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“The mayor doesn’t see it that way.”
Pescoli hazarded a glance at Carolina Justison, who was sliding through the crowd, aiming for a position near Sphinx.
And all the while, Reverend Tophman kept talking about Destiny Rose Montclaire going home to God.
“Let us pray,” he intoned again, smiling beatifically. Pescoli bowed her head, but she watched the group, faces lit by the unsteady light of candles or images of candles via cell phone apps, all devoutly praying or wanting to appear that way.
CHAPTER 23
“Detective!”
Regan was walking to her vehicle after the service when she heard Barclay Sphinx’s voice calling for her. Every muscle in her back tightened and she reluctantly turned to see him jogging toward her. She just didn’t trust the guy and had trouble keeping her expression neutral. Several people were also hurrying after him—Carlton Jeffe, Ivor Hicks, and Luke were all making their way through knots of people as they tried to catch up with the producer. Michelle, incredibly agile in her four-inch heels, managed to stay with them. The good news was that Bianca wasn’t part of the entourage.
“Be a part of my show, Detective Pescoli,” Barclay said, offering up an engaging grin in the thin illumination from a street lamp. “Change your mind. Join us.”
“We’ve already been through this.”
“Your daughter has agreed to be the star. And you’re aware filming starts tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “The on-site crew is already setting up at Reservoir Point. The rest of us are heading up there now. All you have to do is come.”
“Thank you, no. I’m out.” She saw that he was about to launch into more arguments and staved them off with, “I don’t believe Big Foot exists, and I don’t like how you’re exploiting this town and Destiny Montclaire’s death, all for ratings. And now another girl is missing. So, no.”
“Exploiting? Oh. No. No. We’re not exploiting anyone. What girl’s missing?”
“Lindsay Cronin.”
Her name didn’t seem to register with him as he placed a splayed hand over his chest. “I’m trying to help the investigation.”
“And how’s that?”
“With all the publicity we’re generating. Just take the trailer after the show . . .”
Pescoli seethed. Any publicity for the case, even if it proved beneficial, was created to win over mass appeal, create a buzz and add up to helping ratings for his new show. The underlying reason for Sphinx’s involvement was that dead, murdered girls made for interesting TV. It was all about money.
“This could help Destiny’s family and—” He was going on, but Pescoli cut him off.
“The trailer and everything else you do can be done without my input. Ask the sheriff.”
“I have. Sheriff Blackwater’s agreed to be a part of it.”
“Oh.” Of course. Just when she was beginning to have a smidgen of faith in the sheriff, his true colors came to light.
“But he’s not Bianca’s mother,” Sphinx pointed out. “He doesn’t have that emotional connection with her, so it’s a whole different thing. Touches a different emotion for the viewer.” Again, he flashed his engaging grin, as if Barclay Sphinx really believed he could somehow charm her into being a part of his reality show.
“Find a stand-in,” she suggested.
“Michelle has agreed to do the part,” he said, watching her reaction.
Pescoli’s heart dropped. Michelle? She wanted to argue about Michelle not being old enough, or smart enough or anything enough to be Bianca’s biological mother, but held it back with an effort. “Good,” she said tightly. “Then you’re set. If you’ll excuse me.”
She climbed into her Jeep and engaged the engine, hitting the gas and reversing before driving out of the lot. As she paused to check the street, she glanced in her rearview mirror and spied Sphinx looking dumbfounded while Michelle, who had caug
ht up with him, was positively radiant.
What was it she’d told Bianca? That this part in Big Foot Territory: Montana! was just the beginning? That Bianca was on her way to being a star? Well, now, it seemed it was Michelle’s big break, too.
“Have at it,” she said aloud.
She was about to pull away when she saw two boys, one of the Bell brothers—Kywin, she thought—move next to Bryant Tophman, who had escaped from his mother and father as they spoke with other mourners. The two men—because they sure didn’t look like teens, both big and muscular—slapped hands and then turned from each other, Tophman stuffing something furtively into the front pocket of his jeans while Bell disappeared through the dispersing crowd.
