Page 116 of The Murder Club

“Yes.” He looked smug. “I had no idea they would prove to be the perfect clue to Pauline’s murder. I brought them to Pike with the intention of handing them to you as a gesture of my admiration.”

“Is that why you came here? To give me the pearls?”

“No. That plan was in the works from the minute my grandmother was planted in her grave. The fact that you lived here was just a bonus.”

Thank God, Bailey silently breathed. It was bad enough to think that Pike was some sort of magnet for killers. But if she’d been responsible for bringing this lunatic to town . . . How awful would that be?

“Then why are you here?” she demanded; then she remembered his earlier words. “Oh. You’re here to write your stupid book about Kaden, right?”

“That was my cover story in case anyone questioned why I was in the area.”

“If that was your cover story, why pretend to be an artist?”

He clicked his tongue, his features tightening with annoyance. “Seriously, Bailey,” he chastised, heavy disappointment in his voice. “The first rule of becoming a paparazzo is to have a dozen lies prepared to explain your presence while you stalk your victim. If I get caught pretending to be a waiter, I pull out a badge and say I’m an undercover cop. Or a bodyguard. If that doesn’t work, I claim that my prey hired me to take pictures and spread them around the tabloids. You’d be shocked how often that happens. Most celebrities truly believe any attention is good attention. I was convinced that the same theory would work for a murderer stalking his kill. And I wasn’t wrong, was I? Once you uncovered the fact that I was a journalist and not a reclusive artist, you scratched me off your list of suspects.”

She wasn’t going to bloat his ego by admitting they had dropped him to the bottom of the list. “So there’s no book?”

“Of course there is. And it’s going to make me a lot of money.”

She stared at him in confusion. “You’re making my head hurt.”

Thorpe removed his cap and tossed it on the floor, running his hands through his thick curls.

“It’s all very simple. I joined the Murder Club to learn how to kill my grandmother. Once it was accomplished I traveled to Pike to complete the second half of my plan. Thankfully, I’d been chatting with Eric Criswell and he’d mentioned Kaden’s upcoming wedding. A perfect excuse to be in town.”

“How did you know Eric?” Bailey didn’t really care, but Thorpe obviously enjoyed the sound of his own voice and she needed time to get her hands out of the cuffs.

“I occasionally play online video games. One night Eric popped into our group. He bragged about being from Pike, the murder capital of the world. Of course I immediately befriended him. He was the perfect way to learn the latest gossip in town.”

“That’s why you invited him to be a part of the Murder Club . . .” Bailey’s words died on her lips. Eric might have kidnapped her, but he wasn’t the one who’d been sending her warning texts. He’d been a pawn in the same game Thorpe had been playing with her. “Did you introduce yourself as PJ after you came to Pike?”

Thorpe shrugged. “Eventually.”

Bailey felt a stab of anger that she’d allowed herself to be so easily fooled by the younger man.

“You paid him to spy on me.”

“I did.”

She frowned as she recalled her brief visit to his room at the top floor of the hunting lodge. She’d seen the monitors. He’d been keeping a constant watch on her without Eric.

“Why? You had a camera on my house.”

“The camera was limited. I wanted to know where you were and who you were with after you dropped out of the Murder Club. I couldn’t do it myself. I had other priorities. Plus . . .” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to confess the rest of his plan. “I needed to make sure the cops believed he was your stalker. That’s why I followed him to Green Bay and bought four burner phones in his name. If they’re ever traced, the cops will have all the evidence they need.”

Bailey’s brain threatened to shut down as fear clawed through her. She wanted to be brave, but the stark knowledge she was facing her own death was overwhelming.

“I don’t get it.” Bailey forced out the words, genuinely baffled by the way she became the focus of Thorpe’s twisted game. “You were spying on me just because I mentioned the wine bottle in an online group?”

“Because we’re partners. Or at least we would have been,” he said, an ugly edge of jealousy entering his voice. “If Dom Lucier hadn’t interfered.”

Her mouth was so dry it was hard to speak. “That’s why you convinced Eric that Dom was some sort of psychopath?”

His eyes darkened with annoyance. “I sensed he was going to be trouble as soon as he arrived in town. I was at the Bait and Tackle the night he showed up and I could see how you were looking at him.”

Bailey continued to struggle with the handcuffs. Thorpe’s composure was starting to crack. She sensed he could snap any second.

She had to get out of there.

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