Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

Shit.

But then I look at the caption and realize that you can’t clearly see her face in either photo.

Damian Moran, lead singer of the hottest new band on the planet, Twisted Dreams, was seen this past weekend with another blonde on his arm. And this blonde apparently held his attention for the entire weekend. Who is this gorgeous mystery girl? Can she tie down the playboy? And, come on, Damian, how about some equal opportunity for us brunettes?

I’m really thankful they’re spending the holiday in St. Croix, where there are no photographers.

And I pray Damian will keep their relationship a secret until March.

I roll the magazine up and carefully put it in my backpack next to the brunette wig.

I’m not wearing the wig for this part of the journey.

I’m just me.

I have to be.

I close my eyes and listen to music during the long flight, arrive on schedule, and hop in Sam’s rental car.

We drive for about thirty minutes through what I think is one of the most beautiful parts of the country.

Hilly. Lush. Green. Blue sky.

Sam turns onto a dirt road, winds up a hill, and says, “This is the spot.”

I nod, understanding and taking it in.

He stops the car on a large flat area. “Is this what you were envisioning?”

I get out of the car and walk toward the view of the ocean.

And smile.

“You did good, Sam. It’s perfectly perfect.”

“I got lucky,” Sam chuckles.

“No,” I say. “It was fate.”

I spin around, taking in the beautiful view in every direction.

“You’ve done everything exactly the way I requested, right?”

“I followed your instructions to the letter.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes from a price and timing standpoint? We don’t have much time.”

“The current owners are aware of your timeline and if the offer is what they expect, we’ll have the deal closed on Monday.” He looks at me closely. “Are you sure this is what you want? To be cremated? To have your ashes spread here?”

“Yes. I’m positive.”

He shakes his head, but all he says is, “Then I just need your signature.” He holds out a clipboard, hands me a pen, and points to the places I should sign.

“Thank you so much, Sam. I love it.” I pull an envelope out of my purse and say, “And here’s this.”

He takes it from me and places it safely in his briefcase.

I look back at the ocean, smile again, and feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

I close my eyes.

Say a prayer.

Then get driven back to the airport.

Cooper: The police questioned Vincent today. He admitted to giving her a business card. When they asked if he knew she was dead, he acted surprised. He asked if they thought he had anything to do with it. They said they were just trying to piece together a timeline of her last hours alive. He said that he only saw her in the club and had hoped to hear from her this week. He even offered to take a lie detector test because, he said, for business reasons, he didn’t want his name to be associated with a murder investigation. He had an alibi and passed the lie detector test.

Me: He once told me that the key to lying is to convince yourself it’s the truth.

Cooper: That’s also the key to passing a lie detector test.

Madder than a wet hen.

7:30pm

I log into the airplane’s Wi-Fi and get an instant message from Grandpa.

Grandpa: Been digging into the history of this company. Here’s an interesting fact. Vincent inherited a decent chunk of money when his mother and stepfather were killed, which he then immediately used to buy out a small production company. Guess which one it was?

Me: I have no idea.

Grandpa: The one that made A Day at the Lake . Remember, when it was first made it was pretty low budget. So in buying it, he automatically had the ability to do a remake. But based on what I’ve been told by the investors we’ve bought out, his decision to do the remake came this spring. I’m assuming that coincides with when he met you.

Me: Wow. How many investors do you have deals with?

Grandpa: Four out of the six. Those four were pretty eager to sell. They believe this movie has become an obsession. They were also worried because he’s not investing in as many movie futures as he used to. He’s well-known in the industry for being golden in selecting them.

Me: When will he find out that his investors have sold?

Grandpa: He found out today when we delivered a letter of intent to take control of his company. I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for that.

Me: Me too. Thanks, Grandpa. I love you.

Me: And Grandma. Please tell her I love her. Like, in case something should ever happen to me. You know?

Grandpa: If something happens to you, I’m killing the bastard myself. You have my promise. He won’t get the luxury of jail time. But I’m definitely glad you’re hidden away at school while this is all taking place. He’s going to be madder than a wet hen.

Me: A wet hen?

Grandpa: If you’d ever seen one, you wouldn’t have to ask.

Me: Believe it or not, that makes me feel better. At least I won’t worry about him getting out of jail someday and hurting my sisters.

Grandpa: Exactly. And I love you too, Hotshot.

Grandpa: Wait. Sam just messaged me and said he met you in California today.

Me: Yeah.

Grandpa: Says it was confidential.

Me: Yeah.

Grandpa: Damian called me yesterday.

Me: That’s nice of him.

Grandpa: Are you going back to the club tonight? After that girl was killed?

Me: Yes.

Grandpa: There’s a reason you wear camouflage when you’re hunting, Keatyn.

Me: I’ll be wearing it tonight. And I’ll be in a duck blind.

Sorta.

Grandpa: I don’t want to end up owning some stupid movie company because you went out and got yourself killed. You understand me?

Me: Yes, sir.

Grandpa: I admire your courage, Hotshot. Text me when it’s over and you’re safe. I’ll stay up.

Me: Grandpa, thanks for understanding that I have to do this.

Grandpa: We’re cut from the same cloth. And don’t worry, I WILL NOT be mentioning this to your grandmother.

Me: Thank goodness.

Cooper meets me at my plane and introduces me to two of his friends. Both are cops who will be joining us tonight. They’ll be following Vincent when they’re off duty to make sure nothing like what happened to the girl from the club happens again.

Before we go into the club, I tell Cooper, “If something goes wrong—like if he takes me—promise me you’ll come and get me.”

“I’m going to do more than promise.” He points out my locket to his friends. “Tracking device number one.” Then he clamps a surprisingly stylish thick bangle bracelet around my wrist and says, “Tracking device number two. It operates in a different way, but if he scans you, he will find that and your locket easily.”

“Do you think he would?”

“Hard to say, but we want to be prepared. And this little beauty,” he says, holding up what looks like a little blister pad, “is the best one. Top dollar, espionage kind of stuff. Bend at the waist and flip your hair over.”

I follow his instructions and feel him stick it right by my hairline.

“Okay, flip back over. Guys, did you bring the scanner?”

One of the guys nods and hands him a small scanner. He runs it across me and quickly finds both my necklace and bracelet, but when he runs it across my shoulders it doesn’t go off. The guys all nod.