“Boyfriend?” She cocked an eyebrow then looked me up and down, her distaste for my appearance clear. We were total opposites, with my all-black ensemble and her orange dress reminiscent of something from the sixties’ sunshine era. “Are you sure you have the right business? This is—”
“Amity Incorporated?” I turned my body and pointed to the large sign behind me. “I’m positive I’m in the right place.”
“Well, I don’t think—” She rose slowly, preparing to ask me to leave.
“Lucy! You’re here!” Sebastian, as Ronny McCoy, entered through a glass door, wearing a dark-gray suit, his hair slicked back. He strode over and put an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Riley, this is my girlfriend. I told you she was coming this morning. Did you forget?” He laughed, not catching the tense energy between us.
Skye scowled and then looked down at the stack of papers on her desk. “Must have. Oops.”
“Cut!” Dante called, and we all instantly relaxed.
I stepped out of Sebastian’s hold and turned to Skye. The moment our eyes locked, we burst into laughter. She gave me a fake scowl, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips.
“Lay off my man, you bitch.”
I raised my fist and shook it like an old man trying to get kids off his lawn. “You’ll have to fight me first.”
Dante came over and gave us notes so we could run the scene again. “Let’s try one with less shade and more...denial. Skye, you’re shocked that Lucy is here and hurt when Sebastian reminds you he has a girlfriend.”
We reset and ran the scene again, and then two more times, changing little things here or there so that Dante and the editors would have things to work with.
We shot until noon and then cut for lunch. I hurried to my trailer to take a quick nap. After the livestream last night—and the murder of another man on my list—I’d tried to sleep but overall had been unsuccessful. By the look of the bags under Sebastian’s eyes when he drove us here a few hours later, I thought he was in the same boat. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep, waking up to my alarm an hour later. I rolled over and stretched, feeling refreshed and prepared for the next six hours. It wasn’t a full sleep but manageable.
I stepped out of my trailer and went to hair and makeup for touch-ups. I was still in my chair, thinking about how it was technically my first murder, but it was the second man off my list, when Dante’s assistant came in, wringing their hands.
“Evie, uh, there are police here. They want to talk to you?”
The breath escaped my lungs, and I raised my eyebrows. Forcing myself to react minimally, I looked at him through the mirror. “What about?”
“They wouldn’t say. Dante said to call your agent.”
“Right, okay.” I pulled out my phone and texted Antoinette, then started to text Sebastian, but I realized that could be incriminating if they wanted to look through my phone at any point.
The makeup artist finished touching up my hair, and I got up, following the assistant to one of the offices, where two policemen in uniform were waiting. One was a tall Black man with a mustache, the other a short but muscular Hispanic man with thick eyebrows. Their faces were grim.
Had someone ratted us out about Dourif? My stomach rolled with nerves as I stared at their serious expressions.
“Hello. I was told you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, Miss Reyes. Please sit.” They motioned to the seat on my side of the table.
We sat down. I kept the look of confusion and boredom plastered on my face. I refused to give them anything.
The Hispanic officer, whose name tag said Reyna, spoke first. “We wanted to speak to you today because we are investigating a missing person’s case. Glenn Thornton.”
I raised my brows. Glenn? He’d been dead for over a month now. What had they found?
“Glenn? Did you find him?” I leaned forward.
They exchanged glances. “I’m sorry to inform you that Glenn is dead.”
My mouth fell open, and I covered my face with my hand. “No!”
“Some of his remains were recovered by hikers. He’d been...scattered by scavengers.”
“Scattered?” I gaped. While my surprise was false, my nerves were real. My insides were twisting so tightly it hurt.
“Do you need water?” asked the Black officer with the tag June, offering me a plastic bottle on the table.
