Page 29 of Romance Is Dead

“I’m not sad he died,” a voice whispered behind me. “He was an asshole.”

“Exactly,” said another. “He felt me up during one of his costume fittings. What a creep.”

“Well, everything happens for a reason,” said the first voice. “Maybe he shouldn’t have fucked up his karma so badly.”

Waking up that morning, I’d felt more at peace than I had in months.

Getting off set with Teddy the day before had been a balm, even with the horrible events of the day swirling in the background.

Returning to the hotel and dropping me off at my room, Teddy hadn’t attempted a replay of our kiss on the back porch.

I’d been disappointed until I remembered me turning him down in the closet — maybe it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t tried again.

But I could still feel him pressed up against my back, and the way he’d cradled my wrists gently as he helped me practice my swing.

Lying in bed, my room still dark, I’d wanted to swim in that moment just a bit longer, not ready to let the memory go.

But then my phone had dinged with an email from Natasha, the subject line blaring “Outrageous and unfounded claims!” She was asking everyone to meet at six that morning for an “update on the state of production.”

That didn’t sound good.

Now, as the clock rolled over to 5:59, Natasha’s eyes were steely, her mouth slightly pinched.

If she’d been angry with Brent for coming to set high, I could only assume she was absolutely apoplectic that he’d gone ahead and died too.

Next to me, Teddy rubbed my arm with a crooked knuckle — not obvious enough for anyone to see, but enough to signal he was there.

As the clock ticked over to 6:00 a.m. on the dot, Natasha rose from her seat and stepped to the front of the room.

“Thank you all for coming this morning on such short notice. I’m sure by now everyone is aware of what occurred on set yesterday afternoon.

” Natasha’s voice was somber, and she paused as the crowd murmured.

“An autopsy is being performed, even though the cause of death is strongly suspected to be from anaphylactic shock. In the meantime, the police will be performing a brief investigation to ensure there is no evidence of foul play. It appears a member of our team has been receiving threatening notes, something the police are taking very seriously.”

My stomach plunged. The killer would already know I’d tattled on them purely by virtue of the police being on set, but I hadn’t realized Natasha was going to rat me out in front of everyone. I glanced around surreptitiously, trying to gauge people’s reactions.

Audrey was clutching a hand to her chest, looking very much like I had during my panic attack.

Chloe looked uneasy, her eyes shifting as though she, too, was unsettled there was still a killer on the loose.

Mara’s face was blank, giving no clue to her feelings.

Our old friend Scott Rossi was scowling in the back row, likely resentful that he’d been questioned about Trevor for a second time.

“Obviously,” Natasha continued, “this whole charade will affect our schedule. Filming will not take place today so the police can conduct their interviews. We’re also still ironing out changes to the shooting schedule now that Brent is no longer here.

” She frowned. “And unfortunately, these events have caught the attention of the studio. Representatives will be arriving tomorrow to conduct their own investigation. Everyone must be on their best behavior.”

“Excuse me.” A voice rang out from somewhere behind me. “Sorry, I have a question.”

“Yes?” Natasha’s voice was crisp.

“Just to clarify, a murder has taken place?” It was a camera operator, a woman maybe a year or two older than me. “They just don’t know who did it?”

Natasha gathered herself before answering. “I don’t believe I’m qualified to answer that question. They believe it’s possible a crime could have taken place.”

“Which means they probably have evidence one was committed?” the woman pressed.

Natasha waved a hand. “I don’t — ”

“Cops don’t waste their time if they’re not sure a crime happened,” another voice yelled.

And yet another: “And what about Trevor? They said that one was an accident too.”

Voices started to rise, everyone pitching in with their personal and first-hand knowledge of the legal system.

“On CSI , I saw — ”

“Well, in my ‘Introduction to Criminal Justice’ class — ”

“My aunt almost became a cop and she — ”

“Enough!” Natasha raised her voice. “I’m simply going by what the professionals have told me. You’ll all receive an email tomorrow with the updated schedule. Let me know if you have any questions.” She stepped back from the podium, making it clear the meeting was over.

As people stood and started to trickle out, dread dripped through my body. I’d known the killer would eventually find out that I’d gone to the police, but now it was real.

And they might be in the room with me right now.

Less than an hour later, Teddy and I were called into our interviews first, summoned one by one to the same conference room where Natasha had briefed us.

My session was quick — I simply confirmed what I’d already told the police, which seemed to satisfy the two detectives conducting the interviews.

Teddy was next, and he gave me a little fist bump before slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.

Anxious, I waited nearby in the hotel lobby.

I could have returned to my room, which would have been much more comfortable than the lumpy armchair I found pushed against the wall.

But after the way he’d been there for me the day before, I found myself not wanting to be further away from Teddy than I needed to be.

His presence was comforting, grounding. I should be distancing myself, but I somehow couldn’t force myself to.

Trying to occupy my mind, I scrolled through the news, which for me meant checking the tabloid sites — nosy for gossip while praying my name wouldn’t show up. Minutes into my scrolling, a text popped up on my screen, obscuring a headline teasing a new dating reality show:

Dad: Alright Squish, I’ve given it almost twenty-four hours. Are you alright?

Whoops. I hadn’t called my dad to tell him about what happened to Brent, mostly because I forgot, but also because I didn’t want to. It would only make him worry, and the last thing I needed was Puzzle Face himself storming onto set asking questions.

Quinn: How’d you even hear about that?

Dad: I can’t give away my secrets! I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.

Quinn: There’s an active investigation, Dad.

Dad: Ok, ok. Well, you’ll never believe who sent me a Facebook friend request the other day.

I waited for seven minutes, wondering what this could possibly have to do with Brent, but the answer never came.

Quinn: Who?

Dad: Scott Rossi! We got to talking and he said I’d raised an impressive young woman for a daughter, by the way. Anyway, he told me about what happened to that young man. You ok?

Huh. Who would have thought our buddy Scott had a secret soft side?

Quinn: I’m fine! I thought you and Scott hated each other?

Dad: Old age is making us soft, I guess! Told him all about your career, how proud I am of you. He has a little girl, too, though she’s not as successful as you ??

A churning started in my stomach — a suspicion of just where this conversation was going. Sure enough, ten seconds later, another message came through.

Dad: Don’t want to pressure you, but do you have any thoughts about that movie I pitched you?

I squeezed my eyes shut. The reality was I’d forgotten about it completely. The reality was I was never making another movie again. The reality was I’d have to tell my dad all of this someday, but today couldn’t be the day.

Quinn: I’m late for my call time! I’ll call you later.

The guilt felt awful, but I also couldn’t deny the relief I felt shutting down the conversation. Was the future eventually going to catch up with me? Yes. But that was future Quinn’s problem.

A few minutes later, the door to the conference room cracked open and Teddy emerged.

I jumped to my feet. “How’d it go? You didn’t tell them too much, right? Just what we already told them yesterday?”

“Nope, I told them all about our investigation and everything we’ve been up to.”

“You what?” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Why would you do that?”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Relax, Jigsaw. It went fine. You can trust me, you know. We’ve talked about this.”

“Jerk.” I thwacked him on the shoulder and he pretended to wince, screwing up his face and rubbing the muscle.

Footsteps padded down the hall behind us, yanking both of our attentions. Natasha, entering the conference room for her own interview. Wordlessly, we both eyed the room next door.

“You think it’s soundproof?” Teddy asked. “We probably couldn’t hear anything.”

“Only one way to find out.”

We scurried into the room, locking the door behind us. Feeling very much like a cartoon character, I crept across the floor and pressed my ear to the shared wall. After just a few moments, I heard familiar voices.

I motioned frantically and Teddy joined me, pressing his own head against the striped wallpaper.

“Would you say you’ve been feeling a lot of pressure lately, Ms. Vossey?”

“Not particularly.” Natasha’s voice was casual, with a defiant edge.

There was a faint rustling of papers. “So this hasn’t been on your mind at all?”

Teddy and I glanced at each other in alarm. What had they shown her?

“No.” Natasha’s voice was firm. “That happened two years ago and was a total accident.”

I pressed my ear harder to the wall, but despite my cartilage audibly crunching, it failed to make Natasha or the police any easier to hear.

“Of course. It did cost the production company millions of dollars, though, didn’t it?”

“I fail to see what this has to do with my current project.”

“Nothing at all.” A table creaked, like someone had leaned forward on it. “Just. . . that you might be feeling a little pressure for this production to go off without a hitch.”

“I try my best to do that on all my movies. Are we about done here?”

“One more question.” More paper-flipping. “Is it true that you argued with both Trevor Hill and Brent Milburn on the mornings of their deaths?”

Natasha was quiet for a long beat, so long I thought she might have stormed out. But then there was a sharp intake of breath.

“Yes. But if you asked around, I think you’d find that I argued with almost everyone on those days.”

Natasha, I had to admit, had a point.

As they continued their conversation, Teddy and I pulled out our phones.

A quick Google search found that Natasha’s last three movies hadn’t just done miserably at the box office; they’d also been universally panned by reviewers.

Worse, we found that two years ago, a stunt woman had been paralyzed on one of Natasha’s sets after a stunt went horribly wrong.

The woman had sued the production and won, netting herself — and costing the company — millions.

I felt a pang of empathy. I knew firsthand how terrible it was being the subject of scathing press. “Poor Natasha. No wonder she wants this movie to be a success so badly.”

“‘Poor Natasha’?” Teddy side-eyed me. “Her carelessness ended up with a woman paralyzed.”

“True.”

My mind whirred, trying to put the pieces together.

It was possible Natasha’s increasingly erratic moods were simply caused by anxiety about her career.

Not only had her reputation as a director been tanking but she was actively losing people millions of dollars.

If she didn’t have a hit soon, it was very likely no one would hire again.

But it was also possible that she was careless on her sets, and that she didn’t mind hurting or killing someone to try to get her career back on track.