“Don’t get that either,” Jeff said.
Callan held up his other phone. “I’ve also been talking to my lawyer.”
“Now that I get,” Jeff said. “Considering the circumstances, it’s smart to have someone who knows the law in your corner.”
“He’s an entertainment attorney,” Callan said.
“I’m out.” Jeff walked away from the others. He lifted an apple from a basket on the kitchen dining table and plopped down in a seat to eat it.
Callan put down his phones. His arms free at long last, he returned his wife’s hug. “Hon, not gonna lie. I didn’t know which way the wind would blow with this Marisa thing. But get this. According to Katrina and Larry—my publicist and lawyer,” he added for the benefit of Dee and Jeff, “it’s not a nightmare, it’s a gift. An assistant who’s willing to murder for their boss. Do you have any idea how good that makes me look? I’m an agent you’d kill for. Literally. Who doesn’t want to be represented by someone who inspires such intense loyalty? I can’t keep up with the calls from potential clients. Mostly because I don’t have an assistant right now. But still, I could name-drop some major stars.” One of his phones rang and he let go of Serena. “It’s Katrina again. Variety wants a quote from me. I better take it.” He answered the call.
“I’ll walk you out,” Serena said in a whisper to Dee and Jeff, leading them from the kitchen as an upbeat Callan nattered on with his publicist.
They reached the front door. “You’ve had a rough day,” Dee said to Serena with compassion. “Take care of yourself. And your family. If Jeff and I can help in any way, let us know.”
“Thank you both so much,” Serena said. “I know a lot of this is weird for you. At least for you, Jeff.”
“Amen to that,” the techie said with feeling.
“But to have you both there when I needed someone.” Serena choked up. “I thank goddess you moved to Foundgold.”
Serena hugged each of them goodbye. Dee and Jeff left the house and walked to Jeff’s car in silence. They climbed in and started off. “I can see why you wanted out of show business,” Jeff finally said.
“Callan’s publicist and lawyer aren’t wrong,” Dee said. “And that’s what’s scary.”
They grew silent again. The road dead-ended at the Golden’s two-lane road. Jeff made a left toward the motel. “I don’t know how you feel about Marisa’s arrest,” he said, “but I have a hard time believing she offed Baker.”
Dee let out a sigh that released all the pent-up emotions swirling inside her. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that. I don’t believe it either. I know Serena’s convinced Marisa was in love with Callan. And I thought so too. But I’ve known a lot of Marisas. They’ve worked the desks of my own agents. And the more I think about it, the more I think Marisa wasn’t in love with Callan himself. She was in love with his power. That doesn’t create the kind of passion that would lead to murder. An affair, yes, although I don’t get any sense that Callan’s interested in Marisa in a sexual way, especially when he knows sleeping with her would get him hashtag-me-too’d in a heartbeat, particularly by other agents looking to poach his clients. I think what would have happened eventually is that despite Marisa’s obsession with Callan, if she’d seen his power start to slip, she would have quit and glommed on to another hot agent. I mean business hot, not hot hot.”
Jeff slapped a hand on the steering wheel. “Finally someone around here said something that made sense!” He grew quiet again. “So, what do we do?”
“I have no idea,” Dee confessed. “I’ve never been an amateur sleuth before. And poor Raul has obviously been sidelined in the investigation.”
Dee stared out the window. The forest they drove by was so thick with trees, it blocked out all sunlight. What Dee once found beautiful felt dark and foreboding now. “There’s also something about the cabin fire that’s bothering me, but I can’t figure out exactly what. It’s only a feeling. Which is totally useless. So I guess when it comes to Michael’s murder, what we should do right now is . . . nothing.”
* * *
While there might be nothing to do on the amateur sleuthing front for Dee and Jeff, there was plenty to do for the Golden. Jeff’s marketing efforts targeting families had generated a few welcome reservations, so he set to work clearing and restoring the motel sluice. He also used his tech skills to turn Dee’s hidden treasures map brainstorm into the beta version of an app where participants accumulated an online “gold nugget” for each visit they paid to a site on the map. Gamers who visited all the sites could turn in their virtual nuggets for a prize: a small toy bear wearing a T-shirt featuring the Golden Motel logo.
While Jeff worked magic online, Dee immersed herself in physical labor. The new reservations required additional rooms were ready for guests, so she alternated between stripping and refinishing the wooden floors with painting the interior walls a warm beige. She also invested in ordering the new mattresses and linens the rooms required, knocking back a stiff drink after maxing out one of her two credit cards.
By the time the week was over, half the Golden’s rooms and cabins were ready to be called temporary home by tourists. Dee’s improved spirits took a hit when Brian Oakhurst emailed an estimate that made rebuilding the late Michael Adam Baker’s late cabin a no-go. But a visit from hunky Huck restored her good mood.
Dee joined him, a few inmate crew members, and their supervising captain for a property check to see if there were any steps she and Jeff could take to generally ward off additional fires.
“I recommend creating a perimeter around the property that you keep clear of any potential kindling,” the captain advised. “Dry leaves, pine needles, broken branches.”
“Uh-huh,” Dee said, scribbling on a notepad.
“Huck, can you show Ms. Stern where her property line ends and the Majestic’s begins?” The captain gestured toward the forest.
“That would be helpful for any future problems,” piped up Dee, who knew exactly where the line lay, thanks to Michael Adam Baker’s corpse splitting the difference between the Golden and the Majestic. But Dee wasn’t about to pass up the chance to bask in Huck’s handsome presence a few extra minutes.
“Sure,” the inmate firefighter said. “Old Jasper did everyone a favor when he built a stone fence and put up wiring to separate the properties and blah blah blah blah blah blah . . .”
Huck didn’t say this. But for Dee, he might as well have, considering she was too lost in his deep, dark eyes to hear a word he said.
“So, are we good here?” the captain asked.
“Huh?” Dee snapped out of it. “Yes. Yes, sir. Very good.” She scribbled a few fake notes to cover the fact she wasn’t paying attention, and clicked her pen shut.
“Time to get back to base, boys.”
The captain held up a hand and the crew fell in line behind him. They marched through the woods and down the motel’s slope to the parking lot. Dee tagged along next to Huck.
“Mom and Dad are glad you’re bringing the old Golden back to life,” he said.
He held out a hand to help her climb over a cluster of rocks. She took his hand to make the climb, then reluctantly released it. “They’re wonderful people. Jeff and I would be in big trouble without them.”
“And we’re all glad you guys fixed and filled the pool. I must’ve told Jasper a billion times, you’re doing yourself and everyone in town a disservice by not providing an additional water source to take down fires. Although you’ll have to gate it. You don’t want anything drowning in it, like that poor deer.”
They’d reached the pool. Dee squinted to see what Huck was talking about. When she did, she let out a scream.
A body floated in the pool, not a deer. And the Joker’s sinister grinning leered at Dee from tattoos on each of Shawn Radinsky’s shoulders.
CHAPTER 27
Once again, the Golden was a crime scene. Patrol cars from a variety of law enforcement agencies filled the parking lot and lined the road.
