Death and Her Devotion (Rogue Vows #1)(9)

Zane bit the inside of his cheek. Sheila was personally affronted that the woman had tried something in her police station.

Several soft buzzing sounds had them both checking their cell phones. It wasn’t Zane’s.

Sheila frowned at hers, holding it at arm’s length, and Zane could see many messages. “What’s going on?” she asked as she opened one of the messages and then rapidly scanned a few more. “Zane, Nell says that CNN has announced that Chase Ryan was murdered in Solitude last night. I’ve got the same message from three people.” Her wide gaze looked at Zane. “What’s going to happen now?”

“Shit.” Zane’s brain shot into overdrive. National media. A big star. He called Kenny.

“You still at the campground?” he asked when the officer answered.

“Yes, we finished talking to everyone a while ago.”

“The death was just announced on national TV. Who out there blabbed?”

“I don’t know,” protested Kenny. “Most people are asking me if I know who it is. I haven’t had anyone ask if it was really Chase Ryan.”

“Oh my dear baby Jesus,” Sheila moaned. “Twitter is blowing up. Chase Ryan is trending.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. Sheila has a Twitter account? He didn’t.

“What on earth?” Sheila slid on her reading glasses and brought the phone closer to her face. “Is that real?” she muttered.

“Figure out who is talking and shut them down,” Zane ordered Kenny.

“Isn’t it too late for that?” Kenny pointed out. “If it’s on CNN, what I say won’t mean shit to anyone.”

He’s right.

“Damn it.” Zane didn’t know what to do next. “I want both you and Carter back here as soon as possible. We need to prepare for what’s going to happen next.”

“On our way.”

“Boss,” Sheila said. “You need to look at this.” She handed Zane her phone. It showed a picture of Chase Ryan wearing a cap pulled down to his eyes. His arms were around two young women in a bar, and he was kissing one on the cheek as the girls mugged for the selfie. All three held beers and looked within one drink of falling on their asses.

“What about it?” he asked. He imagined this was typical of every movie star’s daily life.

“It was posted late last night on Instagram . . . way before any news of his death. These girls claim they were with him last night.”

Zane’s heart dropped as he enlarged the picture and studied the wood paneling and deer heads behind the trio. “That’s Fletcher’s Bar.”

“The photo is being shared all over Twitter, Facebook, and the news outlets. The girls had used a Chase Ryan hashtag to brag about their evening.”

“Do you know them?” Sheila’s social media savvy was putting him to shame.

She shook her head. “I don’t.” Sheila tapped on her screen and then scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here’s the account name of the girl who originally posted the photo. The account is private so I can’t see any of her other pictures, but her bio says she likes country music, barrel racing, and NASCAR.”

“Sounds local to me,” muttered Zane. “If the account is private, how can you see the picture of Chase?”

“Someone who could see it took a screenshot and shared it to the other social media sites.”

“So much for being private. I’ll hunt her down.”

“Act fast,” advised Sheila. “The rest of the country and news media know her account name too.”

“And I need to talk again to three guys who claim they all simply sat around a campfire last night.”

Stevie strode out of the back of the office. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking from Sheila’s grim face to Zane.

“You and I need to go to Fletcher’s.”





CHAPTER FOUR


Stevie had to look on Twitter for herself.

Sure enough, Chase Ryan was huge news. #ChaseRyanTowel was trending along with a dozen other related hashtags. Men posted pictures of themselves with bath towels slung low around their hips in homage—so they claimed—to the actor. Women and girls mourned, and two cable networks were already showing marathons of Detective Alex Gunn reruns.

“I can’t believe this,” she said to Zane as he parked in front of Fletcher’s dive bar.

“Me, neither.” His phone rang and he checked the screen. “It’s your brother. Hey, James,” he answered, and listened to the caller for a few seconds. “I know, James. We need to come up with an idea to handle all the media that’s going to storm our town.”

Stevie closed her eyes, easily picturing her brother the mayor flipping out over the expected invasion.

The town definitely needed a plan.

“Tell him to get Nell, Sheila, and my mother working on the logistics,” Stevie suggested. “Those three can organize anything in an hour flat.”

Zane nodded and relayed her suggestion as they got out of the car. Stevie steeled herself as she pulled open the door to Fletcher’s Bar. After Bob Fletcher’s death last winter, she’d expected the bar to close. Surprisingly, the bartender, Jake Powers, had stepped up to the plate and kept the business running. He’d bought the bar from the bank for a minuscule down payment and given it a new coat of paint but kept the name. A few locals had argued that the bar shouldn’t be named after a murderer, but Jake put his foot down, saying it was his bar and he got to pick the name. If they didn’t like it, then they shouldn’t drink there.