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“Hear me out. What if this were an inside job involving hotel employees or even pageant staff? You’ve been focused on Gretchen’s murder and cause of death, but not so much on how she was abducted. That should be Sheriff Landon, I mean, Chet’s angle, anyway. And we know Jasmine vanished shortly after Gretchen’s disappearance—if she was taken at all.”

“Wait, back up.” I frowned. “What do you mean, if she was taken?”

“Well, there’s no physical evidence yet. For all we know, she could’ve left on her own. Every possibility has to stay on the table, right?”

Jonesy chuckled. “Your cynical PI side is showing.”

“I’m always cynical. It’s not exactly a part-time condition.”

“With Gretchen murdered, the obvious conclusion is that Jasmine’s disappearance follows the same pattern,” I said.

“Except no body has been found,” Craig said, taking another sip of beer. “I know they’re still investigating and trying to find evidence, but did they recover any usable fingerprints from Gretchen’s or Jasmine’s rooms?”

“Babe, it’s a hotel room. You’d have fingerprints from guests, housekeeping, maintenance, management—it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack. Sorting through all that could take forever.”

“Hmm, true.” Craig tapped his fingers against the beer bottle and looked to one side. “I wonder if they checked the call logs from the room’s phones,” he said, thinking aloud.

“I can ask Chet… which reminds me, he’s letting us watch the crowning ceremony from backstage tonight. It’ll give us a closer look at how things operate in a pageant.”

“That’s cool. We won’t have to get tickets. I’m sure you’ll enjoy getting a closer look at the ladies. I mean, the gowns, the makeup, the styling… not necessarily the women themselves. You mentioned it could help with ideas for Onyx’s look, right?”

I snickered. “I guess my head has been so focused on the case, I kinda forgot about that. But yes, I’m sure I can take away some ideas.”

“If you want, I can take some pictures for reference if you see something you like.”

“God, it makes it sound like I’d be gawking at these women like a perv,” I replied, rolling my eyes and shaking my head.

Craig laughed. “The fact that you prefer dick to boobs and curves gives me no cause for worry.”

“I’ll leave the pervy behavior strictly between us,” I replied teasingly.

Our food arrived, and not having eaten since breakfast, we were both famished. It turned out to be some of the best Thai food I’d ever had. Our selection comprised Chicken Satay with peanut sauce, Pad See Ew, a favorite with wide noodles and broccoli, and Yellow Curry with tofu and onion. We couldn’t eat another thing until our server told us they had made a batch of mango sticky rice for dessert. Craig insisted, and I caved.

As we both sat back in the booth, letting our food settle, Craig said, “You know, my workload is pretty light right now, aside from a couple of easy background checks. The Miss California pageant starts next Sunday. That could give me a couple of days to come back and do some further digging if you think that might help. Chloe can handle the office while I’m here.”

His proposition walked a fine line, and all I could say was, “Let me think about it. You know you can’t officially do anything for me, but you’ve met Chet, and I think he’d probably share any new information with you.”

“I think the more you think about it, the more you’re gonna want me to,” he said with a smirk.

“We just need to be smart about it,” I replied.

Craig glanced at his phone and checked the time. “Looks like the ceremony will start soon. Wanna head to the hotel’s showroom?” he asked, putting his napkin on the table.

“Let me call Chet and let him know we’re on our way and ask where to meet him,” I said as I dialed the sheriff’s number.

Standing backstage, I felt the charged tension of a major production as stage managers, coordinators, wardrobe assistants, makeup artists, and volunteers scurried around the women. Space was at a premium back there with small corridors and preparation rooms. Some contestants were in gowns, while others were in various stages of undress, their stylists working feverishly to get them ready. A dozen handsome men in tuxedos, probably stage crew and pageant staff, were receiving instructions on their assigned tasks from the line coordinators holding tablets. It was a kinetic form of energy that I found exciting. Craig looked like he was tracking flies at a picnic, his head turning every which way to take in what was going on.

My attention was drawn to the makeup artist’s area, comprising four high-backed chairs set before large mirrors and lighting. I watched them work with precision, applying foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lip gloss. Each contestant had makeup applied by one artist while a hairstylist worked their magic alongside. They had the routine down, dancing fluidly around each other.

I was witnessing the divide between the hectic preparations and the final polish that the audience saw on stage. I didn’t expect it to be so chaotic, and even though I’d experienced the rush before a drag performance, it was on another level.

“Aww… I feel sorry for her,” I heard Craig say, drawing my attention away from the makeup area.

I looked over to where his gaze was set and noticed a young woman being handed a few tissues. A fellow contestant had been trying to console her, but what looked like her mother seemed more than frustrated with her behavior.

“I can only imagine the pressure,” I replied, not wanting to stare.

There were a few men in sunglasses, and Chet had told us to expect them as extra security. One of his deputies also stood off to the side, watching intently, so I knew the women’s safety had become a top priority on the final night.