Page 132 of Lethal Danger

But dwelling on it wouldn’t help. That had never helped. Forgetting was the only thing that helped. And doing all she could to make sure she never felt that kind of rejection again.

Like finding Sam’s real killer for Hawthorne so he’d see how useful Jazz could be for his work and his life. And proving her worth to Uncle Pierce by finding the person who had killed Aunt Joan and was trying to destroy her beloved fair.

She tuned in to the woman who sat in front of her across a table in a small, brightly lit room decorated like a classroom for children.

The woman, her dark hair pulled back in the braided up-do all the women wore at the cult, smiled as she wrapped up one of the scripted answers the other two members before her had also given Jazz. At least this one delivered it with more gusto.

“One more question, if you don’t mind.” Jazz forced a smile. “Do you feel safe here at Best Life? Or have you ever felt the community is too punitive or frightening in any way?”

The woman looked up at an angle for a moment.

Jazz’s attention sharpened. The others had spewed out a response she’d assumed was rehearsed. But she’d still asked, since it seemed like the best way to get at whether or not Patch and others at the cult were more sinister than they liked to pretend. Jazz’s money was still on Patch or another cult member for Sam’s death and the fair sabotage. Every time she returned to the commune, she became more aware of the eerie feel of it. Like menacing, sinister danger was lurking just out of sight.

“I would say no, but I remember there was one time that I felt that way.”

Jazz tried to keep her features from showing her surprise. Was the woman going to admit something bad about the cult?

“For a little while, a man stood outside our commune nearly every day, and he would follow us when we went out.”

Okay. That wasn’t the kind of confession Jazz had hoped for. But she should see where this trail led. At least she was getting an unscripted answer. Maybe she could leverage that for more off-script intel. “He followed you, specifically?”

“No, not only me. Any of our members who left the building. He didn’t seem to care if they were male or female, young or old. He even followed Desmond and his wife.” She lightly touched her fingers to her chin. “Although, I don’t think she was his wife then.” She smiled. “They were courting at the time.”

“When was that?”

“Let’s see.” The woman folded her hands together on the table. “It would have been about two years ago.” A frown reshaped her lips. “I remember because my daughter used him as a reason to leave Best Life when she turned eighteen and graduated that year. Though the man stopped soon after she left.”

“Stopped?”

“Yes. He wasn’t there one day, and I don’t think anyone has seen him since.”

“Did Desmond get a restraining order or file any charges against him?”

“No. Some members approached him about that, but he said the man hadn’t broken any laws since he waited on the city-owned sidewalk and never harmed anyone he followed.” The woman smiled again. “I think Desmond didn’t want to do anything because of who the man was. Desmond is like that. Always very kind and tolerant.”

Because of who he was? Jazz locked on to the hint of something significant. “Who was the man?”

“Oh, didn’t I say?” The talkative cult member blinked innocently at Jazz. “He was the ex-husband of Desmond’s new wife.”

Possibilities sparked in Jazz’s mind as she absorbed the information. An angry ex-husband intimidating Patch and the cult. That signaled motivation for sabotaging the fair and blaming it on Patch.

And it had happened two years ago, timed with Sam’s death.

But how did the two connect? Maybe they didn’t connect at all. She didn’t know, but her gut told her she was getting close to the person behind Aunt Joan’s death and the sabotage. Maybe even the person who was trying to kill her, though she didn’t know how that could be related to an angry ex-husband.

She needed the mind behind Carson Steele’s brilliant crime-solving skills. She needed to talk to Hawthorne.

Hawthorne made his way through the crowds to Molly’s food stand where Jazz had texted she would meet him before her shift started. His stomach recoiled at the smell of the deep-fried foods Molly specialized in.

“Hey, sugar!” Molly waved from inside the stand.

Hawthorne forced a smile and kept his distance. Not exactly in the best form to talk to the perky woman right now. Not with his insides knotting themselves.

He’d have to clarify things with Jazz. Nevaeh had made it clear Jazz had the wrong impression. Apparently thought he loved her. He hadn’t thought he’d shown that much emotion.

But if Nevaeh was right, then he had to straighten everything out before this went any farther and Jazz got seriously hurt.

“Hawthorne.” Jazz’s warm voice behind him made his pulse jump.

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