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He turned toward her, a confident look on his face as he held up a plastic case. “Bingo.”
IT WAS CRUNCH time, time to start taping the final episode ofKilling Time in a Small Town, and the on-site producer was nowhere to be seen. Jacey appeared to be the only one who noticed. Everyone else was too keyed up, too excited. Finally, the mystery would be solved. Cast and crew would learn who the killer was, who would walk away a millionaire and who would leave empty-handed.
Jacey hated the suspense. Knowing that Digg was the killer made it that much tougher.
The four finalists entered the parlor of the Little Bohemie Inn to discuss the last murder. It had come down to Digg, James, Logan and Whittington. Mona, thank God, had been among the casualties the night before, as had Ginger. Jacey had been glad as hell to see Mona go since she was nearly certain she was the one who’d been spying on Jacey and Digg the other day. But she actually kind of missed Ginger, who’d been damn good at the game until she got tripped up over the murder in the public library.
Joshua Charmagne tapped a spoon against his wineglass to get the attention of the contestants. He’d settled pretty well into his role as host.
“We’ve come to our last night,” he announced, looking carefully at each of the final four. “If we don’t find out who the killer is, he will be free to wreak havoc on Derryville during the biggest social event of the season—the Christmas ball.”
Leave it to Renauld to throw another holiday into the mix. God help them, if he decided to shoot some extra scenes with a September Christmas tree, Jacey was totally out of here.
Well, no she wasn’t. Not until Digg was out of here with her.
She put her attention back where it belonged. On her camera. On the scene. On the quiz.
They began. The four contestants each sat in a corner of the room, answering two dozen questions related to the Derryville Demon case. They had to have been paying attention all along the way. The questions dated back to that first killing, in Sophie Winchester’s house. Then came the debate when they all lied, argued, and manipulated.
They wouldn’t use all this footage, of course. The editors would trim down a thirty-minute quiz to about five, and the argument to fifteen. They’d get close-ups on the contestants: The sweat breaking out on James’s upper lip. The way Logan’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. The nervous pencil tapping Whittington couldn’t contain. And Digg, watching them all with his standard, impassive, unreadable expression.
He didn’t dare look at Jacey. She’d known he wouldn’t. He was playing one final round of this game. Now that she knew how important it was to him, what he would do with the money, she rooted for him even more.
Soon, it was all over. Time for the private, in-booth interviews.
Time to expose the Demon.
“YOU CANNOT BE serious.”
“Dead serious.” The truth sounded unbelievable, even to his own ears. “Look for yourself.” He held out the proof he’d found, moments before, in his video cabinet.
She took the case, still wrapped in plastic, unopened, from Mick’s collection. He heard her tiny gasp when she read the names of the stars ofPsychedelic Sex Dreams.
“Esmerelda Devane and Victoria Lynn.”
Right. That’s why he’d recognized the names when Jared had first mentioned them. Individually, they’d have been unusual enough. Together, they were incontrovertible. At least to him.
“Miss Hester made porn flicks?”
Mick nodded.
“Eeew.” She dropped the box.
“I need to find all I have with those two in them,” he replied, turning his attention back to the stack of films in the cabinet.
Caro didn’t say anything, just kept looking stunned and wrinkling her nose in distaste as if visualizing the whole thing. That’s what he’d been doing mentally since the second he’d recognized Miss Hester’s former name. Eeew was right.
“Earl—you met him on poker night—just loves to give me really old movies, the seedier the better.”
She flicked a nail at the plastic.
“No, I never unsealed it. Or most of the others.”
She cocked a brow. “Most?”
“Hey,” he said with a shrug. “I’m a guy. Unattached men sometimes have to….”
“Fly solo?” She didn’t wait for an answer, swiping his hair back. “I forgive you.”
