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under it. Especially multimillion-dollar losers.”
    â€œHow does Sheri feel about this?”
    â€œWhat do you think? She’s not real smart or she’d never of believed she’d had a chance in the first place.”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with Nick Logan?”
    â€œWell, the great romance wasn’t so great after he started snuggling with Sheri.”
    So what have we got here? Kay Bender dead, maybe in mistake for Laura Edwards. So far—and we’ve only just begun—no known reason for anyone wanting to harm Kay Bender. Laura Edwards, on the other hand, seemed to bring out motives. Another actress who’d hoped to snag the role. Nick Logan, co-star, finding love and romance, not with the star but with the starlet.
    This was beginning to sound like a soap opera. Did Sheri try to kill Laura to obtain the starring role? (Would that happen if Laura were gone?) Was Nick Logan, handsome, sexy co-star, tired of Laura? Was Laura not letting go and needed to be gotten rid of? Tune in tomorrow. Maybe somebody’s evil twin will show up. Susan looked at Parkhurst to see if he had a question, a comment, an expression. He looked impassively back in true Parkhurst style. She told Robin McCormack she had no further questions at this time.
    He lit out, but before she could get to Parkhurst about this wife business, Yancy had Nick Logan coming in. The actor stood in the living-room area of the trailer, taking up too much space, smelling of expensive aftershave and cigarette smoke. And somehow, she didn’t know quite how, he brought with him an air of California. Maybe it was the suntan, or the sun-streaked light hair. Whatever, it made her homesick. For San Francisco, that is. This man—denim shirt unbuttoned halfway, gold chain with some kind of medal hidden in chest hair, denim pants, thongs on his feet—was strictly Los Angeles and never the twain shall meet. But still, California is California.
    Rugged in appearance rather than handsome. Coarse features, questing hazel eyes that examined her, moved on to Parkhurst, and stayed there taking in some inventory. Logan then quirked a famous eyebrow and waited. Despite her preset notion that he was going to be a self-centered, arrogant pain in the butt, she found she liked him.
    â€œPlease, sit down, Mr. Logan.” She indicated the couch and he flip-flopped over to it, waited until she seated herself on the other couch, then settled in with an elbow crooked along the back, a hand on his thigh. There were fine lines around his eyes and down a path from nose to mouth. Early forties, she thought.
    â€œCall me Nick.” Low gravelly voice, but not grating to the ear. He twisted his head and looked at Parkhurst sitting unobtrusively in the kitchen area. “Don’t I know you from someplace?”
    â€œI doubt it,” Parkhurst said.
    Nick looked unconvinced.
    â€œWe’re investigating the fatality that happened this afternoon,” Susan said.
    Nick nodded. “Making a film seems frivolous in this context, doesn’t it?”
    â€œYou were in the barn this morning. Is that correct? Scenes were filmed.”
    â€œRight.” He stuck thumb and forefinger into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “May I?”
    â€œI don’t mind. Laura Edwards might. It’s her trailer.”
    Nick stretched out a leg, stuck his hand in his pants pocket, and fished out a lighter. He flicked it and inhaled deeply, tipped back his head and blew smoke at the ceiling.
    Susan took a deep lungful of secondhand smoke and wondered why she’d quit. She got up and found a saucer in the kitchen that she handed to Nick in lieu of an ashtray.
    â€œYou don’t care,” she said as she sat back down, “if Ms. Edwards gets upset, or are you deliberately trying to annoy her?”
    Nick smiled and Susan realized the smile came from somewhere deep inside; he’d switched something on and the