Page 59 of The Murder Club

For now she was forced to share this office with her new husband.

Settling on the floor, they spread out the files, separating them into local contractors Bailey would recognize while Dom concentrated on the construction crew that was based in Madison.

Bailey patiently shifted through the stacks of invoices and receipts, struggling to concentrate.

You know who I am . . .

The text from the stalker whirled through her mind, like a hamster on a running wheel, spinning and spinning while going nowhere.

Did she know the stalker? Was it someone she’d gone to school with? Or someone at the nursing home? A neighbor? She wanted to believe it was a stranger. Just a random weirdo who’d become obsessed with her when she was a member of the Murder Club. It didn’t make the danger any less real, but it was horrifying to think she could be smiling and chatting with the creep and not even know it.

Clearing the lump that settled in her throat, Bailey forced herself to concentrate on the files. There was no use in dwelling on the fear that knotted her belly. The only way to stop it was to uncover the identity of the stalker.

“Anything?” She at last broke the silence, glancing toward the man sitting on the floor next to her.

Dom continued to read through a stack of invoices, his jaw clenched. He hadn’t said anything about the most recent texts she’d received from the stalker, perhaps sensing her nerves were too raw for her to discuss the danger that was closing in around her. But there was a tension humming around him that revealed he was well aware that things were escalating.

“Yeah. I think I might have found something,” he abruptly announced, pulling a sheet of paper out of a file. “This is a bill from Warren Lumberyard. I’m assuming there’s only one in town.”

She nodded, surprised to discover that Lia had hired Gage. Her friend had never hidden her dislike of the town bully.

“Did he do some work here?”

“No work, but he did deliver a load of bricks for the pizza oven on the back terrace,” Dom said. “It would have given him access to the property at a time when there was pure chaos happening around here. It would have been easy for him to slip in and take a few pictures.”

Bailey considered the possibility. “I doubt he had any social media, but the stalker could have gotten the photos from Gage’s phone after he was. . .”

“Yes,” Dom agreed as the word “murdered” stuck on her lips.

“Is that all?” she asked, anxious to divert her thoughts from Gage Warren.

“Not really.” He held up a bright red file. “This is a running account of the expenses for the house. Most of the building supplies were brought in by the construction crew out of Madison. Plus, I’m guessing Kaden was adamant that there was a limited number of people allowed onto the property.”

“That should narrow things down.”

“It does. I have the names and addresses of the full construction crew, including electricians and plumbers,” he said. “We can start combing through their social media accounts later. What about you? Anyone stand out?”

“The caterers are all local,” she told him. “I know them all and it seems doubtful they would have broken Lia’s trust by taking pictures and posting them online.” Bailey glanced toward a file she’d laid on the floor. “And the flowers came from a shop in Green Bay. I picked them up the day before the wedding and her mother arranged them.”

“I remember. The entire house smelled like daises,” Dom murmured. “What about the photographer?”

Bailey grabbed the last file and flipped it open. “‘Images by Lisa,’” she read the name from the top of the invoice. “It’s a shop in Grange.” She skimmed over the various expenses that were itemized until she reached the bottom, where it was signed by the actual photographer. “Oh.”

“What?”

“The photographer was Lisa Hartford.”

“Lisa Hartford?” Dom frowned before he realized what had captured her attention. “Hartford. A relation of Pauline Hartford?”

“A good question,” she retorted.

Without warning, Dom rose to his feet, his brow furrowed. “You know, I remember the photographer. She spent a few days around here, taking pictures of the bachelor party and the rehearsal dinner before the wedding and reception.”

Bailey dredged through her memories of that weekend. It was more difficult than it should have been. Partly because she’d been preoccupied helping Lia with the copious details that went into organizing even the smallest wedding and partly because she’d been gloriously distracted by her fascination with the best man, Dom Lucier.

At last she managed to form the image of a short woman with a plump face and a tangle of blond curls that gave her a childish appearance that was at odds with her militant habit of ordering people around to make sure she got the shot she wanted. She’d bustled around the house and yard from the crack of dawn until Kaden demanded that she leave.

“You’re right,” she told Dom, abruptly recalling that the woman hadn’t been alone when she’d packed her equipment into a van. “There was also some guy with her. He was big, with an angry expression.”

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