Picking up her water, Harper mumbled into her glass, “Well, they’ll need to try harder than that.”
“So what did you talk about?” Bonnie asked, nudging her with her toes.
“Oh, you know, work,” she said. “And this guy from an LA tabloid who’s been harassing me. He was in the Shipwreck being a dick. I thought for a second Luke was going to deck him.”
“Y’all haven’t dated in six months, and he’d still fight for your honor,” Bonnie marveled. “If he wasn’t a cheating son of a bitch I’d like him.”
“Yeah, well,” Harper said. “Me too.”
“He still got a girlfriend?” Bonnie was as relentless as a pit bull.
“Probably.” Harper shrugged. “It didn’t come up.”
Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. “Harper Louise. Have I taught you nothing? You miss him, he obviously misses you, you have to find out—”
“I know, but I can’t,” Harper cut her off, her voice ringing with sudden passion. “Even if he’s single, I can’t date him again. You know how it was last time. And the time before. We’re combustible, Luke and me. I won’t get burned again. Even if it means I’m single forever and I live all alone in this stupid little house with no one but the cat.”
Bonnie’s expression softened. “He’ll be sorry one day for blowing this, I promise. And you won’t be alone forever. There’s no way that’s happening.” She stood up. “Now, let me get you that coffee.”
As she walked back to the kitchen, Harper felt a needle prick of guilt for not telling her what was really going on, but she couldn’t. It was bad enough that Bonnie was here now, where anyone looking for Harper might find her.
In the moments before she walked back in with two steaming mugs, Harper decided this would have to be Bonnie’s last visit until all of this was settled. For her own sake.
* * *
There was a huge amount to do, but Harper couldn’t seem to make herself leave the house. Bonnie made an omelet and toast from the supplies she’d brought, and the two of them sat on the sofa, drinking coffee and catching up.
The normality of it was so welcome, Harper allowed herself to relax a little. She told her about the Xavier Rayne case, describing his housemates in detail. Cara’s distant beauty. Allegra’s exquisite voice.
Bonnie interrupted. “That singer, what did you say her name was? Allegra something?” When Harper nodded, she said, “I think I’ve heard of her. I think she’s got a gig scheduled at the Library later this week.” She searched her phone. “Yeah, here we go. Allegra Hanson. She’s there on Wednesday.” She held it up so Harper could see. On the screen, a blue-tinted Allegra, holding a microphone, looked out at an unseen audience. Written across the image was “The Library Live: Wednesday 8 P.M.”
“She hasn’t canceled?” Harper asked.
Bonnie shook her head. “It’s still on the website.”
Harper’s phone rang, interrupting them. The number wasn’t recognized. She jumped from the sofa so quickly she jarred the coffee table. Bonnie gave her a puzzled look.
She barely got out the word “Sorry” as she ran out onto the porch, her breath tight in her throat. “McClain.”
“Harper is this you?” It was Allegra’s distinctive voice, her accent thick as honey.
It was as if they’d summoned her by talking about her. Harper was so surprised, it took her a second to reply.
“Hey, Allegra. Is everything okay?”
“No, it really isn’t.”
In the background, Harper could hear the raised voices. It sounded like an argument.
“Listen, would you mind coming over? I don’t know what to do.” There was a high, thin nervousness to her voice.
Harper had planned to go in to the office early to dig deeper into Martin Dowell’s life. But something was going on over there right now, and she couldn’t say no.
“Sure,” she said, trying not to sound as reluctant as she felt. “Are you all … safe?”
“Just … please come,” Allegra pleaded, and then the phone went dead.
14
When she reached Admiral’s Row, seven TV vans were still parked outside but most of them appeared empty. No reporters leaned against the doors, watching number 6.
Blessedly, there was also no sign of Jon Graff. In fact, Harper passed no one at all until an older woman in low heels walked out of number 5, rolling a Louis Vuitton suitcase with some effort in the direction of a silver Mercedes.
Seeing Harper watching the vans, she stopped. “They’ve been there all night.” Her perfectly made-up face was set in lines of disapproval. “The police won’t