Lethally Blond by Kate White

get news about the investigation.”
    “You said the body was badly decomposed. What makes you think it was really Tom’s?”
    “For one thing, his car was there, and his duffel bag was in the guest cottage.”
    I described the setup of the property, as well as some of the details of the scene, leaving out the most gruesome parts. He absorbed it all, his mouth clenched.
    “Is there a chance that he died of some kind of freak accident?” Chris asked.
    “I don’t think so, though I wouldn’t have any way of knowing from the brief glimpse I got of the scene. The sheriff who questioned me even suggested suicide, but—”
    “Suicide?”
he exclaimed.
    “I just don’t buy that, though. There was blood all around the sink and on the mirror above it. My guess—and it’s just a guess—is that he was attacked with a knife or some heavy object and set on fire afterward.” I didn’t add,
Possibly while he was still alive.
    Chris shook his head in utter disgust. “Do you think—do you think someone from the show could have killed him?”
    “It’s a possibility.” Alex Ottoson’s name flashed across my brain suddenly. What if he’d learned of Locket’s affair with Tom?
    “I hate the fact that I got you involved, Bailey,” he said. “But at the same time, who knows when Tom would have been found if you hadn’t started looking.”
    I explained how I had made the connection to Andes and tracked down Tom’s address through the Internet.
    “He never mentioned to you that it was in the Catskills?” I asked.
    “Uh, not that I recall. I mean, he might have, but if he did, it went in one ear and out the other. I do remember him saying that it had gone to seed after his father had died and that he was relieved to have finally sold it—this was in the beginning of the summer, when I was living with him.”
    “It seems like the deal fell through. I’ll see what I can find out about it.” I hesitated. “It’s funny that he never told Harper about it, either. Or at least she never mentioned it as a possibility for where he might be.”
    “Speaking of Harper, do you still feel I should keep her out of this for now?” he asked.
    “Actually, I’ve been rethinking that. Since it may be a few days before anything is confirmed about the identity, news is going to leak out. It’s better for Harper to hear it from you than thirdhand. Why don’t you tell her tomorrow?”
    “I should probably tell the executive producer as well. Better he hear it from me, too.”
    I sipped my tea and thought a moment. “You know when we spoke earlier—while I was driving back?” I said. “You didn’t call me right after that, did you?”
    “No—why?” he asked.
    “The phone rang, and someone was crying. It was a wrong number, obviously. At the time, though, I just wondered . . .”
    “No, it wasn’t me. But I’ve
felt
like crying.”
    “Gosh, Chris, I’m just so sorry.”
    I set my mug on the coffee table and squeezed his arms. Through the soft cotton fabric I could feel how hard his biceps were. Late last winter, those arms had wrapped around me on several occasions. I’d engaged in some pretty heavy make-out sessions with Chris on my couch, his jeans bulging and my bra bunched around my waist. But I had never gone to bed with him. It wasn’t because that gorgeous face and awesome body of his had failed to make me crazy with lust. They
had
. But I could never stop associating my breakup with Jack—and
hurting
him—with my attraction to Chris, and every time I was about to urge us off the couch and into the bedroom, I would find this weird guilt dousing my desire. Tonight, though, Jack seemed like a long time ago.
    “I just feel lucky to be with you tonight, Bailey,” Chris said, and offered a grim smile. “This would be awful to handle alone.”
    He set down his drink then and pulled me into his arms. It was a friendly, caring hug, like the one he’d given me the other night. But as he held me, he sighed and his