She glanced once more at the posters of Jenna, the mother who had given up her career to move her daughters to safety, to a more “normal” life, which of course, it had never been. But Jenna had tried. Even if she’d lied about her firstborn, even if she’d lavished attention on Cassie after the madman had nearly killed her ten years earlier, even if she’d ignored her introverted, bookish child while tending to the one who had nearly been killed. And Cassie—God, she was a mess—the hatred and jealously she’d harbored for her sister still burned in Allie’s gut, but, really, did Cassie deserve this terror? To lose her life?
Maybe.
Then again, maybe not.
Allie had seen enough. She left the apartment in a hurry and didn’t care who’d seen her. Somehow, some way, she had to end what she’d so blindly started.
Before she, too, was a victim.
She knew what she had to do; she only hoped she wasn’t too late.
Nash wanted to throttle Cassie Kramer. In an administrative office of the Hotel Danvers, Cassie was huddled in a chair, her husband standing at a window and Nash sitting on the opposite side of a wide desk that was so clean Nash couldn’t believe someone actually worked at it. Kittle had called 9-1-1 and Nash, already having arrived at the hotel, took over. She’d listened to Cassie Kramer’s fantastic tale and visited the room on the seventh floor where Cassie swore her sister had been.
The party, of course, had been interrupted, the buzz of another Allie Kramer sighting having created a life of its own and now was trending on the Internet. All good news for Dean Arnette and the premier of Dead Heat.
Once again, Nash wondered if this recent sighting, by Allie Kramer’s sister no less, was just another publicity stunt. Why not? For the love of God, the whole party had been a publicity stunt, and those elaborate sets constructed for the event, how bizarre had they been, almost macabre since the star was missing and many presumed her to be dead.
How far would these people go to promote the film, she wondered.
Certainly not far enough to place their star in hiding or murder innocent people. Right? Nash wasn’t certain she had been born suspicious and her job had only enhanced that trait.
“I saw Allie,” Cassie stated for the third or fourth time. “And that coat was hers. I’ve seen her in it before.”
“I don’t know about that. I talked to one of the producers, Sybil Jones, who said it was a costume from the film.”
“Maybe she wore it off the set.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Yet. What I do know is that no one’s registered in that room, or any room on the seventh floor as it’s being renovated. So we’ll check into it.” The coat was clean. Everything else in 706 was covered in a thick layer of dust. “But it’s unlikely that—”
“So why was the coat there?” Cassie blurted, her eyes snapping.
“Why did I see her on the balcony, huh? If Allie . . . or someone wasn’t on that balcony, how did I know where to go and find the damned coat?”
“Anyone could have put it there.”
“But I knew which room . . . oh . . . no, wait.” Her skin stretched tighter over her cheekbones. “You don’t think I left it up there and went up to check just to cause a big stir, do you? Because I didn’t.”
“I’m not making any assumptions.”
“I was with Trent all night!” She glanced at her husband, but he didn’t move. “I didn’t leave that room except to step on the balcony!”
Nash wondered. In a crowd of that size it would be easy to slip away for ten minutes and no one would notice.
“There’s something else I need to discuss with you.”
“Great.” And before she could say the words, Cassie said, “You don’t have to mince words with me, Detective. I assume you found out that my mother had another child, born before me at St. Mary’s Hospital. You know, the one that’s now called Mercy, where I was just a patient? Ironic, huh? Anyway, I know all about it. Just not the name of my sister, or if she’s involved in any of this.” Some of the starch seemed to drain from her. “God, I hope not. I mean, that’s unlikely, right?”