“You mean the effect her death may have on my business. Death leaves a nasty odor. Most businesses try to avoid any contact with it.”

  “Statutory rape charges can cause more than a nasty smell, Mr. Stern,” Ian said. “Not only can it destroy someone’s reputation, but it often comes with a hefty prison sentence.”

  “Are you accusing me of statutory rape, Staff Sargent?” The calm exterior cracked, anger seeping through to spill across his face. But was it righteous indignation or outright fear? I couldn’t tell. “You had better be certain of your facts before you do.”

  “We are not accusing you of anything, Mr. Stern. Merely trying to gather information.” Ian’s small smile showed that he, too, realized he had struck a nerve. “There is also the matter of an attempted robbery at Rosalie’s house after her death. We believe it may have been someone attempting to get a copy of her autobiography. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

  A spasm of something—anger, frustration, fear, fury—pulled his skin taut around his lips. Frederic pressed a button underneath his desk and rose to his feet. “This discussion is over. If you want to speak with me again, it will be under the supervision of my lawyer.”

  Before either of us could say another word, the door opened, and his assistant stepped inside.

  “Please see them out, Pierre,” he stated. “Out of the building.”

  With swift efficiency, Ian and I found ourselves hustled back to the elevator by two burly security guards and out to the main floor. They bookended us and marched us out the rotating door.

  “I don’t think he liked us, Ian.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “He’s slick, smart, and incredibly wealthy,” I said as we were catapulted back onto the street. “Almost above the law.”

  Ian turned to look down traffic-clogged West Hastings St. “The key word there is almost. No one is above the law in this country.”

  “Except for the Queen.”

  “Are we going to debate the monarchy now? Or go and find ourselves some lunch?” A smile cracked across his face.

  “I vote for lunch.”

  He pointed to a small restaurant tucked in beside another skyscraper. “Me, too. Let’s try that Thai place over there. While we eat, I can get someone to check out some things about Mr. Stern for me.”

  “For us,” I reminded him as we waited for the light to change.

  “Sure, Kate. You believe whatever you want.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  We were finishing up lunch when Ian’s cell phone rang. Most of the tables surrounding us were unoccupied, but that didn’t mean the restaurant wasn’t busy. The telephone rang steadily, and we could hear the ding of texts from the kitchen. The staff was busy preparing food or handing over deliveries to a steady stream of Uber Eats drivers.

  “Yup, got it. Yeah, what time do they want to meet?” A pause. “Yes, I can do 10:30. Thanks, Chris.”

  He placed the phone down on the table and leaned toward me. “We have information.”

  “Good. What is it?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin and leaned back to finish my beer.

  “First, Mr. Frederic Stern may be a very successful businessman, but he appears to be a lousy husband.”

  I nodded. “Rosalie wasn’t his only affair.”

  “No, not by a long shot. He’s lucky he has such an understanding wife.”

  “But he was right when he said infidelity isn’t a crime.”

  “That’s true. He has no criminal record, only a handful of speeding and parking tickets. Other than that, he is pristine: a pillar of the community, a philanthropist to numerous local arts organizations, and a doting father to three daughters.”

  “Just a shitty husband.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Not murderer material. Although, the threat of prison could make a murderer out of even the most unlikely killer.”

  “Yes, well, there’s something on that, too. They checked Rosalie’s info. Her birthday was in May. May 19th, to be exact. So that would make her …”

  “Sixteen in that photo. Unseemly but not illegal.”

  “Yes, which pretty much nips that whole statutory rape/murder theory in the bud. If they were intimate before that, we don’t have any proof of it. I asked Chris to double-check the manuscript. There’s nothing in there about Stern. She kept his secret to the grave.”

  “Damnit! I thought I had something! Something that might get Selesia out of jail!”

  “There has been one interesting development.”

  “What?”

  “As soon as we left the office, Stern must have been on the phone with his lawyer. The lawyer’s already been on to the brass at HQ, throwing around claims of harassment, etc.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. But, rather unexpectedly, they want a meeting. Wednesday morning.”

  “Just you?”

  He smiled. “Yes, just me. You don’t get to be involved in every aspect of my investigations.”

  “But won’t that bite into your time off? I mean, that’s two days away.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just one morning. I’ll still have lots of time to see my family.”

  “Why do they want to meet with you?”

  He drained the last of his beer from the bottle. “I’ve no idea. It will be Stern, his attorney, and the assistant, Pierre Hâvre.”

  “The assistant?”

  “Yup.”

  “Huh,” I gazed out the window at the rush of cars and the blur of office workers racing by on their lunch breaks. “There goes another theory.”

  He nodded, taking a last slurp of his lunch. “I know you think Selesia is innocent, but you’ve got to face facts, Kate. All the evidence points to her.”

  “I know. The problem is that I don’t want to believe it.”

  “I understand. I would prefer it wasn’t true, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Why? Why do you care if Selesia is guilty or innocent?” I turned back from the front window to look at his face.

  “Well,” he took a long pull from his beer bottle, “I found a property on the island.”

  “I heard that from Stewart. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s a cottage close to the Sydney Cliffs.”

  “A water view?”

  “No,” he shook his head sadly. I’m afraid I don’t make enough to afford one of those. But it’s a nice half-acre of land with a vegetable garden and flowers. And it’s an easy walk to the Cliffs or a bike ride to the beach.”

  “Or the Reserve?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Yes, it’s not far from the Reserve. I had a chat with Selesia about it. I spotted her in the village one day and asked if she would be willing to answer some questions I had about the property, seeing as how she’d lived on Wynter Island her whole life.”

  “Was this before or after she became a suspect?”

  “Well, it was before she became our primary suspect.”

  “That sounds like you’re on shaky ground, Ian.”

  His face split into a wide grin. “Are you going to turn me in, Kate?”

  I pretended to think about it for a moment. “This is your lucky day. I’ll let you off.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said with sarcastic flourish.

  “What did Selesia have to say?”

  “That she knew the property. It had been owned by an elderly couple who were moving into Assisted Living in Victoria. She said they’d taken good care of it and didn’t know of any reason I shouldn’t make an offer.”

  “And…?”

  “And we had a nice chat about that side of the island. Things to see and do, you know.”

  “Or perhaps people to visit?” I asked.

  His smile spread and then slowly slipped from his face. “That would have been nice. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I’m sorry, Ian.”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. More fish in the sea, you know. How about you, Kate? Any romantic leads?”

  I stared down at my dirty plate. What to say? Yes, Ian, as a matter of fact, there is a man I am madly in love with who barely knows that I exist—other than as a friend. Oh, and he’s in the middle of a marital crisis that may take him away from both the island and me—forever.

  “I’ve been seeing a bit of Ben Navaerez,” I said.

  “The vet?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He’s a nice guy.”

  “Just a nice guy? Not something more?”

  I thought about that for a moment. Was Ben ever going to be something more?

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Hello? Anyone here?”

  Jupiter and I were alone in the studio rearranging the set when a voice echoed from the office. An icy tendril of fear slipped down my spine. After all, this was the same place where a young woman had been murdered only a few weeks previously.

  Jupiter raised himself from the ground and moved stealthily to my side.

  No, how foolish of me. I’m not alone. I have Jupiter.

  “It’s okay, Jupe. Let’s go see who it is,” I said.

  He was tight by my side as I opened the heavy studio door, my own protective shadow. Where I saw people, he saw threats. Perhaps that’s what love was to him: a constant effort to protect his human.

  Scott stood by the front door, dressed as immaculately as ever in grey khakis and a crimson polo shirt. He smiled at me before turning a quick, worried glance at Jupiter.

  “Hi, Scott. This is an unexpected visit.”

  “Yes. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by?”

  “No, of course not. What can I help you with?”

  He glanced towards the sofa seating area. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk?”

  “Sure.” I waved him toward the sofa before pulling a chair from a neighboring table. Jupiter lay down beside me. “What’s up? I know you’re not here to volunteer for the station. After all, you’re going to be headed south soon.”.

  His smile widened. “Yes, that’s right. I’m booked to fly out this weekend. Victoria to Vegas, non-stop.”

  “Great. You’ll escape our omnipresent rain.”

  He nodded. “It’ll be nice to wear shorts for the first time in months.” He hesitated. “I wanted to talk to you about what you said the last time we met.”

  “You mean out on the headland?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I suppose I should apologize for blocking you on that path.”

  “No, no,” He waved a hand to brush away my apology. “I needed someone to smack me across the face and wake me up. When I heard they’d made an arrest, I felt an immense wave of relief. It was over. All of this horror was over.”

  “You mean the murder and all the difficulties with the islanders.”

  “Yes, everything. Even all the fuss that occurred before that.”

  I paused to let that settle in. “So there were problems before the three of you left Los Angeles?”

  He nodded. “Rosalie kept Jason and me in the dark about her plans for months. Her lawyer even bought the house here before we knew anything about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. When she finally told us, Jason was livid. He couldn’t believe she’d snuck around behind his back and bought another house.”

  I shrugged. “I think that’s a justifiable reason to feel angry.”

  “Yes, but it was more than just that she hadn’t consulted him.”

  “Yes?”

  Scott hesitated, weighing up his words carefully. “Her retirement affected a lot of things, more than just us leaving Los Angeles.”

  “No more money coming in,” I stated.

  “Yes. She was our Queen Bee. If she quit, how would we all survive? Our only jobs were to help her maintain production.”

  “Surely, she’d made enough money so that she and Jason could retire comfortably?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, in real-people money. But not in Hollywood-star money. Hollywood-star money wants private planes and luxurious vacations. I don’t think they had enough cash squirreled away to maintain that kind of lifestyle for the next forty years.”

  “Did Rosalie know this?” I asked.

  “I think, as part of her Buddhist studies, she had started to move away from material stuff. She said she didn’t need three cars anymore. One would do. And that life here on Wynter Island would be quiet and less expensive.”

  “Yes, that’s true. As long as you’re smart with your money.”

  He sighed. “But I don’t think Jason wanted to give up that lifestyle.”

  Really? What would he have been willing to do to preserve it?

  “What did Rosalie think about that?”

  “She knew neither of us would be happy with her choice, but felt she had to do it.”

  “So you were unhappy as well?’

  “Yes,” he sighed. “Rosalie and I had a big fight about it. For a while there, I thought I wouldn’t be joining them here.”

  “But the two of you were so close.”

  He nodded. “Yes, but we had diametrically opposed opinions on this issue. I thought it was a serious mistake for her to retire.”

  “Why?”

  He considered that for a moment. “Hollywood is a cruel place, especially to older women. As long as they retain the illusion of youthful beauty, they’re golden. But once that passes….”

  “Then they’re kicked to the curb.”

  “Correct. The smart ones retire to a low-key life, leaving behind only the flickering images of themselves in their prime. The not-so-bright ones end up doing bit parts on cop shows.”

  “There must be some middle ground.”

  “Yes. Someone with Rosalie’s natural beauty could have easily worked for another ten years. But she wanted to retire and felt she could return if she changed her mind.”

  “And you felt she couldn’t.”

  “No,” He shook his head. “Rosalie was a beauty, not an award-winning actress. Once that beauty faded, she would be nothing to Hollywood but a familiar face who could sell Depends undergarments on late night TV.”

  “That’s pretty harsh.”

  “But true,” he stated forcibly. “That’s why we had such a huge blow-up. I just …” The shaky passion in his voice was so intense, I thought he might cry, “couldn’t bear that humiliation for her. But she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “But you still moved to Wynter Island with her.”

  “Yes, she needed me to protect her.”

  “Protect her? That’s a strange way of putting it.”

  “Not protected in the physical sense. More protection in the sense of her heart, her legacy.”

  “And you felt that Jason wouldn’t do that for her?”

  “Jason had,” he hesitated, “other concerns.”

  “Like what?”

  He slipped into silence, examining the laces of his New Balance sneakers. “It hurt my feelings when you said I didn’t care about who killed Rosalie,” he said, his eyes connecting with mine. “I care very much. More than you will ever know.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Scott. I was just trying to make a point.”

  “I know,” he nodded. “You believe your friend is innocent, don’t you? The one who confessed.”

  I considered this for a few moments. Did I? After all, Shea and I had fought over just that. It wasn’t so much that I believed she was innocent as I wanted her to be. I wanted the pain to stop for those I cared about: Shea, Sam, Brad, and Will.

  “Why do you ask, Scott?”

  Another long pause. “As you know, Jason and I met in Vegas. He got a lucky break and started doing semi-permanent shows at a handful of hotels on the strip. Not the big marquee stuff, but he still pulled in a nice crowd.”

  “And you?”

  “I was more second-tier. Smaller hotels, off the strip. Did private gigs for small conventions and parties and such. An okay living. Everyone knew everyone else. Like all theater folk, there was lots of gossip.”

  My breath caught briefly in my chest. “You heard something about Jason,” I stated.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And you used that to get something from him.”

  “No, nothing like that. He knew I was a big fan of Rosalie, so he invited me to stop by and meet her when I was in LA.”

  “Because he wanted to stay in your good books,” I added.

  “Yes, but there was no quid pro quo. I thought it would just be a quick coffee and an autograph. And then Rosalie and I met, and it was just—”

  “Fate.”

  “Exactly.”

  “She wanted me to work for her; I wanted to stay, and then—”

  “Jason had to live with you in his back garden.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That must have been tricky.”

  He shrugged. “We’re both magicians. It wasn’t that tough for us to make things work.”

  “But still. Talk about the sword of Damocles. The constant knowledge that he had to keep you happy, or you might spill the beans.”

  “I never threatened him, Kate. It wasn’t that difficult for us to maintain the illusion. After all, that’s a magician’s stock in trade, isn’t it? First, you figure out what you want your audience to believe they’re seeing.”

  “And then work backward from there?”

  “Yes. We rarely do anything that complicated in magic. At least nothing as complicated as people think we’re doing. It’s like David Copperfield and the Statue of Liberty.”

  “Huh?”

  “Haven’t you seen that trick? It’s his most famous one.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Really?” He almost rubbed his hands with glee at the thought of explaining it to me. “It took place at Battery Park, Manhattan, late at night. The audience was seated on an outdoor platform facing the harbor. All they could see was the Statue of Liberty in front of them, lit by massive floodlights. On either side of the stage were two large pillars ready to suspend a curtain to block their view. You got the picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “The curtain goes down, followed by rousing classical music and a lot of magical flimflammery, all building the audience up to a fevered anticipation.” He paused, his eyes twinkling. “And then the curtain drops, and, voila! The lights show that the statue has disappeared.”