Page 11 of Script Swap (The Last Picks #11)

It was Kyson. And he was dead, of course. The back of his head had been smashed in.

The deputies came—Bobby and Dahlberg—and then the sheriff. They corralled everyone in the theater on the stage. Bobby stayed to make sure nobody (i.e., me) got into trouble while Sheriff Acosta and Dahlberg locked down the crime scene, and then there was nothing to do but wait.

And think.

And watch.

Terrence paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly, occasionally turning his face up to the heavens to moan things like “Why me?” and “I’m ruined.” But it was hard to forget the look on his face from the night before, the shock giving way to rage when Kyson had delivered that final line.

Nora sat on a wooden box that had been painted black, some sort of set piece. She didn’t weep or wail, but she did look suitably grave.

Betty and Milton were staring daggers at each other from across the theater. I got the feeling that if Bobby hadn’t been there, they’d have been at each other’s throats. Possibly literally.

Tinny stood near the red curtain, a strange smile on her face.

No Pippi.

And Jonni was having the time of her life.

Wrapped in one of those foil emergency blankets, she was shivering and shaking and weeping uncontrollably while a paramedic checked her out.

I hadn’t seen this guy before—White, twentysomething, hair in a tight fade with a lock of bright blue at the front.

He also looked like he’d been painted into his uniform, and let me tell you, this gentleman had never skipped leg days.

Jonni kept grabbing his hand whenever he moved, clasping it in her own and slowly trying to bring it toward her, uh, bosom, like some kind of horrible tractor beam.

The paramedic, to his credit, kept getting his hand free, but he couldn’t quite seem to reach escape velocity.

“Something is seriously wrong here,” I said.

“I’ll say,” Bobby said. “She’s a fingertip away from sexual assault.”

“No, I mean—well, yeah, but I was talking about here in the theater more generally. Kyson.”

Bobby made a sound that could have meant anything.

“This has got to be about the script, right? Because otherwise, why kill Kyson?”

“We don’t know why someone killed Kyson,” Bobby said. “That’s the whole point of an investigation.”

“I know, but I’m saying, it must be connected to the script, right?”

“Not necessarily. It could have been a coincidence.”

“Bobby, people were freaked out. That line Kyson said, it meant something to somebody. Maybe to more than one somebody. And now Kyson is dead. That can’t be a coincidence.”

He made that noise again, the one that wasn’t quite disagreement.

“The real question,” I said, “is if the theft of the box office money is connected.”

“That seems likely.”

“But how? Is it a red herring?”

“Like what? Someone stole the money to try to draw attention away from the script?”

“Maybe. Or what if it’s not a red herring? What if that’s the crime Kyson was talking about when he said, ‘I know what you did’?”

“Do you think Kyson knew something? I thought he was reading the wrong lines in the script.”

“I don’t know. I mean, maybe he did.”

“Maybe the theft is completely unrelated to Kyson’s death. I know you’re not a big fan of coincidences—”

“They weaken the plot.”

He waited the length of a long breath before he continued, “—but we have to consider that possibility.”

“I guess.” Around us, the rest of the cast and crew were still doing their—well, their performances. The word popped into my head, but once it was there, I couldn’t shake it. Terrence’s histrionics. Tinny’s determination to be the biggest weirdo possible. Nora’s solemn grief. Jonni’s, uh—

Well, Jonni had unbuckled the paramedic’s pants.

“That poor man,” I said.

“Uh huh,” Bobby said, and I couldn’t quite parse the tone.

The paramedic was trying to pry Jonni’s hands off him, but he was having a surprisingly difficult time of it—especially for somebody who had such big biceps.

He must have a killer arm workout. I should ask him what he did.

Did guys do that? Was that a straight guy thing?

You see some guy with massive—let’s say massive quads.

And you walk up and say, what? Bro, how’d you get that tight patoot?

That seemed more like an invitation to a broken nose.

But if I said, Hi, sorry, I know this is weird, but I couldn’t help noticing your arms—

Uh, maybe not.

“Bobby, do you think it would be weird if I told that guy how much I liked his arms?”

He didn’t answer right away. And then he asked, “Excuse me?”

“Look at his biceps; they’re massive.”

He didn’t say anything.

The paramedic was doing something that required incidental flexing, and he was in danger of tearing his sleeves.

Bobby still hasn’t said anything, my brain pointed out.

And then I realized the silence was—well, one of those silences that’s even worse than nails on a chalkboard.

I looked over.

Bobby looked over.

“Uh,” I said. “So, what I meant was—”

“See something you like?”

It took several seconds, but the best I could come up with was “ Huh ?”

“He’s not going to take his clothes off and do a dance, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh my God, Bobby!” I must have still been thinking about the suspects, though—and, I have to admit, I was entranced by Jonni’s unstoppable efforts to get this strapping young man to console her in her hour of need—because somehow I said, “Is he even gay?”

“Interesting question,” Bobby said, his voice dropping into we’re-going-to-have-a-talk-about-this territory. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t! I was—I mean, it’s important information.”

“Right.”

“Bobby, I would never!”

He made a sound in his throat that was partly amused and partly disagreement.

“He’s not—I was observing—they’re suspects , Bobby!”

“Oh yeah? Did he hide the murder weapon in his pants?”

“Robert Mai!”

A hint of that goofy grin slipped out.

“In the first place, I only have eyes for you. And in the second—wait a minute, what’s happening? Are you jealous?”

A hint of color came into Bobby’s face, but he used his deputy voice when he said, “Just making sure.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Of course, at that point, the paramedic finally managed to get free.

Carrying his kit, he made his way over to us.

He had a nice smile. It wasn’t until Bobby uncrossed and recrossed his arm that I realized the paramedic was smiling at me .

And that was so discombobulating that when the paramedic said, “How are you doing? You need me to check you out?” my mind went completely blank.

It was panic. It was terror. It was pure fight-flight-freeze, and my body chose freeze.

After a few seconds, his smile got even bigger. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“We’re good here,” Bobby said.

And let me tell you: that was his real deputy voice.

For some reason, that made the paramedic’s smile get bigger, and he got a dimple in one cheek. But he didn’t say anything. He shouldered his kit, gave me a lot of eye contact, and left.

Do you have any idea how long five seconds can feel with a jealous Bobby Mai next to you?

Jealous.

I mean—that didn’t make any sense. Was that even possible? Wasn’t there some sort of law of evolution against it? The formula would go something like this: if your partner is at least X times hotter than you, it’s impossible for them to feel jealous.

“Wow,” Bobby finally said.

“No! No, Bobby, no, I didn’t—that wasn’t—my body!”

“Your body?”

“Oh my God, no!”

That last bit was loud enough that everyone looked over at us—even Jonni, who was clearly miffed about having lost her pet paramedic.

“Bobby,” I whispered, “what is going on?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

I did not forget it, in case you’re wondering.

In fact, I was pretty sure this was about to become my new low-grade obsession.

What had I said? Something about his arms. And I guess I’d been staring at him.

And yes, as usual, I’d managed to make an already embarrassing situation worse.

But Bobby knew how bad I was at social situations.

Heck, Bobby understood me. And more importantly, since when—ever—had Bobby acted like this?

And he still wasn’t looking at me.

At that moment, fortunately, Salk opened the door and stuck his head into the room.

Deputy Salkanovic is exactly the kind of big brother most people would wish for.

He was the star player on Hasting High’s football team.

He’s got the soul of a Golden Retriever, which included occasionally putting me in a headlock and walking me around the station and giving me noogies.

Also, one time, I saw him answering one of those Nigerian prince emails.

(He was sweet about it, too, which only made it worse when I had to stop him and explain what was going on.

Look, no judgement—everybody’s got strengths and weaknesses.)

“You got a local address for him?” Salk asked.

Bobby shook his head.

Salk gave us a thumbs-up and left.

“Fox might know,” I said.

Bobby and I headed over to talk to Fox. They stood against the wall, watching Terrence’s public meltdown, a grimace on their face.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” Fox said. “He’s loving this. He’s going to talk about this for years, assuming he doesn’t give himself a heart attack.”

“He’s loving having one of his cast killed?” Bobby asked.

“God, no,” Fox said. “I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m sure he’s upset about Kyson. But my father is a…self-absorbed man, in some ways. Right now, this is all about him.”

I took another look at Fox’s face, and I thought about what it must have been like to grow up with Terrence as your father.

“You didn’t come over here to ask me about this one-man production of Woe is Me ,” Fox said. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Kyson lived?” I asked. “He’s not local, right?”

Fox shook their head. “I think he’s from Portland. I’m sure he was staying over at Mossfern Estates. That’s where my dad always puts the young ones—or the ones who can’t afford better. It’s one of the ground-floor units. One-D, I think.”

That was what we’d come over here to ask, but now I couldn’t help a follow-up question. “Jonni and Nora aren’t staying there?”

“God, no.” At the expression on my face, Fox laughed. “You’ll see once you get there. They’ve both rented apartments near the theater. Of course, they’re not twenty-two, so they can afford it.”

“Thanks,” Bobby said.

Bobby headed for the door, and I followed.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Well, I was thinking—”

My boyfriend doesn’t exactly groan. But he does get this long-suffering look in his eyes sometimes.

“—since I’m technically a consultant for the sheriff’s office, and time is of the essence—”

“Dash.”

“What if there’s valuable evidence?”

“Then I’m sure a team of trained deputies will find it.” But he hit the crash bar and held the door for me. “Ask the sheriff first.”

“Have I ever mentioned you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

He tilted his head toward the hall.

“And your arms are the best arms in the whole world.”

“Thank you. Go check with the sheriff.”

“And you’re my one true love.”

Some of the stiffness in his expression softened, and when I kissed him on the cheek, he gave me that goofy grin. It lasted about half a second before he was back in deputy mode with a stern, “Go!”

The sheriff was in Kyson’s dressing room, with Salk and Dahlberg standing outside.

Sheriff Acosta wore the khaki uniform of the sheriff’s office, along with the standard utility belt and, of course, her service weapon.

She was a solidly built woman with her dark hair in a ponytail, and she had a tiny scar on her forehead, almost hidden by the baby hairs gelled there.

Sheriff Acosta wasn’t given to groaning any more than Bobby, but when she saw me, she did get a look that sometimes I wanted to call Why me?

(Listen, I’ve helped her out a lot . I’m a boon to the sheriff’s office. I’m a treasure.)

After I’d explained that I wanted to check out Kyson’s apartment, the sheriff was silent for a moment, thinking. Then she said, “Take Bobby with you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re securing a potential crime scene, Mr. Dane. We don’t know where Kyson was killed, and we don’t know what kind of evidence the apartment might have.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That means I expect you to take appropriate precautions not to destroy evidence.”

“Of course, Sheriff. I’m not an amateur.”

The sheriff stood there, hands on her hips.

“I regretted it literally as soon as it came out of my mouth,” I said.