“I’m sorry, Layla, but he was,” Spenser said gently. “And we now believe somebody laced the Anadrol he was taking with the drug that killed him. We’re waiting for the lab to confirm that, but that’s what we believe happened.”
She leaned against the back of her chair and looked down for a moment then scrubbed her face with her hands. Layla shook her head then picked up her glass and took a long swallow as she seemed to be digesting what Spenser had just told her.
“I guess I should have known. Looking back on things, I can see that the warning signs were all there,” she said, almost as if to herself. “I guess it’s possible I just didn’t want to know. Things had been so good between us… I guess I just didn’t want to reopen that old wound again, so I buried my head in the sand.”
“You really can’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.”
“The things we do—or ignore—for love, huh?” Layla asked with a wry twist of her lips.
“So, there’s nobody you can think of who had a beef with Seth? Nobody who was angry enough to want to hurt him?”
She looked off for a moment and started to shake her head but then paused as a curious expression stole across her face.
“What is it, Layla?”
“I’m not sure. It might not be anything.”
“But it might be something.”
“It’s just… a little while ago, this guy started messaging Seth,” she said. “He got really nasty and was threatening him. Seth didn’t take him seriously, but… it sounds like he should have.”
“What was he getting nasty about?”
“He said Seth stole his music. He just started going off about Seth being a thief and a plagiarist. Said he was going to get what was coming to him,” she replied. “I’m not naive. Seth wasn’t an angel. He was a lot of things, and not all of them good. But he would never steal somebody’s music. Never. Seth always said a person who stole another creative’s work was one of the lowest forms of life. Do you think he might have done this?”
That was a bit dramatic. Spenser could think of far lower forms of life than plagiarists. Hyperbole aside, though, she took her point. She wasn’t a creative herself, but she’d known enough of them to understand they tended to be very protective of their work, and rightly so. They poured their heart and souls into their art, and the thought of somebody simply waltzing in, snatching it, and calling it their own was infuriating. It made sense.
“Layla, what was this guy’s name?”
“Leonard something… but he goes by Bo. I don’t know his last name,” she said. “I’ve never met him or anything.”
“That should be enough. Thank you, Layla.”
“Do you think he’s the one who did this to Seth?”
“We won’t know until we start looking into him.”
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and raced down her cheek. She looked down and quickly wiped it away as she sniffed back the flood of tears welling in her eyes.
“I never thought about my life without Seth,” she says, her voice trembling. “I never wanted to think about my life without him.”
“We’re going to do everything we can to find the person responsible for this, Layla. I give you my word.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Spenser drained the last of her tea and got to her feet. She had a direction to run, at least. A promising one.
“Thank you, Layla. And… I’m sorry for your loss,” she said gently. “And hang in there. It might not seem like it now, but it will get easier. And one day, you’re going to wake up and all you’ll remember are the good times. You’ll never forget him, but the pain of loss that stings so bad right now will have faded, allowing you to remember only the love.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“Spenser, it’s Maggie,” the voicemail started. “You’re going to want to come by for the town hall going on at seven tonight. It’s important, so don’t be late. Okay, see you tonight.”
Spenser blew out a frustrated breath as she deleted the voicemail, hung up the phone, and dropped it in her pocket. She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes for a moment. It had been a long day, and she was starting to get a banger of a headache. All she wanted was to go home, have a glass of wine, and spend some time with her dog. And with Ryker, of course. A quiet night in sounded like just the medicine she needed.
But the tone of Maggie’s voice made clear it wasn’t a request. She started the Bronco and, rather than head back to the office to check in then punch out for the day, she pointed herself toward city hall and whatever was waiting for her there.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the lot and parked. Judging by the number of cars she saw, the town hall was well attended, which only deepened the sense of doom descending over her. As she headed up the walk and into city hall, Spenser caught the furtive glances her way and heard the hushed whispers that filled the air around her. She greeted those who said hello to her and did her best to shut out the rest of the noise. If she let herself dwell on that strange electricity crackling in the atmosphere, she’d freak herself out. Well… more than she was already freaking herself out anyway.
On the far side of the reception hall, she caught a glimpse of Kyra Foster standing with Rafe Johansen, and a darkly ominous sensation washed over her so thick, Spenser couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Maggie said as she stepped over to Spenser.
“And I’m suddenly wishing I wasn’t.”
“Nonsense. You’re going to be fine.”
Spenser turned to her. “Why do you say that like it’s a question?”
Maggie scoffed. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
