“We’re not sure. She died in bed apparently, and it looks like she’s been dead at least an hour. Do you have contact information for her family?”
“She’s just got a mother—no father or brothers or sisters. I have a number for her someplace, but there’s no guarantee she’ll pick up. The woman’s a total lush.”
“Why don’t you try, at least? Scott is calling nine-one-one. Is there anything else you can think of—someone who needs to be informed?”
“You mean, like a boyfriend? Not at the moment. I mean there was someone Wednesday night, but I don’t believe she got his name.”
Note to self, I thought: Do not assign Jane the task of writing my eulogy.
I told her that I was going back to meet with Scott and that we would probably wait in the big barn. She should look for us there and report on whether she connected with the mother. Backing away, I also warned her not to go into Devon’s room and not to make any calls about Devon’s death without consulting with Cap.
“I’m perfectly aware of the need to be sensitive about the media,” she said. “That’s my job twenty-four/seven—or at least it was.”
As I headed back down the hall, Scott reached the top of the stairs. He’d managed to zip his jeans and button his shirt in the time he’d been away.
“The police are on their way,” he reported, coming toward me, “but it’s going to take a while because of the snow, they said. My guess—at least an hour.”
We heard the downstairs door bang open. A moment later Sandy came storming up the stairs, wearing a puffy blue parka over her flannel pajamas, with Laura trailing behind her.
“She’s really dead?” she asked anxiously of Scott.
“Yes,” he said. “She’s in her room—in bed. I’ve already called the police.”
We were positioned just ahead of Devon’s room. Sandy barged past us and started to reach for the doorknob.
“Please don’t go in there,” I told her firmly.
“I’m responsible for this place, and I’ll go in there if I please,” she snapped.
“That could be a crime scene, and the police won’t be amused to learn that you’ve been in there just to satisfy your curiosity.”
“Sandy, she’s right,” Scott said. “Don’t go in the room. This is something the police have to handle. Where’s Ralph?”
“I think he has bronchitis,” she said, her expression sour from having been chided. “I don’t think he can get out of bed.”
To my surprise, the door to Jessie’s room suddenly eased open and Jessie took a half step into the hall, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light. She was all bundled up in the white terrycloth bathrobe.
“What’s going on?” she asked. From the groggy expression on her face, it appeared she had just woken up. Hmmm, I thought. Why hadn’t she been in Scott’s room like the night before?
“Devon is dead,” Scott and I both said in unison.
Jessie’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.
“Look, this is going to be a long night,” Scott announced to all of us. “Sandy, why don’t you go over to the big barn and put on some coffee. We can all hang there. I’m going to wake up Cap—and Christian. They both need to know what’s going on. As for the others, there seems no point in getting them up until later.”
“I have to get dressed first,” Jessie said. She flashed me a look that I couldn’t read and retreated back into her room. Sandy and Laura headed toward the stairs.
I told Scott that I would get dressed too, and then meet him shortly.
“But before you go, Scott,” I said, “I think it would be a good idea to lock the room.”
He looked off, thinking for a second. “Okay, that’s probably smart,” he said. He called out to Sandy, who was just a couple of steps down the stairs, to throw him her house keys. Dutifully she drew a ring of keys from the pocket of her parka, but there was a begrudging expression on her face as she walked back and handed them to Scott. He locked the door and stuffed the keys in the pocket of his pants, where they created a jagged-looking bulge.
Back inside my room, I dug a pair of jeans out of my duffel bag and slipped them on with a turtleneck sweater. I was relieved to have a few minutes to myself. Already people were popping out of doorways as if they were actors in a British farce, and things were only going to get crazier as the night wore on. I needed a few moments to process everything that had transpired.
According to Laura, Devon had called extension seven for water, saying she didn’t feel well enough to get up. Whatever had killed her—whether it was a heart attack due to an eating disorder or some combination of drugs and alcohol—may have already begun to take hold. But I kept coming back to what I’d witnessed earlier: Devon freaking out in the forest. Devon feeling in danger.
What really mystified me was the second call Laura had received. Laura had assumed it was from Devon, but that wasn’t possible. So why would someone else be phoning the help in the middle of the night?
No matter what had really occurred, this was going to be a huge story—and before long I would need to wake Nash Nolan, the editor in chief of Buzz, who would want to break the story online as soon as possible. But I had to talk to the police first. I’d landed in hot water earlier in the fall for filing a story before sharing key info with the cops, and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
I also felt a huge urge to call Beau. I was feeling a bit shell-shocked over Devon’s death, and it would be good to talk to him about what had happened. But it was one o’clock Arizona time, and he would surely be in bed by now.
A moment later, I knocked on Jessie’s door. She’d thrown on a pair of cargo pants and a brown sweater.
“Thank God it’s you,” she exclaimed as she opened the door. “Tell me what happened. Did she OD or something?”
I shared the sequence of events and the guesses I’d made about cause of death.
“How horrible,” she said. “There wasn’t one single thing I liked about the woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy she’s dead.”
“Can I be blunt here? What were you doing in your own room tonight?”
“Oh, God,” she groaned. “You don’t want to know.”
“Lovers’ quarrel?”
“I wish. I’m almost too embarrassed to say. It actually has something to do with you.”
“What? Tell me.”
“Well, everyone else had gone to bed, and we started making out on the couch. There I was, expecting another night like the previous one. And then—with my boob in his hand—he says . . . oh shit, I can hardly stand to say it. He said, ‘Wouldn’t it be fun if Bailey joined us.’ ”
“Oh, jeez.” I groaned. “Was there any chance he was kidding?”
“Well, at first I thought it was just his idea of a joke—he’d had a fair amount to drink. But then he starts whispering about how he’d love to please both of us at the same time. I wanted to cry. No offense, of course. You know you’re hot, Bailey, but I can’t believe he had the gall to suggest a threesome. I just stood up and marched back to my room.”
“Oh Jessie, I’m sorry. You must feel awful.”
“Miserable. I really liked the guy—and what’s worse, I slept with him. My number is already higher than I’d like, and now I’ve wasted a slot on a total asshole.”
“Are you going to feel uncomfortable going up for coffee?”
“Yes—but it beats staying in my room knowing there’s a dead body a few yards away. Speaking of which, what do we do about Buzz? Shouldn’t we be phoning this in? Dead celeb sort of falls under your jurisdiction.”
“I’m planning to call Nash, but I need to wait until the police have had a chance to talk to me. I was in the room, and it’s my obligation to speak to them first.”