“Yeah, well, self-published.” Her gaze drifted to the other hotel guests in the room. “I’m here to pitch my latest manuscript to agents. I’ve been trying for some time to secure one. It’s really annoying when they reject me, especially when I see the exact same story as mine being represented by them.”
Oh, you have a chip on your shoulder. “I’m sure that happens all the time.” Rio shrugged. “I’d imagine most agents have a slot for a particular genre and ask for submissions, so the best one in their opinion is offered representation.”
“But mine is the best one.” September narrowed her green gaze on him. “I’ve proved it. When I self-publish the books, they do quite well, but it’s like being stuck in a rut. I need a bestseller to get an agent, but I need an agent to get a good publisher to give me that bestseller.”
Rio decided to change tack and find out a little more about Miss March. “So do you enjoy writing crime?”
“I like murder, the bloodier the better.” She chuckled and wet her lips. “I want the reader to be too scared to get up and walk to the bathroom at night. Too scared to drive anywhere alone.”
Rio nodded. He’d decided, after looking closer at the strange green eyes with black slits for pupils, she had to be wearing contact lenses, or he was talking to an alien from some distant planet. “Do you live alone?”
She pushed her hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ears. “Yes, I live alone and right now I’m hoping, when the conference is over, I won’t find my cabin under a ton of snow.” She sighed. “I’ll manage for the winter if I can get back. I hunt for all my food and my meat locker is full.”
Rio cleared his throat. “Before you leave, call for an update on the roads and ask when the access to your property can be cleared by the snowplows. We have many working around the clock. It is what we pay our taxes for, after all.”
“Thanks, I will.” She gave him a curious stare. “I’m sure y’all didn’t haul me up here to ask me about my books. Cut to the chase. I don’t want to miss anything.”
After checking his iPad, Rio smiled. “Sure. You’re out in cabin forty-six. You left here at nine-forty-five last night and returned this morning at nine. You told one of the deputies, you didn’t see or speak to anyone during the time you left and when you returned. I’m just following up on that. The CCTV footage shows a few people leaving around the same time.”
“Well, I may have followed a few people out the door and along the footpath, but when it splits up and I headed to my chalet, I didn’t see a soul. I didn’t even see who delivered my breakfast this morning. It was snowing hard when I left, so I pulled up my hood and ran. I changed in the ladies’ bathroom and my bag is in one of the lockers. I didn’t see anyone.”
After adding a few notes, Rio looked up at her bored expression. “How well do you know Dakota Storm?”
“I pitched my book to Miss Storm.” She made a show of examining her rings, setting each one in the correct position. “I waited, like nine months for an email rejection from her assistant.”
Rio frowned sympathetically, although he’d never experienced professional rejection. In his case, people headhunted him. “And how did that make you feel?”
“Oh, you’re good.” Summer smiled at him. “You want me to say, ‘Like putting her in one of my books and murdering her.’ As much as I’d like to, it just wouldn’t be enough.”
“I see.” Rio nodded. “Did you hear anything unusual last night or this morning?”
“Nope.” September checked her phone. “If that’s all, I have to go. I have an agent pitch in fifteen minutes and I don’t want to miss it.”
“Sure.” Rio stood and offered his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation. Good luck with your pitch.”
Her handshake was more than firm. Her hands were rough and he could make out the outline of a muscular forearm. He sat down and made a note. September March, strong tall mountain woman, more than capable of committing murder. Hunts her own food. Motive: Has a beef with agents. Rejected by Storm.
After moving his brief notes to the file, he glanced up at the next suspect. Having a long-term memory had its advantages, as well as its downfalls, but he recognized the next person as Bexley Grayson, an author out of Lyons Bay, California. Grayson, at forty-two, sported blond highlights in his hair. He was a stocky muscular man. His fake tan had a distinct orange tone and his too white smile could have lit up the room. He’d dressed, as had most of the guests, in ski pants topped with a brightly patterned sweater. Rio stood and walked to greet the man. “Mr. Grayson, thank you for dropping by. We’re following up on the whereabouts of guests staying alone, in an effort to find Miss Storm.”
“You haven’t found her yet?” Grayson raised both eyebrows and gave him a look of incredulity. “I assumed the worse after seeing the medical examiner’s van arrive.”
Rio observed his behavior. He seemed genuinely surprised. “We’re short-staffed and Dr. Wolfe offered to lend a hand. His assistant is a badge-holding deputy. It’s what we do in Black Rock Falls. We help out where we can.”
“Ah, and everyone believes the conference is holding a murder mystery game.” Grayson chuckled. “They often do over these long conferences.” He gave Rio a long considering look. “I’m wondering, if you are all actors, roleplaying for our benefit to make it seem real.” He glanced around the room. “The locals attending the conference mentioned Sheriff Alton and Deputies Kane and Rowley, but they seem to be conspicuous by their absence. Now we’re called mysteriously one by one to answer questions, when we’ve already given the sheriff the information previously.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “This is all part of the game, isn’t it?”
Not to Dakota Storm it isn’t. Rio tapped his pen on the desk and shook his head. “I’m not aware of any game.” He glanced at his notes. “How well do you know Dakota Storm?”
“I’ve met her a few times at conferences, pitched my stories to her. She is one of the best dealmakers around.” Grayson sighed. “I haven’t been lucky yet, but there’s ten other agents all interested in acquiring crime thrillers here, so I’m still in with a chance.”
Rio twirled the pen in his fingers. “You’re not bothered by her method of rejection?”
“Who isn’t? She’d make the Wicked Witch of the West look like a nun. The emails can be harsh but face to face, she’s blunt… no, darn right offensive.” Grayson sighed. “I gave her my best pitch and she said, ‘Why are you wasting my time with this trash? Go away, forget writing, and get a day job. You’ll never make it in this business.’”
“I see.” Rio made notes and then looked at him. “It seems she has a habit of being rude.”
“More like a reputation.” Grayson chuckled. “She isn’t called the Viper for nothing, but I figure that’s too nice. Maybe the Destroyer of Lives would come close.”
Rio leaned back in his chair, allowing questions to form in his head. “Uh-huh, so, now you’ve had time to think, do you recall seeing anyone last night at all who could verify your whereabouts between midnight and, say, six this morning?” His satellite phone buzzed and he held up one finger. “Just a second. I need to take this.” He stood and walked some distance away. “Rio here.”