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  “Normally I wouldn’t have,” Gail acknowledged. “They didn’t have tickets for the performance, though, and when they came up here to buy them, they were so cute and flirty that I paid attention to them after that. I like happy couples.”

  Okay, that made sense. I pondered for a moment. “Let’s take a different tack. Did anything stand out that night? Anything at all, positive or negative?”

  Gail bit her lip while she thought. Ryan and I waited. Tension radiated off his body. He was really putting a lot of stock in this. I felt a smidge of guilt over my ulterior motive and then dismissed it. Either Jim would turn out to be guilty or not. Gail released her lip and smiled uncertainly.

  “I’m not sure if it’s important. Several people left the theater during intermission. Not just stepped out to smoke, actually left.”

  This caught my attention. “Why did that stand out? I’ve seen people leave at intermission before. The show isn’t for them.”

  Gail nodded. “Absolutely. It stood out for two reasons. One, because when a couple of them left, I could really smell the cologne on one of them. It smelled like I was suddenly in a meadow.” She chuckled at the memory. “Way overpowering.”

  “Could the smell also be described as woody?” Ryan asked this with such intensity that Gail’s smile faltered in confusion.

  “Um, I guess so,” she allowed.

  Ryan turned to me triumphantly. “There you go.”

  “Simmer down, big boy,” I cautioned him. “It’s just a lead.”

  “No,” he argued, “it supports Jim’s story.”

  I could see Gail was lost by this conversation and I also realized I wasn’t interested in starting rumors, so I turned to her, effectively cutting off Ryan’s train of thought.

  “As Ryan says, that’s helpful. You said there were two reasons the people leaving at intermission stood out,” I prompted.

  The redirect worked and Gail focused on me. “Yes! There was this guy. He was dressed like he was going to Broadway. Full tuxedo, the whole nine yards. He looked fabulous.”

  I frowned and Gail stopped. “No, sorry, it’s nothing, please continue.” The description reminded me of my ex-husband and I very much wanted to forget him. I pushed the memory away.

  “Anyway, he looked great. And irritated. He practically stalked out of here.”

  “Was he with anyone in particular?”

  “Despite the outfit, I somehow missed his arrival. I don’t know if he came with someone or not. He seemed to leave alone. Although maybe that was why he looked irritated,” she laughed. “Maybe his date didn’t go well.”

  Ah, bad dates. Gail and I shared a girls’ moment.

  “Could you tell who was the source of the woody smell?”

  Gail appeared confused by Ryan’s question.

  “He’s back on the smell you noticed. The meadow, or woody, smell. Could you tell who was wearing the cologne?” I clarified.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Sorry, I couldn’t.” She paused. “Although, I can narrow it down. I smelled it at the beginning of intermission and then it faded.”

  “Maybe that means it was one of the people who left early?” I finished the thought for her.

  “Yes!”

  “That’s very helpful, thank you, Gail.”

  We said our goodbyes and continued the tour of questions. Unfortunately, we learned nothing new.

  The woman manning the concession area didn’t remember Jim and Monica, didn’t notice a smell because she had a cold that night, though she did remember a tall, good-looking man in a tuxedo.

  Since a pick-up rehearsal was in full swing, the actors from that night were in the theater. Unfortunately, they were even less help. That night had been opening weekend, so they were focused on the show, and they remembered nothing out of the ordinary.

  Ryan and I headed back to the car to regroup.

  “Now we have a few things to look for when we cull through the lists Catherine gave us,” I said.

  “And we have confirmation of the woody smell.”

  “Yes, we do,” I agreed.

  “What do you think we should do next?”

  I was flattered that Ryan thought I knew what I was doing. I had been flying by the seat of my pants the entire time. But, I did have an idea. “I have two thoughts. First, I’ll forward you the lists for you to forward to Jim.”

  “He can read through them and tell us if he recognizes anybody.”

  “Yep. Though it’ll be important for him not to dismiss anyone as a possible suspect; if he recognizes a name, he needs to tell us. Otherwise, we could completely miss something,” I warned.

  “Makes sense. And second?”

  “Time for some internet sleuthing. We split the names up and google all of them. See if anybody pops up as memorable or remarkable in any way. Once we’ve narrowed the list to those folks, plus anybody who doesn’t have an internet footprint—”

  “People like that exist?” Ryan quipped.

  I laughed and continued. “Then we go visit those people.”

  Ryan nodded. “Let’s go find a murderer.”

  Or prove they already found him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ryan and I approached my condo door. My nerves fluttered. Why on earth was I anxious? It wasn’t like I hadn’t brought a man home before. Or several dozen – hey, I’d been single for many decades. Still.

  I unlocked the door and my hand hesitated before I pushed it open to grant Ryan entry first. I followed behind, focused on the lock, and not on his butt in his jeans. Argh. What was wrong with me?

  The man was fine, for sure.

  He politely paused inside the door until I flipped the lock and could lead the way.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” I announced with a sweep of my arm. I saw his eyes rove as we walked all the way into the condo. I pointed out the various created sections of the condo and his eyes followed my finger.

  “Nice place. That view is spectacular.”

  “Thanks. It’s the main reason I bought it,” I acknowledged. “Plus, the neighbors are great. It’s a colorful building. And, Catherine lives down the hall.”

  “Catherine Rodham? Our agent?”

  “Yep,” I nodded, then frowned slightly. “Though, I don’t know if that’s common knowledge, so don’t tell anyone.”

  “My lips are sealed,” he assured me and we shared a smile.

  O-kay, time to focus.

  “I thought we could work at the table,” I explained, gesturing to the rustic wooden dining table. Ryan nodded and began setting up his laptop, while I grabbed mine off my desk to join him. We sat across from each other.

  “I’ll send the lists to Jim right now.” He typed slowly and methodically. He would never win a typing contest.

  “Sounds good, let me know the instant he responds back.”

  “Will do.”

  “In the meantime, let’s divvy up the names we have and start plugging them into Google.”

  “Sounds good to me. I can start with the season-ticket holders,” Ryan offered.

  “And I’ll start with the credit card pre-sales.”

  We smiled at each other before focusing on our screens. His long legs managed to bump my average ones enough that part of me wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Could he be playing footsies? Surely not. Probably just a coincidence. Probably.

  About forty-five minutes later, I stood to stretch. Internet searching was not that exciting. And so far, we’d come up with bupkis. Nada.

  Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Email from Jim.”

  I walked behind him to read over his shoulder. He smelled good, fresh. Ryan opened the email and we scanned Jim’s response. Ryan’s shoulders slumped. I returned to my seat.

  “He only recognizes a few and doesn’t think any of them could be involved.”

  “We’ll run them down anyway,” I assured him and he half-smiled.

  “Th
anks.”

  Ryan and I quickly concurred with Jim’s opinion and eliminated the people he knew as suspects. Mainly because we could not for the life of us come up with any motive. That was how we were eliminating almost everybody at this point.

  For the season-ticket holders, most of them were older and retired. Why would they want to see Monica dead? For the advanced credit-card sales, that demographic skewed younger, but still we struggled to identify a connection to Jim, let alone a motive. It wasn’t until we were reviewing the final list of names, the walk-up day-of credit card sales, that I saw a name that left me nauseous. Not sure how that could happen to a vampire. Curdled the blood still coursing from my pre-dinner drink?

  I didn’t think the man had a connection to Jim and Monica. He definitely had a connection to me.

  “See someone interesting?” Ryan asked this casually but I breathed in sharply. That got his attention. “What is it? Something promising?”

  I heard the lift in his voice and I hated to disappoint him. I shook my head and watched his optimism deflate.

  “Just a name I hadn’t expected to see.”

  Now he was clearly curious.

  I opened my mouth to explain and nothing came out. I was rarely speechless.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” My flippant response seemed mean given the genuine concern I heard in his voice. I didn’t know if I could talk about it.

  “Ex-boyfriend?”

  He offered this as a joke to lighten the mood but he was too close to a bullseye. And he could see that.

  “Hey, no worries. You don’t have to talk about it.” He held up his hands like stop signs. “Unless you want to.”

  “Um, not ex-boyfriend,” I started. “Ex-husband.” The phrase squeaked out.

  Ryan’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Ex-husband? Oh.”

  “I haven’t seen him in … years.” I paused. “He doesn’t live in Vegas. I don’t know why he would have been at the show the night of Monica’s murder.” He couldn’t possibly be involved, could he?

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed, so my horrible poker face let something slip. “Could he be involved? Is that at all a possibility?” His white knuckles betrayed his tension.

  Seeing him grip the side of the dining room table, I realized I had to be at least a little bit forthcoming.

  I closed my eyes and gave my head a small positive shake. “Yeah, it’s possible. He’s not the—” I stopped, unsure what to say. “Yeah, it’s possible,” I repeated.

  “He’s our only lead,” Ryan said softly. “We need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll find him. I’ll talk to him,” I responded firmly. “You can chase down these last couple of names we can’t account for.”

  Ryan’s expression objected to the arrangement, but he remained quiet.

  I checked my watch. “It’s just after 11 p.m. Do you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Ryan sighed. “I can try to leave early to work on these five names. What about you?”

  “I’ll track down my ex and talk to him. We’ll touch base once we have the information. Probably tomorrow after work.”

  Ryan’s lips tightened. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  I smiled hesitantly. “It’ll be okay. We’ll have a better idea of our next steps tomorrow.”

  “I hope so. Let me know if you need me.” I bit my lower lip and he blushed. “Um, need me to help you handle your ex.”

  “Oh, him, I’ll be fine,” I said, unconvincingly.

  “Are you sure? If there’s a chance he’s involved, could he be dangerous? Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?”

  “Slow down, hero,” I said with a grin. “I appreciate the concern. It’ll be fine. If I need anything, I’ll absolutely reach out,” I assured him. This seemed to mollify him at least a little bit.

  “Okay. You have my number,” he reminded me.

  “I know.” I reached across the table to rest my hand on his arm. He took my hand in his. We held hands for a long moment. I enjoyed his warmth and the increase in his heart rate. Our eyes met over the table, both of us questioning what we were doing. I released his hand and stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He jumped up, knocking the chair against the table. “I guess that’s my cue,” he responded with a wink.

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “I know. However, you’re right, I do need to get going. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

  I’d been waiting for this question. After decades of investing, I didn’t have to work. I was an actress because it was fun, not because I needed the money. However, I wasn’t going to say anything to Ryan about that.

  “Nope,” I said with a quick shake of my head. “Just waiting to hear from Catherine about my next audition.” I saw his curiosity about my ability to afford this condo and, well, life, without a regular gig. Vegas had a low cost of living, but it wasn’t free. He said nothing though and we walked to the door. I opened it and he hesitated.

  “Thanks again for helping me with this,” he said softly.

  “Of course. Like I said before, I believe in truth.” Even painful truth. Although the more time I spent with Ryan, the more I hoped I might be wrong. Imagining how crushed he would be to get confirmation that Jim was actually the killer pained me.

  On the other hand, maybe he needed to learn that lesson. You couldn’t trust people. My ex-husband being in town was yet more proof of that.

  “Goodnight Ryan.” I wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss me, the energy between us pulsed so strong. His eyes dilated and we stared a moment. I broke eye contact first.

  “Goodnight, Evie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He leaned in for a hug – man, he felt good – and then he was gone, taking his heat with him. I watched him walk to the elevator for a moment, enjoying the view. He turned to offer a half-wave, caught the line of my gaze and wolfishly grinned. My face flushed, and I laughed before closing the door. I could hear him chuckling. The elevator doors pinged.

  If I had a heartbeat, it’d be racing, I’m sure.

  I leaned against the door, breathing deeply. Strictly speaking, I didn’t need to breathe. I could force air in and out my lungs, though, and some habits were ingrained. Even after all these years, I found deep breathing calming, even if biologically it did nothing for me.

  Shaking off the impact of Ryan and his departure, I strode to my bedroom. Time to change clothing.

  If Derek was in town, he’d be hitting the nightclubs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  After flaming out at the typical nightclubs, I struck pay dirt. I stood at the bar, vibrating to the pulsing music, scanning the dance floor through the fake fog and laser lights. Other vampires surrounded me. I drank an AB-negative cocktail – it was expensive because it was the rarest but, man, did it taste sweet.

  And then I spotted him. Derek stood out wherever he went. The tallest man in the room, with a very flamboyant style. He was holding court with a bevy of beauties, also not uncommon for him. Since he hadn’t seen me yet, I took a moment to consider him.

  Derek Smith. Yes, that was his real last name. He kept it all these years because it was so ordinary. At 6’5” tall, with black hair, eyes so brown they appeared black, and alabaster skin, wearing black leather pants that showed every contour and a white button-down shirt with the first three buttons undone, he looked like a rock star. I watched him with a mixture of appreciation for his frozen-in-time good looks and revulsion for his complete amorality. Not that the vamps around him cared.

  Eventually, he registered that someone outside that cooing group of, well, groupies, was aware of him. He looked around with a seductive smile, trying to identify if the person watching was more important or better looking than the women around him. I observed the change in his expression when our eyes met.

  Good grief, he looked happy to see me. Really? After everything?

  Derek made a b
eeline for me, to the consternation of the women, who immediately started casing for a replacement.

  “Why are you in town?” was my caustic greeting. I had zero interest in being nice to this narcissist.

  “To see you, of course,” he responded in a low voice, likely intended to go with the seductive look. As if any of that worked on me.

  I rolled my eyes and his smile dropped a bit. “Not likely,” I retorted. “Why are you really in town?”

  He moved closer and I caught a whiff of something. And then it was absorbed by the multitude of other smells in the nightclub.

  “No, really, I am,” he insisted, reaching a hand out to touch my cheek. He frowned when I jerked away from his touch. “Now, now, is that any way to greet your husband?”

  “Ex,” I hissed. “Don’t touch me. I’ll ask one more time. Why are you really here?”

  Derek took a step back and held his arms open wide. “I really am here to win you back. I’ve missed you. The other reason I’m here is to film a movie.”

  “Film a movie? Since when are you in the movie business?”

  He winked. “I was bored. I got involved with some guys. I’m financing their movie.”

  “You’re a producer?” I asked this with a hint of irritation. He was poaching in my territory now.

  “Yep,” he answered with a grin. “It’s fun. I provide the money, so I’m in charge. And I’m surrounded by beautiful actresses.”

  I rolled my eyes again, which was not lost on him.

  “Hey, until I get you back, a vampire’s got to have a little fun.”

  I mirthlessly laughed. “You do you. But, since apparently decades of experience have yet to sink in. There is zero chance you will ever get me back. Zero,” I added for emphasis, since he apparently could add delusional to his list of zany attributes.

  He looked wounded. “I’ve changed, Evie. I finally see what I’ve done wrong. And I want to do better. For you. For us.”