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toward the now open door of Lilac Cabin.
    “That’s Zachary’s cabin.” Brie said, her voice cracking. A swarm of uniformed officers and paramedics poured from the vehicles. The owner of the hotel, a very large woman in a cat tee shirt, was wringing her hands and crying, her many chins trembling.
    Still running, Louis turned to the girls. His face hardened, the mouth that so easily curled up into a goofy smile now a thin line.
    “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t come in. Don’t ask anyone anything. Just. Behave.” He tore off into the crowd where the other officers immediately surrounded him, talking excitedly.
    Brie and Mac stood, panting for breath on the outskirts of the action. Mac had to plant her feet to keep Toby from running forward after Louis. In the darkness, the lights swirled off the whitewashed cabins and cut sharp shadows into the girls’ faces.
    Brie looked at her friend. The same lean, hungry look she got whenever something like this happened was back. She knew damn well what Mac wanted, and that was to get into that cabin and get the information that every fiber in her body was screaming for. If Mac were wearing a leash, she would be tugging at it as hard as Toby was at his.
    “We should go,” Brie said, gently. “He’ll call us when he knows anything.”
    “Mac.” Brie said again. “Seriously. Remember last time? We need to get out of the way.”
    Hearing her name. Mac snapped out of her trance. She looked at Brie with what looked remarkably close to disappointment. “You’re right,” she said. “We’ll get a cab and head back to my place.”
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
    There were approximately two days of relative calm before the story of internationally acclaimed designer Zachary Lau’s death became the top-ranked trending topic in the entertainment world. Overnight, Mackenzie Bay was overrun with reporters in fat, white vans ignoring all traffic signs, and morbidly curious lookie-loos, also impeding traffic and giving attitude to Mackenzie Bay residents.
    For Mac, the most painful part of the whole murder investigation had been the waiting. The night that Louis had disappeared into the hotel cabin, Mac had paced through her home like a caged cat. Every window she passed she looked out, waiting for the headlights of his car as he came up the drive. She checked her phone obsessively. Her dinner went cold and uneaten on the table.
    When Louis finally stood at her doorstep, he looked too exhausted to stand, let alone answer her barrage of questions. He was pale, spoke very little, and didn’t do much the entire night except absently pat Mac’s head, more as if to comfort himself than to put her at ease.
    Before he fell asleep on the couch, he flickered his eyes open long enough to make stern contact with hers. “Mac, don’t do anything. I know it will be hard for you, but don’t. Don’t even look at the internet. Just stay out of it.” With that, he passed out just as the sun was coming up.
    And she did.
    She kept herself out of it for as long as she could. She went to work, she listened to the idle gossip. She barely raised an eyebrow when Brie came bursting into the shop announcing that Mrs. Olivia Hood was the number one suspect.
    “Remember the big blow out? Her threats? You should’ve seen the look on her face when they were taking her into the station. I’ve never seen anyone so furious.”
    Mac had made some offhand comment and had gone back to diligently cleaning the espresso machine. None of her business right?
    Until the murder scene pictures hit the internet.
    Then all hell broke loose.
    She had pored over the shots. Ignoring all the warnings of graphic content and to delve as deep into the morbid darkness of the Web as she could, she found every single black-and-white shot that had been taken.
    It was horrific. Her heart ached for the man, even though she’d only met him the once. He was barely recognizable. The cause of death was officially torture and heroin poisoning,