Page 38 of The Murder Club

“What does any of this have to do with you stalking Bailey?” Dom broke into the shrill whining.

Eric huffed out a harsh breath. “How many times do I have to tell you? I wasn’t stalking her.”

Dom narrowed his eyes. “Answer the question.”

Eric sniffed. “I’ll answer, but not because you’re threatening me.” He glanced back at Bailey. “It was the day you were fired—”

“I wasn’t fired,” she instinctively denied, only to wrinkle her nose as she realized that her job status was the least of her worries. “Never mind. Go on.”

“I left work at the usual time, but when I reached my car I found Ford Smithson waiting for me.”

Bailey didn’t recognize the name. “Who’s that?”

“He’s renting the old hunting lodge.”

“Oh. Right.” Bailey had seen the strange man in town over the past few months. He was a tall, thin man with a mop of dark curls that were rarely combed. He was usually wearing a long trench coat with a scarf wrapped around his neck no matter the temperature and a pair of reflective sunglasses. She assumed he was trying to look bohemian, but most people in Pike weren’t impressed by his style. It didn’t help that he was living outside of town in an empty building. The lodge hadn’t been used for anything beyond an occasional party event for years. “He’s an artist or something, right?”

“Yep,” Eric agreed.

“Why was he waiting for you?”

Eric glanced toward Dom’s hand. “He wanted to show me that brand-new phone. I watched as he pulled it fresh out of the box.” His tone lowered, as if he was discussing a rare book or a priceless gem. “It was released less than a month ago and no one around here has it yet.”

Bailey sent a worried glance toward Dom. If someone wanted to manipulate the naïve young man, a new piece of technology would be the perfect bait.

“Why would he have a phone for you?”

Eric hunched his shoulders, almost as if expecting a blow. “He said that he was working on a new painting.”

“And?”

“And he needed a muse.”

Bailey stared at him in disbelief. Was this a nasty joke? Muses were beautiful, exotic women who captured the imagination or inspired lust. She was grindingly normal. The girl next door with a heart of gold . . . in other words, boring. With a capital B. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself. It was the truth.

“And you thought I should be the muse?” she demanded in accusing tones.

“No, no. Not me. It was Ford who decided he wanted you.”

Bailey stepped away from the car, thoroughly unnerved. “You didn’t think it was creepy that some stranger wanted you to take pictures of me?”

Eric flinched at her harsh tone. “He explained that he never asked models to sit for him because they were stiff and unnatural. He wanted . . .” Eric waved his hands as he struggled to recall what he’d been told. “What did he call them? Candid. Yes, that’s it. Candid shots that showed the real person.”

Bailey stared at him in disbelief. “If it was so innocent, why didn’t he take the pictures himself?”

“Because he’d heard that I. . .” Eric halted, clearing his throat as if he almost revealed more than he wanted to. “He’d heard that we were friends and he assumed I could get closer to you without you knowing what I was doing.”

Bailey didn’t believe the excuse for a second, but she wasn’t going to argue. “And it didn’t occur to you that I might not want to have my picture taken? Or to be the muse for some weirdo artist?”

Eric scrunched his face, sending her a wounded glare. “I didn’t think it would hurt anyone. And I intended to keep an eye on you anyway. Just in case Gage tried to bother you. It seemed like fate.” With an unexpected speed, Eric swiveled to snatch the phone from Dom’s hand. “And I really wanted this phone.”

Dom shrugged. “I already deleted the pictures.”

Eric scowled. “Hey. I needed those.”

Dom leaned close enough to force Eric to squeeze tight into his worn seat. “If I see you near Bailey again, those missing pictures will be the least of your worries. Got it?”

“He’s not going to bother me, are you, Eric?” There was an edge of warning in her tone.

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