Cassidy sat up straighter on her side of the booth. “Why?”

  He looked at her over the red plastic rim of her cup. “Just to see what’s going on.”

  “Who are you watching? I mean, should I be worried that someone on my property is dangerous? Do I need to warn my staff? Should I cancel the events?” She felt her heartbeat throbbing in her temples.

  “You should always be vigilant and aware of your surroundings,” he said.

  He has his public-safety announcement memorized. “I try to be careful, but I don’t want to put my staff and the caterers in any danger. Or any of my guests.” She glared at him across the table.

  “I don’t think anyone is in any danger. We want to be on-site during the last of the events to see how people interact. That’s all,” he said in a low tone.

  “Which people?” she said a bit too loudly. What if I misjudged Austin? Was he overly anxious about the job? Did I get dazzled by his smile? Did I totally miss some serial-killer vibe? I’m usually a better judge of character than that. Or is it someone from the reunion? I feel like I constantly need to look over my shoulder.

  “We’re only observing. It will be one of my female deputies and a state trooper. Nobody will stand out.” Zac paused and waited for what seemed like forever. When she didn’t respond, he added, “I wanted you to be aware that they are there. Again, we don’t anticipate any issues. We are in the middle of ongoing investigations. Normal stuff in my world.”

  But not in mine. “Thanks. Should I be worried about Austin or any of the other vendors?” she whispered.

  “I don’t think so. We want to see some of Britt and Darcy’s friends up close.” He stopped abruptly and stared out the front window for what felt like another eternity.

  Before Cassidy could think of something else to ask, he fumbled with his phone, scrolling through something. “Something interesting happened last night. Seems dispatch got a call about some vandalism about two o’clock this morning.”

  She knew she had a puzzled look on her face until he held up his screen. All the signs and fence posts in front of Sid Pro Quo’s no-tell motel were covered with long knitted garlands.

  Cassidy nodded her head. The gals were at it again. What is it with this yarn-bombing? Though it did improve the look of Sid’s chain-link fence around the swimming pool that looked like a science experiment.

  “Sid Proctor wasn’t too happy. He thinks there’s a menacing gang running around town creating havoc. He said he was going to press charges for trespassing. If you see any roving gang members, please pass the information along.”

  Cassidy opened her mouth, but closed it again when Sal approached with two steaming pizzas. “Right outta the oven,” he said. “Be careful: that cheese is molten. Let me know if youse guys need anything.”

  “Will do. Thanks. It looks delicious.” Cassidy spread her napkin in her lap.

  The conversation tapered off as Zac poked his pizza with a fork to release some of the heat. Cassidy dug into her food as soon as the steam had escaped the layer of thick cheese.

  After two mini-slices, Cassidy slid her plate forward. “How was yours?”

  “Good. I like the junk pizza. It gets unwieldy with all the toppings. But when it’s a mess, it’s good.”

  It’s now or never. I need to prod a bit more about the investigation. Let’s see if he shares anything. Swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in her throat, she asked again about her friends: “Are you all watching Austin and Annie?”

  Zac’s eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth turned into a straight line.

  Afraid to poke him anymore, she counted to thirty. The silence and his stare were almost unbearable.

  The detective stretched forward. “Right now, neither of them is on our radar. We’re looking at close friends and acquaintances of the deceased. But that’s not to share.”

  Surprised that she’d gotten that much information, Cassidy decided to try her luck again. “Did you find out how Britt died?”

  He nodded slowly and paused.

  She leaned forward, hoping he would continue.

  He took a swig of his drink and swallowed slowly. “Darcy was stabbed with a knife. Probably the one you found in the barn near Britt, but we don’t know for sure yet. The medical examiner is doing some final tests, but it looks like Britt was strangled with something like a belt or a strap.”

  Cassidy’s mind immediately jumped to the murder of Johnny Storm last summer during the concert series and the awful way he’d been strangled with a garotte made from a bass string and a couple of drumsticks. Poor Britt. And poor Darcy. Both murders felt personal, not something random. Someone was really angry at both of these women.

  17

  FRIDAY AFTERNOON

  From the moment she left the pizza parlor, Cassidy found herself replaying her conversation with Zac over and over in her head. Austin’s off the hook. Whew. A person of interest sounds so ominous. I think he’d be good for The Lair or The Underground, or whatever we call it. But the thought of a killer still running around felt like a dark cloud hovering over everything.

  Grounding herself, she pushed thoughts of the murderer out of her head. Don’t obsess about stuff you can’t control. Cassidy parked in the lot and hurried to her apartment with an armload of bags from her morning errands. At least her fridge and pantry would be stocked for a while. An empty spot in the back of the parking lot caused her to stop and do a double take. Darcy’s car had finally been towed. Cassidy’s light-as-a-feather feeling lost some of its altitude when her thoughts flicked again to Darcy and Britt. Was there one murderer, or two? And why would someone kill them at a party? Maybe an opportunity had presented itself? Okay, time to look closer at the guests.

  After checking on Elvis and putting away the groceries, she changed into her sneakers and jog-walked to the barn. Fifties tunes drifted through the open doors.

  Anastasia stood in a chair, pointing upward at a banner that two men were draping over the railing of the loft high above the dance floor. “Go up on that end. Up. Up. Up. That’s better.” She snapped her fingers and pointed left and then right.

  Cassidy looked at the banner. “Rydell High”?

  Anastasia paused with one arm in the air and turned to stare at her. “Like in Grease. We’re recreating the sock-hop scene. It was Britt’s favorite movie, so this will be a tribute to her. And it’s perfect because it’s full of all kinds of costume ideas.” She stared at Cassidy like it was an obvious fact. Cassidy searched Google and thumbed through images of actors in 1950s costumes. Pompadours and ponytails.

  Anastasia waved her arm and continued: “For my outfit, I nixed the Pink Ladies getup. I’m going with Sandy’s catsuit from the carnival scene. Can’t wait for everyone to see it. This is going to be a great event. The Pink Ladies remind me so much of our group. Speaking of that, ask the caterer if she has a fancier tablecloth for our memory table.” Anastasia pointed over her shoulder. “And where is that caterer? She should have been here by now.” Anastasia continued to shout instructions to the two men in the loft.

  Cassidy wandered over to a small table near the door, where a tiny photo of Darcy with straight bangs and braces in a black plastic frame sat in the shadow of a 24 x 36 monstrosity with a gilded frame that looked like it came from Versailles. In the photo, which looked like an oil painting, Britt posed in her perky cheerleader outfit. Next to it were smaller framed photos of Britt with a cat and Britt being crowned homecoming queen.

  “Don’t you love it?” Anastasia said, almost skidding to a stop behind Cassidy. “I wanted to do some kind of tribute to our fallen sisters. I think it looks fabulous. Kelly got the photos of Britt. Though the table kinda looks empty on the other side. I should have gotten some of those battery-operated candles. Do you have any?”

  “I’ll see if we have any in the supply closet,” Cassidy said, not making any effort to rush back to the office.

  Kelly and two other women wandered over to the table and stepped closer to Anastasia. Kelly dabbed her eyes with a crinkled tissue.

  “What a monstrosity of a picture,” a woman in a form-fitting magenta top said, rolling her eyes.

  Anastasia turned and stared daggers at her.

  “What?” the woman asked. “I never knew people actually bought those giant portraits.”

  The third woman stared at her own baby-blue sweater and picked at some mysterious piece of lint.

  Kelly opened her mouth but closed it again without commenting.

  The eye-roller said, “Come on, Anastasia. I wasn’t knocking your nice tribute table. It was just a comment about that.” She pointed at the framed portrait on the easel. Changing the subject, she continued: “This area looks nice the way it is, but I think we need to move the DJ’s table to have enough room on the dance floor for the dance-off.”

  “Good idea,” Anastasia said. The sneer on her face softened. “Hey, I know what else we could add. Why don’t we put the trophy for the contest winner on the table with the photos. That will complete the look. Plus, it’s tall enough to balance out the picture frame.” Anastasia rushed to the kitchen area and returned with a giant gold-colored statue with a pair of ballroom dancers perched on the top.

  Cassidy’s eyes widened, but she swallowed her comment about the humungous trophy. I hope the winner’s car is big enough to transport it home. Wow! Where would you put that?

  “There. That looks wonderful. Too bad we don’t have Britt’s tiara from homecoming. Maybe somebody can swing by the florist and get some white roses.” Anastasia turned, as the eye-roller and the lint-picker scurried over to the loft before they were sent to town for flowers.

  “Not sure we can get the right flowers on short notice. I think we need to focus on tonight’s event. We need to set up the registration table,” Kelly said. “And then someone should check on the caterer. She should have been here by now. She does know she’s supposed to be here, right?”

  “I’m on it,” Anastasia said, twirling her finger in the air. “You. Can you check on those candles? They would be a nice touch.”

  “Sure,” Cassidy said, following Kelly to the registration table.

  “We’re not doing the fancy name tags tonight.” Kelly set a pack of “my name is” stickers and some black markers on the table. “Most of the folks took the printed ones home the first night, and they’ll probably forget to bring them back. If they come back…” Her voice drifted off as she flipped through a folder. “This didn’t turn out like any of us planned.” When her voice quavered, she hurried off toward the restrooms.

  Cassidy picked up the registration folder. Bingo. A list of all the guests and checks by the names of those who attended last weekend. She quickly snapped a photo of the four pages and pocketed her phone. That’s a start. She returned the folder to the spot in front of the chair and straightened the tablecloth.

  “Hey,” Anastasia yelled from the kitchen. “Can I get some help in here? Now!”

  Several of the committee members migrated toward the kitchen. “The caterer needs help unloading stuff. Let’s get a move on and get this place ready for a party.” Anastasia blew through the door and zipped around the main room, firing off orders to the DJ’s assistant, who happened to walk into the wake of Hurricane Anastasia. “Heyyyyy,” she yelled again. “Kelly, wasn’t there supposed to be a photo booth tonight? Get on the phone and see where he is. The guests will be here in an hour. Kelly. Kelllleeeeeeee! What is going on around here?”

  Cassidy slipped out the main doors as Anastasia continued to bark orders to everyone in sight. Glancing at her Fitbit, she saw she had time to check on Elvis and grab something to eat before all the cool kids arrived for the party. She wondered how many T-Birds and Pink Ladies would show up. I hope the Pearly Girls stop by. I’m sure they won’t be able to resist the lure of a party and our own true-crime drama. If they do show up, I’m going to grill them about the decorations they left for Sid Pro Quo.

  About an hour later, the sun slipped behind the mountain ridge, and the sky turned from pinky orange to plum. Cassidy made her way to the barn, where Bill Haley and the Comets’ “Rock Around the Clock” blared through the barn’s main doors.

  Inside, she stood behind the registration table, where the gal who’d rolled her eyes earlier sat filing her nails. Cassidy waved at the woman, who nodded slightly and continued to work on her nails.

  Several couples and singles sat at three tables near the edge of the stage. About thirty people filled the cavernous barn, and that included the catering, photography, and DJ’s staff. Kelly and her husband, dressed like bobby-soxers, stood next to the photo booth.

  Cassidy followed the sounds of loud giggles to the bar, where the Pearly Girls, in their standard cashmere sweaters and pearls, surrounded Austin, in his black leather jacket and overly gelled pompadour.

  “Oh, Austin, I want one of those pink lady drinks too,” Ruthanne said.

  “Me too,” Kate and Aileen added.

  “And show us your Elvis moves. I want to record it this time,” Roxie cooed, stirring her bubblegum-pink drink with a flamingo swizzle stick. “You’ve got the look and the moves down. Can you curl your lip?”

  The DJ played “Jailhouse Rock,” and Austin/Elvis did his best imitation of the King, which drew a group of mostly women to the bar. So far, Austin had provided all the evening’s entertainment. Cassidy eased her way out of the knot of cheering guests and looked around for a quiet spot to lurk. A tap on her shoulder caused her to whirl around.

  “Sorry. Didn’t think you heard me when I called your name,” Zac said. The detective, looking casual in his black jeans and an olive-green pullover with fresh-from-the-shower damp hair, stood next to her. The ends of his blondish hair curled up at the base of his neck. His gaze scanned the room repeatedly. Always watching. Always the cop.

  Cassidy shook off the dreamy thoughts. “See anything noteworthy?” she asked, trying to figure out what had caught his attention.

  “Your bartender can draw a crowd,” he remarked. “He’s good for business.”

  “He’s got the Pearly Girls mesmerized.”

  “And they fit right in with their Jackie O and Audrey Hepburn duds,” he said with a slight grin.

  Before Cassidy could comment, Anastasia, in a black jumpsuit with huge lapels, rushed over. “Did you get those candles? The only ones I found in one of the drawers were birthday candles.”

  “No, I didn’t have any of the battery-powered ones,” Cassidy said. “We can’t have real candles in here. It’s against the fire code. I think your table looks nice as it is,” she said, glancing over at the trophy.

  Zac cut his eyes to the monster trophy and gaudy frame. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  Before either of them could say anything, Anastasia interrupted again: “It’s almost time for the hokey pokey. We have two dance instructors here who will be teaching old-timey dances from the fifties. It’ll be like that old show Happy Days. Detective, you’re welcome to join in the festivities.” Her glance darted around like she was having difficulty focusing. “Enjoy yourselves. Cassidy, I told your staff over there to grab one of the tables. They seem to be the life of the party tonight. I am glad someone is having a good time.” She turned on her red heels and tore off toward the stage, where she tripped over her own foot and stumbled. Catching herself, she wobbled for a second. Zac stepped forward to steady her, and she pulled away like his touch burned. “I’ve got this,” she said, stomping off.

  Cassidy raised both eyebrows. When Anastasia was out of earshot, she said, “Miss Independent. She took over after Britt’s demise. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Zac’s lips formed a straight line.

  Cassidy lowered her voice. “I’m not sure she’s having as much success. People tend to ignore her. She comes across as a screaming banshee sometimes. Britt was brash, but people looked to her as the leader even though she was not the kindest person around. I think Anastasia’s main desire is to be popular, but for some reason she’s always on the fringes of the group.”

  He nodded. “I need to go speak to the state trooper outside. See you before I leave.”

  “Save me a dance,” she whispered to his back.

  “I can arrange that,” Roxie said.

  Cassidy jumped, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Don’t worry about it. Nobody except me heard you. He’s cute, and you should ask him out. We can help nudge him along if you want,” she said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

  “Uh, no, thanks. I can manage,” Cassidy said, hoping her cheeks weren’t bright red.

  “Like I said. We can move things along. That’s our superpower. Hey, did you see Austin’s Elvis moves? You have to hire that guy. He will be fabulous for the new venue. If you get tired of standing, come and join us over there. We’ve got a table front and center with the perfect view of the bar.” Roxie pointed toward Austin with her blood-red manicured nail. She did a little finger wave that Austin returned with a grin.

  “Thanks. I’ll swing by.” Cassidy glanced around to see if Zac had returned. Lots of empty tables and no detective. I think the murders scared folks away. She walked around the tables to find a good spot to watch the dance floor and the bar.

  Around ten-thirty, the small crowd trickled out of the barn. The DJ continued to play party favorites in the hope of enticing the remaining few to wander out on the empty dance floor. The tall trophy stood guard with the garish frame on the tribute table. I guess the dance-off was a bust.

  Giving up, the DJ started packing his gear, and so did Annie as Austin served the remaining guests at the bar. Within fifteen minutes, all the guests had left. Anastasia blew into the empty main room. “Has anyone seen Austin or Annie? Where’d they go? I thought everyone understood we stayed until midnight.” She tore off in a walk-jog toward the DJ. “Are you packing up, too? You have not played all the sets I gave you.”

  He raised both hands like he was surrendering. “What? There’s no one here.”