Page 3 of Art of Love

Now it was hers.

The thought made her stomach twist.

She moved down the short hallway, pausing in front of the second door on the right. Her bedroom.

The door creaked as she pushed it open.

Nothing had changed.

There was the same twin bed with the faded blue comforter, the same wooden dresser with stickers she had slapped on as a teenager, the same books lined up neatly on the shelves above her desk. Most of them about true crime.

It was like stepping into the past, like the younger version of herself could walk through the door at any moment, still full of plans and dreams, still eager to leave Pride and never look back.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers curling into the old comforter.

Being here was even harder than she’d expected.

She had spent the last dozen months trying to move forward, trying to build a life separate from this place. Now she was back here for who knew how long. And worse, when the case was finally over and it came time to leave, she feared it wouldn’t be easy, that she’d leave a piece of herself behind. Pride had a way of wrapping around you, changing you in quiet, permanent ways. Some of the people were just too easy to love, and they knew exactly how to pull you back.

She just knew that being here now, things would change. She could feel it in her bones.

When her stomach growled, she snapped back to reality. Staying here at the house was a heck of a lot cheaper than renting a cabin or staying in some hotel room, with who knows who for neighbors, so she brought in her two duffle bags and then headed into town to pick up some basic supplies.

First, to see if the rumors were true, she headed to Baked Pizzeria for food and gossip.

She had barely made it through the door when she heard that Abe Collins was indeed in town. Rumors had him staying the entire summer at his good friend Max Wilson’s place. The writer and producer had purchased the lighthouse the previous year and had just finished remodeling the property ahead of his wedding to a local woman Dylan knew personally, Juliette Elliott. Juliette had been a few grades younger than her and, to her memory, had been kind.

Abe and Max had met a few years back on a movie shoot that Abe had played a small part in. Their friendship had bloomed fast.

Juliette’s family ran the local coffee shop and bookstore, the Brew-Ha-Ha.

This was going to be easier than she’d expected. It was much simpler to spy in a small town where you knew everyone and there was lots of gossip to listen in on.

After grabbing a pizza to go, she hit the store for some basics and headed back to plan her next move.

She fell asleep on the sofa with her laptop in her lap after spending hours researching Abe’s past. Or trying to, at any rate.

There was very little on his life before he had recorded his first album for Lucky Dog Studio, a huge label out of Texas, almost five years ago. From there, the man had become a household name. You couldn’t listen to the radio without hearing one of his songs every half hour it seemed. His face was everywhere for the first couple years after his first record hit the charts. Billboards were filled with images of him modeling everything from underwear to cologne.

Then, about a year ago, everything changed. Rumors started spreading about him buying a ranch in the country somewhere in California, and even though his music was still flooding the airways, his face was seen less.

She suspected the why of his disappearance, since a few articles had surfaced about his tragic past. Which, of course, was the reason she’d been hired.

The information on Abe’s earlier life was fluff that he retold in every interview. Most of it was lies.

He had been raised by a single mother in a small town just outside of LA. He was an only child who had grown up on a horse ranch. He was a straight-A student who had taken a few college classes before dropping out to play music full time.

The lies were obvious to anyone who looked deeper.

He hadn’t been discovered in a bar.

He had lucked out and been friends with two people who had made his career—Tony Carson, his PR manager, and James Lyle, producer to the rich and famous.

The three of them had met years before in college. Abe was best man at James’s wedding six years back.

She figured the being-discovered story was good press.

After his underwear ads came out, several rumors circulated of romantic involvement.

Some claimed the relationship between Abe and Max was more than just a friendship. Others had him seeing a mysterious woman.

According to the minimal information she had found, Abe had met and started dating Kara Sinclair in college six years ago. Then, a year later, Kara had died in a car accident. That happened shortly after Abe finished recording his first album.

Kevin Sinclair, Kara’s older brother, had hired Dylan to look into Abe’s involvement in this accident. For the next few weeks while Abe was staying in Pride, her job was to get close to him and find the answers that Abe, no doubt, wanted to stay hidden.

Answers about the night he had possibly killed his girlfriend.