Page 26 of Romance Is Dead

The set was swarming when I arrived, the rush between scenes when everyone is either coming or going and the crew is scrambling to prepare for the next shoot.

I slid into the house, doing my best to avoid detection.

I needed to talk to Teddy — now — and the last thing I wanted was to be waylaid by another conversation that would take up more precious time.

I passed the parlor, where Chloe and Audrey were bent over one of their phones, laughing, and the now blessedly repaired dining room, where Natasha was watching back footage she’d just shot.

No sign of Teddy.

Footsteps and voices echoed from the second floor. I took the steps two at a time, finally finding Teddy in the middle of the upstairs hall, talking to — of all people — Scott. I hovered for a moment, trying to gauge how critical the conversation was.

“. . . goin’ about this the wrong way.” Scott chewed on a toothpick as he crossed his arms and leaned against a door frame. “You can’t lay out all your cards like that, man.”

“So what do you suggest?” Teddy was leaning in, an eager pupil, the shirt he was wearing ripped and bloody from the scene he’d just shot.

“It’s like this.” Scott widened his stance, holding out his hands like he was about to describe a football strategy. “You make her think you hate her.”

Teddy’s eyebrows flew up in alarm. “Are you sure about that?”

“Chicks love that shit. Makes them want what they can’t have.”

“I don’t know.” Teddy looked doubtful. “I’m pretty sure she already thought that and she did not dig it.”

Oh God, were they talking about me?

Scott pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and pointed it at Teddy. “I’m telling you, it works every time.” He placed it back in his mouth. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“I’ll think about it.”

I had to put a stop to this. I stepped out of the shadows. “What are you two talking about?”

Both of them startled, looking as guilty as two schoolboys caught cheating on a test.

Scott recovered first. “Football. Just going over the game from last night, right?” He gave Teddy a not-at-all-subtle wink.

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.” He forced a chuckle. “Love those Eagles.”

I narrowed my eyes. Damn it. If only I knew whether that was a real team or not.

“I need to skedaddle.” Scott gave us a wave as he walked toward the stairs. Before descending, he turned. “And remember” — he gave Teddy a long, weighted look — “what we talked about.”

“Bye, Scott!” Teddy said loudly as he waved the older man away. He drew closer, one corner of his mouth curving up in a smile as he flipped a hand towel over his shoulder, looking a little too charming for someone covered in fake gore.

When he got close enough, he reached out to touch my elbow. “I missed you last night.”

For a moment, my heart stuttered, and I considered ripping his shirt the rest of the way off. But I forced myself to push it from my mind. There were more important things at hand. Or at least, equally important.

“I need to talk to you.” I pressed my eyes closed, blocking out the intensity of his lake-blue gaze.

“What’s up?”

A lighting tech shuffled past, bumping into us as he moved down the hall.

This wouldn’t do — we needed privacy. I glanced around frantically, my eyes landing on a narrow door to our left.

I yanked it open, pulling Teddy in after me.

As I closed the door after us, I realized it was a very small closet.

Dust plumed around us from the sudden disturbance.

We both sneezed as I grappled above my head, searching for a light.

Succeeding in finding a string, I pulled it and a weak glow filled the space enough for me to see that we were now squeezed in amongst dusty clothing and neglected cleaning supplies.

Teddy was crammed against a stack of brooms and I was straddling one of his legs, pushing a stiff denim jacket out from between us.

It was at this moment that I remembered the last time I’d seen him had been moments after our kiss on the porch.

Seeing him up close again, his lips mere inches from mine, made it temporarily hard to catch my breath.

Teddy’s arm snuck around my waist and pulled me close, his eyes falling to my lips.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he teased, maneuvering his arm free from where it was pinned against the wall so he could cup my cheek in his hand. “I thought you were blowing me off last night.”

He leaned in, the space between our lips rapidly closing.

I stiffened. As easy as it would be to kiss Teddy again, I knew that if I gave in to that, I would forget all about the note and the killer that was quickly closing in on us.

And if I was honest, the question of what was brewing between us was almost scarier than a killer being on my ass.

I leaned away, pressing one hand gently on his chest.

“Oh.” Teddy stopped, his smile disintegrating. “No?”

“Sorry, I — ”

“No, it’s ok.” He cleared his throat, pulling away to place some distance between us, even if the close quarters only allowed for a few inches. “I just thought — ”

“Did you check your phone?” I blurted. “I tried to text you.”

“No, we were filming all morning.” He shifted and twisted, trying to reach into his pockets. Finally, contorting his body like something out of The Exorcist , he managed to retrieve his device. He tapped the screen, scrolling until he finally froze. “Another one?”

“Here.” I wriggled until I was able to pull the note from my pocket. “And things get even weirder.” I quickly filled him in on my run-in with Brent.

Teddy’s face clouded. “I knew he was a bad dude.”

“Did you? Weren’t you the one who suggested we give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“I don’t remember that,” Teddy said stubbornly.

“Regardless. He definitely knows something, whether he killed Trevor or he knows who did. We need to talk to him again.”

“I’ll do it. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

Something inside me bristled. “I’m not a child — I can do it myself.”

Teddy stared at me blankly. “You just told me he might literally be the one who sent you death threats and killed Trevor. You’re not talking to him alone.” His voice was firm. “And I also think it’s time we called the police.”

“Police, fine, but I at least want to be there when you talk to Brent.”

“Oh, come on.” Teddy rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I just want to make sure we’re asking him the right questions!”

“You know, you need to trust people more.”

“What?” The accusation took me aback. I trusted people just fine. When they gave me a reason.

“You asked me to join this investigation so I could help, but this whole time, you’ve barely given yourself a break.” He softened, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re exhausted, not to mention in real danger. I’m going to talk to Brent. I can let you know what I learn.”

Despite myself, I leaned into his touch. His hand hovered on my cheek and I savored the feeling, my body loosening and relaxing as I took a deep breath.

“I. . . Fine.” Pulling away, I checked the time on my phone. “Look, I need to get to hair and makeup. You can talk to Brent as long as I can be there when you talk to the police.”

“Of course.”

“Now let’s get out of here — my knee is cramping.”

Pouring out of the closet, some of my panic started to ebb. We had a plan, and hopefully getting the police on board would help. And even if I preferred to talk to Brent myself, I had to grudgingly admit that Teddy would probably do just fine.

“We got this, I promise,” Teddy whispered, squeezing my elbow before he disappeared down the stairs. His breath in my ear sent tingles down my spine. I watched him walk away, trying to remember why I’d stopped the kiss in the closet, and imagining what would have happened if I hadn’t.

“Can someone tell me,” Natasha said, slowly rising from her place behind the camera, “if I look like someone’s genitals?”

No one moved.

We were in the middle of shooting a scene in which the witch’s spirit is lurking in the background — creepy and dread-inducing like those scenes in Halloween when Mike Myers is standing in the bushes in the middle of the day.

We’d gone through several takes, and then several more, botching them all.

No, we hadn’t botched them. Brent had. Something was wrong with him — he looked haggard, even more than when I’d seen him just a few hours earlier.

He’d had a hard time focusing, screwing up his blocking and not listening to Natasha’s directions.

And between takes, he’d started hitting on Audrey, even though she was clearly uninterested.

It was worse than when he’d screwed up the scene in the boathouse.

Meanwhile, I was struggling not to have a tantrum of my own.

Every second on set was excruciating. I kept analyzing everyone’s face, wondering if they’d been the one to slip the envelope under my door.

Brent or Chloe? Natasha or Audrey? Or maybe a member of the crew, whose name I didn’t even know?

It felt like Teddy and I were on the cusp of uncovering the truth, but it was possible we were nowhere close.

I wanted, needed, this scene to be over as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Brent seemed bound and determined to drag it out as long as possible.

Natasha stared at us expectantly, and when no one replied, Chloe stepped up. “Um, no?”

“Then why are you all fucking me on this!” Natasha ripped off her beanie and threw it to the ground, her short blonde hair sticking up in clumpy spikes. She marched toward Brent, one long finger pointing straight at his chest.

“You.” She stopped a few feet away from him, her outreached arm shaking. “You need to get your shit together. What did I tell you?”

I prayed Brent would listen and not continue to try Natasha’s patience.

But to my horror, Brent laughed. And shrugged his shoulders.

And rolled his eyes. I swore smoke eked out of Natasha’s ears.

If we’d been in Carrie , Natasha would have been Sissy Spacek and Brent would have been the dude she electrocuted with her mind.

Instead, Natasha did the opposite. She became eerily, scarily calm. Closing the gap between them, she stepped forward and pressed a sharp fingertip into Brent’s chest.

“Get off my set.” Her voice was so low I could barely make it out.

Brent kept smirking. “What, are you firing me?”

“We’re breaking for lunch, and when we get back, I’m giving you one more chance. If you fuck up again, you’re done.” Then she stormed off the set.

No one moved. Even Brent, seemingly taken off guard, was quiet. But a moment later, the spell lifted and he shrugged his shoulders yet again, like he was trying to shrug off the entire encounter.

“Good. I can’t stand being in this freak show house, anyway.” Holding up both middle fingers and waving them to the rest of the cast, he left, hopping into one of the golf carts and waiting with his arms crossed for one of the PAs to escort him to base camp.

As everyone else filed off set, Teddy and I fell in step together.

“Are we calling the police now or later?” he whispered in my ear as we hopped into one of the waiting carts.

“Later. We don’t have a lot of time, and I’m not sure how long they’ll want to talk to us.” I paused. “Plus, I’m starving.”

The situation was dire, but so was the grumbling in my stomach.

Arriving at the lunch tent, I lined up for my entrée, walking along the table and looking for the container with my name on it. But as soon as I located it, a hand appeared out of nowhere, snatching it from right out in front of me.

Grinning at me from the other side of the table was, of course, Brent. Not bothering to take the food to his seat, he ripped open the top of the container, dug in his fork, and shoveled a big scoop into his mouth.

“Delicious,” he said around the mouthful of food.

I grimaced in disgust. Brent was clearly going to have it out for me as long as he thought I’d spread the rumor about him. My mood darkened as I looked for something else to eat — I was in the crosshairs of a killer, and I couldn’t even eat my Chinese chicken salad in peace.

I’d made it to the other end of the table when I heard it.

A choked gurgle, like someone hacking up a loogie.

I bit back a snide comment. I was already annoyed about my stolen lunch; I didn’t need people doing gross, immature things around the food.

But when I turned around, all I saw was Brent’s face, stricken and red, his eyes bulging.

Then, clutching his throat, he collapsed on the ground.

I rushed over, picking up the still-full container that had originally been meant for me.

“NO PEANUTS” was scrawled across the lid in Sharpie, a special order to accommodate my allergy.

I ripped off the lid and peered closely, careful not to touch it.

Sure enough, the salad was covered in crushed peanuts.

Someone had added peanuts to my food, knowing it would be a death sentence. But unfortunately for him, Brent was allergic, too.