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  I was about to announce our arrival, when Sunday’s irritated voice ripped through the tent. “What do you mean, you don’t have her personal effects ready? You’ve been expecting me. This is a nightmare!”

  Ouch. I slowed down. Okay, so maybe she was as scary as Pepper insinuated. “Knock, knock,” I called out.

  Hudson whipped around. His look of irritation transformed into relief. “Mel. Come in. I was just explaining to Sunday that the police haven’t released Addison’s belongings yet.”

  “Who are you?” Sunday’s large green eyes narrowed on my face. “You look familiar.”

  I blinked, surprised. She might look young at first glance, but she had the disposition of a hardened New Yorker. “We’ve never met. I’m Melinda Langston. This is Betty Foxx—”

  She snapped her long fingers at me. Her perfectly red manicured nails were marred by a chipped index fingernail tip. “That’s it. Addison showed me a photo of you. You’re the non-celebrity writing the foreword to her cookbook. Where is it? She said you’d have that to her a week ago.”

  “She did?” Addison had a photo of me? Why had she shown it to her agent? What other games had the conniving pet chef been playing?

  She gave me the once-over. I wasn’t sure if I met with her approval, or if I fell short. A hard, cold-eyed smile stretched her thin lips. “Tell me, why did she pick you? I’ve never understood that pointless idea. But she insisted. You’re not a chef or a celebrity.” She sniffed. “Did she owe you some type of favor? Did you have something on her?”

  I almost choked. “Hardly. I’m sure you can find someone much more qualified than me for that foreword. If the cookbook is still a go, that is.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because Addison’s dead,” Betty piped up, wedging herself between me and MacAvoy. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Sunday crossed her skinny arms across her chest. “The plan was, I would join Addison during the day. I’m a day-tripper.” Her tone was challenging, as if she were daring us to disagree with her.

  Disagreeing wasn’t going to be a problem. I’d read Betty’s event invitation. There was no “day tripper” category.

  Hudson’s eyes widened in surprise. “I wasn’t aware of that. Addison never mentioned it to me. As the head chef, her days are . . . were . . . going to be busy with activities and food prep.” He reached for a clipboard laying on his desk. “I don’t recall seeing your name on the attendance list.”

  “It wasn’t. Callum MacAvoy, Channel 5 News.” Mr. TV stepped around Betty as he introduced himself, ensuring he was in Sunday’s direct line of vision. He was also in the direct line of fire for her next verbal assault. Knock yourself out. “I was doing a story on Addison’s celebrity rise in our community. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Gag. He was manipulating the facts to suit the present situation. Until Addison’s death, he hadn’t even been sure if there’d be a story on her.

  Sunday inhaled deeply, her high cheekbones practically cutting through her skin. “Thank you.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Addison. I have a cameraman with me. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

  She pulled a business card from the outside pocket of her handbag. “Email me the questions. I’ll approve the ones I want to answer, and we’ll go from there.” She turned her attention to Hudson, effectively dismissing MacAvoy. “I’ll take Addison’s sleeping area. That is if the police are finished with it.”

  Hudson set the clipboard on the desk. “I believe so. Gosh, are you sure you want to stay in the tent?”

  It sounded like he didn’t want her around. I couldn’t blame him.

  “Why wouldn’t I? She wasn’t murdered there.”

  No one spoke. What was there to say? As brash as her comment was, it was true. Hudson excused himself to call Detective Finn and make sure the tent was clear to use.

  Sunday fished around in her bag, then pulled out her cell phone. She bent her head and concentrated on her email, acting as if we didn’t exist.

  “Do you know anyone who may have wanted to hurt Addison?” MacAvoy asked.

  She peered up through her bangs. “Is this part of your story?”

  “It is now.”

  She raised her face. “I’m surprised you want to talk about this off camera.”

  “We can cover it again tomorrow. Think of it as a pre-interview.”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. But to answer your question, Addison did not have any true enemies. The chef community may be cutthroat, but it’s still a family. I can’t imagine anyone who would want to hurt her, much less kill her.” Her low voice turned chilly and exact.

  Her answer didn’t make any sense. Addison wasn’t killed at a chef convention. Or during a reality cooking show. Unless she was talking about Redmond and Pepper. “What about someone outside that community?”

  She arched a heavily penciled eyebrow. “You mean like someone here?”

  Duh. That was where she died. Was she really this obtuse or just testing us? “Yes.”

  Her lips twisted. “Since I just got here, I’m not in a position to answer that. You tell me. Did one of you hate her so much that you killed her?” She shifted her attention to me. “What about you? Addison confided to me you two had some childhood secret that you were worried she would expose.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart pounded so hard, my chest hurt. We didn’t exactly have a childhood secret. What else had Addison shared? I refused to look at Betty or MacAvoy. I’d deal with their barrage of questions later.

  “We’re not killers,” Betty spat out. She jammed her hands on her hips. “We ferret out the bad guys and then turn them over to the coppers.”

  Sunday narrowed her haughty eyes. “You’re a funny lady. Who are you, again?”

  “I’m a crime fighter.” She snickered.

  Sunday stared at Betty, trying to figure her out. I inwardly wished her luck. I was still trying to understand her. “Where’s your cape?”

  “I’m having it dry-cleaned,” Betty shot back.

  Sunday rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get lost in the back of her head. She brushed Betty off with the wave of her hand. “You’re ridiculous. You, on the other hand, I don’t trust.” She glared at me. “Are you denying you had anything to do with Addison’s death?”

  What the heck? Why didn’t she trust me? She didn’t even know me. “Of course I am. I didn’t kill her.”

  “Do you have the foreword you promised to write?”

  “No,” I lied. There was no point. Addison was gone, and I’d never wanted to write the blasted thing in the first place. “I told her to find someone more qualified. I assumed she had.”

  “On that, we agree.” She glanced at her Rolex and frowned. “How much longer do you think he’ll be? I’m famished. You don’t suppose Redmond has leftovers, do you? He’s not always accurate with the amount of food needed for large events.”

  “It’s possible.” I found it peculiar she called him by his full name and wondered about her relationship with him. “How well do you know Red?”

  She shrugged a stiff shoulder. For the first time during the conversation, she seemed on the defense. “I was his agent. Years ago.” She shoved her phone back in her handbag.

  Could that have been another reason why there was so much tension between Red and Addison—the shared agent? Was one getting the prime gigs? Were there bad feelings between Red and Sunday?

  “Did you part on good terms?” MacAvoy asked. He must have been on the same line of thinking as I was.

  “Of course,” she answered a little too quickly.

  Sunday Hill was lying through her pearly white teeth. Now we were getting somewhere. “Did Red have an anger management problem back in the day?”

  “Are
you saying he has one now?”

  Darn. She was good. Deflecting our questions with questions of her own. It wasn’t going to be easy to get information out of her that she didn’t want to cough up.

  Hudson reappeared. “It’s settled. You can stay in Addison’s quarters. If you have luggage, I can help you carry it to the tent.”

  She pulled her car keys from her handbag and held them out to Hudson. “Just take my luggage to the tent. I’m going to grab some dinner first.” She slipped her arm through MacAvoy’s. “You don’t mind accompanying me to the dining area, do you?”

  “Not at all.” Mr. TV shot me a cocky grin over Sunday’s head.

  I wondered which story he’d concentrate on. The supposed childhood secret between Addison and me, or Addison’s relationship with her agent?

  He pulled his arm close to his side, bringing Sunday right up against him. “So tell me, how did Addison become your client?” he asked, as they walked away into the sunset.

  “I’ll see you back at the rig. I’ve got to grab Raider’s dinner before She-Devil steals his share.” As she gave me a quick hug, she whispered, “You can fill me in on that secret she was talking about tonight.” With a wave good-bye to Hudson, she raced after them. “Hey, wait for me,” she shouted.

  I didn’t see myself telling Betty anything. She was a wild card when it came to keeping a secret. I turned to Hudson. He, on the other hand, seemed to be pretty good at keeping his lips sealed.

  I smiled. “I think we’re alone now.”

  It was time to pry some of that closely held information loose.

  Chapter Thirteen

  HUDSON POCKETED Sunday’s key. “Sorry to drag you into that mess with Ms. Hill. What did you need?”

  Answers. I had a page of follow-up questions about the secret Pepper had threatened to expose. I was ninety-eighty percent certain Hudson and Addison were having an affair. Hudson was obviously skittish about the topic. I had to ease my way into it.

  I leaned against the desk. “You don’t believe that ‘day-tripper’ story, do you? I mean, if she was only spending the day, why does she have luggage?”

  Hudson’s dark eyes filled with curiosity. “I hadn’t thought of that.” I could see he was working through something in his head.

  I straightened. “Do you want some help with her bags? I can’t imagine she brought only one. Or that what she did bring is light.”

  “No, that’s fine.” He pulled off his fedora and ran his hand through his hair. “She’s exactly like Addison had described—abrasive, shrewd, and scary as hell.”

  Yes! Keep talking. I slowly maneuvered us toward the door. “Don’t let Sunday manipulate you. Do you know which car belongs to her?”

  He patted his pocket. “The key fob says Range Rover. She’s parked in the day-use parking lot. I’ll hit the alarm button and find it soon enough.”

  The sun had set and it was cooling down. It would be dark soon. Sounds of laughter carried to us in waves. Campfire smoke hung in the air. My stomach growled, hungry for roasted hot dogs even though we’d just eaten. What can I say, I have a fast metabolism.

  We fell into step with each other as we headed toward the parking lot. “Wasn’t Sunday supposed to be here hours ago?” I asked.

  “She said she got held up on a conference call with New York. I was hoping I’d get Addison’s personal effects from the police before she arrived, but they’re still going through them. As you heard, Sunday’s not happy about it.”

  That was the understatement of the evening. “She seems like someone who’s used to getting her way. What I don’t get is if she’s staying for a few days, why would it matter if she got Addison’s belongings today or in two days? Is there something specific she wanted?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe many people have ever told her no. I’ve dealt with enough people like her over the years. They want what they want, when they want it.”

  I laughed lightly. “You’ve just described about a third of my clientele. But, the police aren’t just any ‘people.’ Do you really want to get on Detective Finn’s bad side?”

  “Gosh, I don’t suppose I do.”

  We were halfway to the parking lot when Ranger Elliott drove by in his official park truck. The men exchanged a wave.

  “I haven’t figured him out. He seems good-humored, yet he doesn’t seem very happy to have all the pets here.”

  “He worries about the delicate balance of the ecosystem here at the park.”

  “Where’s he going?” I asked.

  “He drives through the park a few times each day, spot-checking that the guests are following the rules and not endangering their lives or the lives of others. Looking for signs of wild animals.”

  I shuddered. “Mountain lions?”

  It was getting darker, and I couldn’t see Hudson’s face clearly, but I think he nodded. Great. Just keep those big cats away from camp.

  Hudson shoved his hands in the front pockets of his khakis. He glanced at me sideways again. I could tell he was working up the courage to ask me a question. “I was surprised to see you with the reporter. I didn’t think you two got along.”

  “Not as surprised as I was,” I said wryly. “Trust me, we’re not chummy. We were both curious about Sunday. He didn’t want me to get to her before he did, and I didn’t trust what he might imply to her. Did you ever give him that interview?”

  He shook his head. “No. After talking with the police, I declined.”

  Speaking of the police . . . “Sorry I ditched you earlier. Finn and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  “After you left, she asked me a lot of questions about you.”

  My stomach dropped. I wondered what he’d told her and how she’d reacted. I didn’t like being the focal point of a police investigation. “Like what?”

  “Gosh, let me think for a second. Well, she wanted to know what you’d taken from Addison’s tent. What was the nature of your relationship with Addison? Why would you help Addison get a job here if you didn’t like her? Had I ever heard you two argue? Did I think you had anything to do with Addison’s death?”

  I swallowed hard. Those were some serious questions. Questions the police would ask if they were trying to establish motive for murder. “What did you say?”

  “I told the truth, of course. Addison didn’t talk about you to me so I couldn’t answer those questions. But my gut says you aren’t involved with the murder.”

  Telling the truth seemed to be the theme of the evening. First Pepper, and now Hudson. In my experience, the truth was based upon that person’s perception of the facts. As we all knew, everyone has something to hide.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He pushed his fedora back. “Don’t get your hopes up. She still thinks you’re involved. Heck, most people around here think you’re involved one way or another.”

  I sighed. Of course. “I don’t understand why they think that. There are other people with stronger motives to kill Addison than me.”

  He didn’t say anything. Probably because he knew he was one of them.

  “Did the police figure out who trashed Addison’s place?” I asked.

  “They’re not sure. After you left, Detective Lark showed up. He mentioned it was possible Addison did that herself.”

  At the time, I would have thought that highly unlikely. But knowing now that Mama’s letters weren’t in their envelopes, I wasn’t ruling out any possibility. Had Addison misplaced the letters? Had she hidden them too well and forgotten where she’d stashed them? Then, in the process of searching for them, ended up tossing her own room?

  “What do you think?”

  He shook his head. “She was messy, but an organized messy. She knew where everything was. That, that was . . . a disaster. She didn’t do it.”

 
We were missing something. I didn’t know what it was, what it related to, or who held the key to figuring it out, but I knew in my gut there was a large piece of information that we weren’t privy to. Yet.

  Hudson pulled a flashlight from his belt. The bright beam lit up the pathway. It got dark quickly in the wilderness.

  “You’re like a Boy Scout. What time is it?”

  “Just after eight. S’mores and pupcakes at the campfire in thirty minutes.”

  My mouth watered. I needed to get back to the RV and grab Missy. She’d enjoy the campfire and pupcakes. I’d enjoy the s’mores. We reached the parking lot. There were only four vehicles, one of which was a white Range Rover parked under the street lamp. We walked toward it.

  “Hud, can I ask you a question?” I hoped I’d built enough trust between us that he’d speak freely.

  “Sure.”

  I chose my words carefully so I didn’t come across as accusatory. “I know you keep saying you and Addison had a working relationship. But from what you’ve said, she seemed to confide in you. It’s been said that you two were more than co-workers.”

  He jerked his head around to face me, pointing the flashlight in my direction to see me clearly. “Who’s saying that?”

  I could tell he was worried. I debated if I should tell or not. I decided to tell him what I knew. “Pepper. She told MacAvoy that if she didn’t get her job back, she’d go to the press and tell your secret. Is that the secret? You and Addison were lovers?”

  He immediately swung the flashlight away from me, but I caught a glimpse of his face. I wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling, but tension radiated from his body.

  He pressed the key fob, unlocking the luxury SUV. “Did she really say that?”

  “Yes. Look, I’m the last person to judge anyone. I’ve made my share of bad decisions. But you have to admit, you two were closer than just co-workers. Heck, she talked to you about her agent enough that you said she’d described her perfectly. Plus, anytime we talk about her death, you become melancholy, withdrawn. That’s not how someone with only a working relationship acts.”