Page 16 of Her Last Secret

"I know she was irritated with Sarah for sure…but I couldn’t tell you exactly why. Just gossip-mill sort of stuff, you know?" Barbara's affirmation was tepid, steeped in uncertainty. "I just know Juliette was angry. Very angry."

"Do you know Juliette personally?" Rachel asked, her demeanor softening to show gratitude yet retaining an air of professional urgency. "Do you have a way to contact her?"

“I do,” she said, reaching into the front pocket of her coat. “I’ve had this for a while now but never actually spoke with the woman.

Barbara fished out an old business card, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she handed it over. It contained Juliette Warner’s name and phone number, as well as the odd title ofTheater Costume and Cosmetics Expert!

“Do you know if Sarah and Juliette ever had any face-to-face arguments?” Jack asked.

"I don't, but if they did, I wouldn't be surprised. The way I hear it, Juliette had face-to-face arguments with just about every actress in the city. I can't tell you for certain that Juliette had any real issues with either Emily or Sarah, but I can tell you with certainty that she'd know of anyone who did. Juliette is the sort of drama queen who makes it her business to know everyone else's business."

Jack and Rachel exchanged a look and a nod. It seemed silly to have set this meeting up for it to be wrapped up in less than five minutes, but Rachel thought Juliette Warner sounded like a viable lead.

“Thank you, Barbara,” Rachel said. “We appreciate it.”

Barbara nodded and remained in her seat on the bench as Rachel and Jack started walking away. Rachel looked back toward the woman as they headed for the car. She was staring out at the playground where two young children were clapping wildly at the top of a slide play set. She was clearly sad and despondent…the same expression and tone Rachel had seen and heard from everyone else they'd spoken to so far.

It was becoming clear that these two deaths were hitting the theater community hard. And, feeling that sadness and a deep sense of empathy that she knew came directly from having recently lost Grandma Tate, Rachel internally vowed to catch this killer no matter what it took.

CHAPTER NINE

Rachel took in the sight of Juliette Warner’s house as Jack parked the car by the curb just a few spaces down from her walkway. She lived just outside of a historic district, the house made mostly of brick but also looking almost like a cottage. The front porch was adorned with a rocking chair and a small table, creating a welcoming and homey atmosphere.

She and Jack made their way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Rachel’s hand hovered for a moment before rapping sharply on the peeling paint of Juliette Warner's front door. The muted chaos of barking dogs immediately erupted from within, accompanied by a haze of stale cigarette smoke that seeped through the ill-fitting door frame as it creaked open.

A middle-aged woman looked out at them, her blue eyes scrutinizing. She studied Rachel for a moment and then looked shiftily over to Jack. “What?”

"Juliette Warner?" Rachel asked.

The woman who stood in the doorway, a shawl of bitterness cloaking her gaunt figure, gave a curt nod. Her eyes, heavy with dark circles, flickered over Rachel and Jack with an unspoken challenge.

“Yes…and who might be asking?”

They both showed their IDs and gave a brief introduction. “We’re trying to compile some answers about the recent murders of two actresses,” Jack said. “Sarah J—”

“Sarah Jennings and Emily Ross,” Juliette said. “Yeah, I’ve heard the news." She sighed deeply and seemed to think long and hard about something for a moment before saying, “Come on in.”

As they stepped inside, the claustrophobic space closed around them. The house wasn’t as large as it looked from the outside. A few pieces of cute furniture sat around a large living room that took up most of the first-floor space. A coffee table sat in the middle of it all, covered with magazines and scraps of fabric—relics of a recent project, no doubt.

Two dogs—both small varieties that Rachel couldn’t identify—came rushing to them, sniffing at their feet. Juliette made no attempt to get them to leave her visitors alone.

“Let me guess,” Juliette said, sitting on the couch. She pulled a cigarette from a pack she found buried under the mess on the coffee table and lit it up. “Someone in the little theater community told you I had a temper or something like that? Someone maybe said you should talk to me about these murders?”

“Not quite as dramatic as that, but yes,” Rachel said.

"Sorry about the mess," Juliette muttered, though her tone suggested anything but. “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“As we said,” Jack said, “we’re actively looking into the incidents involving Emily and Sarah,"

Rachel began, her voice cutting through the stillness. "You knew them?"

"Knew 'em? Yeah." Juliette scoffed, folding her arms defensively. "I know what they say about me too. That I'm difficult, that I've got a chip on my shoulder."

"Is that true?" Jack prodded, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Maybe," she snapped back. "But it doesn't mean I don't know what goes on behind the curtain. I see more than they think."

Rachel leaned forward slightly, her body language open yet assertive. "Then you might be able to help us understand what happened to them."

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