, but the last year of her life had been so tumultuous that it was comforting to know at least one thing was unchanging. Dependable. Even if that thing gave her headaches, indigestion, and strangely moist dollar bills.
It was a weird time in her life.
The rows of RVs on the other side of the barrier ended, giving way to grassy areas packed with small tents. Every hotel in Denton was booked solid, and it was far less expensive to stay on the festival grounds, especially if you used the campsite area. Josie decided to end Turner’s suffering. Surely, that made her the better person. It wasn’t because she felt sorry for him. Not at all. “How about you?” she asked. “You like camping?”
He cocked his head, studying her. The hint of a smirk curled the corners of his mouth and Josie felt a strange sense of relief. He said, “Do I seem like the kind of guy who likes camping?”
She made a show of taking in his incomplete suit from head to toe—well, as much as she could scan while he was seated in her car. “Since there are no dry cleaners, I’m gonna say no.”
“Do glampers or whatever the hell you call them have dry cleaners?”
Josie couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from her mouth even though she instantly hated the pleased expression it produced on Turner’s face.
“I think that’s a little much,” she told him. “Even for glamping.”
“Well…” He used his forearm to wipe at the sweat on his brow, leaving a damp spot on his sleeve. So the ACwasunderperforming. “That’s bullshit.”
Ahead, Josie could see where the camping area ended. If it wasn’t obvious, at the next break in the barriers were two wooden signs adorned with flowers and fairy lights shaped like hot air balloons that proudly announced: “Welcome to the Balloons and Tunes Glamping Retreat.” This area was not public land. A few years earlier, one of the local farms, whose property sat adjacent to the festival grounds, had opened this glamping retreat. Reservations were available almost year-round. Clearly, they’d made some modifications in their signage to match the theme of the festival.
