Page 9 of Wicked Fortune

“And in addition to positioning yourself in Matthew’s office, you’re going to try to wheedle your way into one of those parties, aren’t you?” She sounds exhausted. And concerned.

“Well, yeah. Who knows what I might learn mingling with half-drunk wannabe actors? Maybe someone knew Jenny and—” I cut myself off, seeing her face. “What?”

She drags her fingers through her long, black hair. “I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I’m hoping you’re right. Not about Matthew—seriously, I like him. In fact, I’m kind of bummed he’s not going with us to Monte Carlo. He’s fun to hang out with.”

“Oh, man. I forgot you’re leaving on Tuesday.”

“Grand Prix,” she says. “Ash isn’t driving, but he’s got a car in the race, and it’s the biggest showcase yet for the INX-20 motor.”

“You sound like a regular car fan.”

She grins. “More like an Ash fan. And Monaco. Hello? I mean, it’s going to be fabulous.”

“Not jealous.” So jealous.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I really do like the guy. I mean, he’s not a warm fuzzy puppy. He’s arrogant, but he’s brilliant. And he definitely knows he’s good looking, and⁠—”

She cuts herself off with a wave of her hand. “Sorry. Not the point. All I’m trying to say is that even though I’m sure Matthew’s hands are clean, I hope you’re right that it wasn’t suicide. Because we’ve known Jenny since third grade, and I hate the idea that she would kill herself and neither of us even had a clue she was struggling.”

“Me, too.”

She meets my eyes. “So I guess it must have been murder. Or an accident.”

“Jenny loved that bridge,” I say. “It represented Hollywood royalty to her. She picked her apartment because it had a view of the damn thing.”

“I know. She said the towers made her think of castles.”

The Glendale-Hyperion Bridge really is awesome. With its arches and towers, it has both a majestic and an industrial look. You can’t help but notice it. I’ve always thought it looks lonely, but Jenny saw a raw beauty that she found inspirational. As far as she was concerned, it was the gateway to her Hollywood dreams.

“She’d never kill herself there.” My voice is barely a whisper, and I wipe away fresh tears.

Bree sniffles. “I can’t believe I’m leaving the country.” She swallows. “Listen, it probably was suicide. But in case it really was murder … you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

I shrug. “Probably.”

As I’d hoped, she laughs. “Fine. Whatever. How can I help?”

I realize that at some point I’d stood up and started pacing. Now I plunk down on the coffee table in front of her. “I don’t see how you can, especially if you’re leaving so soon.”

“You want to check out one of the parties before your interview with Holt?”

I nod. “I figure if I can get into one tonight or tomorrow, then I can ask around. Maybe she slept with the wrong guy and someone’s wife was pissed. Or someone wanted her to transport drugs. Or, I don’t know, something else. I won’t know until I go.”

“And that’s all you’ve got?”

“At least until Monday morning when I walk into Holt’s office. I’d hoped to look through her stuff, but her roommate’s already mailed the boxes to her parents. Which sucks, because I figure there’s probably an invite to one of the parties mixed in with her things. Which would have made things a hell of a lot easier.”

“I can ask Matthew for you.”

I cock my head and give her a look that I hope she translates as What conversation have you been having?

“Right. Suspect. Got it.”

“Who else do we know who might have a party invite for this weekend?”

“No one I can—oh.”

I sit up straighter. “What?”