Expecting to Die

CHAPTER 15
B
ianca and Regan followed Carlton Jeffe toward the stage at the far end of the
room, where the crowd was mostly gathered. The room they walked through was
cavernous, with high ceilings and velvet curtains that appeared as old as the
building itself. Those curtains were currently drawn, and the room was dark
aside from the illumination cast by hanging chandeliers that looked as if they
belonged in a ballroom rather than over a meeting of the Big Foot Believers.
They passed a refreshment table pushed against a side wall with a coffee urn,
bottles of water, and an array of cookies. A second table held CDs and T-shirts
from some of Barclay Sphinx’s reality shows. Throughout the seating area,
where the crowd was still milling, life-sized photographs of Big Foot had been
placed, as if the tall mythical creature were actually attending the event.
The stage was elevated only about a foot off the main floor. It was set up with
several chairs facing the audience, a podium with a microphone, and a few
posters from Barclay Sphinx’s television shows. The podium itself was
decorated with a large head shot of the guest of honor.
Despite the ceiling-mounted fans slowly whirling above, the room was hot,
and Pescoli was glad when Jeffe said, “This way,” and led Bianca and her away
from the crowds, circumventing dozens of folding chairs that had been set in a
semicircle around a small stage with a microphone and an amp, circa 1970. A
projector on one side of the stage was showing films of Big Foot on a drop-down
screen. The images were grainy and unclear, pictures of the beast from a far
distance, forever looking over its shoulder and always alone in the woods,
footage even Pescoli had seen a number of times.
The “green room” was simple and small. Empty except for a few folding
chairs and a low table where more refreshments had been placed—cookies
fanned upon a plastic tray, two carafes of coffee marked decaf and regular, and
about twenty water bottles that were chilling in a large tub of crushed ice.
Barclay, a tall, thin man in his mid-thirties, was standing, and despite the heat
he wore a gray jacket over a black T-shirt, jeans, and leather flip-flops. His head
was shaved and gleamed under the lights overhead, almost as if it had been
polished. Clean-shaven except for a reddish soul patch, he wore John Lennon
glasses.
“You must be Bianca!” he said as they approached. “I heard about the

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accident.” One long finger motioned to her booted foot. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Bianca nodded. “Will be.”
“Barclay Sphinx.” He shook Bianca’s hand and then snapped his head up to
survey the room. “Maybe you should sit down. Hey,” he said sharply to Luke, as
if he were a gopher on a movie set. “Can we get a chair here?”
“Sure, sure.” Juggling his water bottle in one hand, Luke snagged one of the
folding chairs and placed it near Bianca.
“Let me help,” Michelle said and adjusted the chair.
“And you are—?” Sphinx glanced at her, then grinned. “The sister?”
“Stepmom,” Michelle simpered, extending her hand. She couldn’t help but
gush. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure this is, Mr. Sphinx, I am such a fan!”
“Thanks.” They exchanged glances.
“I adore Tarnished Stars. It’s brilliant!” Michelle breathed, and Lucky actually
shot her a slightly irritated glance.
Sphinx’s lips twitched, bemused, and Pescoli fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Oh, let me introduce you all!” Carlton, ever energetic, stepped between
Michelle and Barclay as Luke’s wife reluctantly, it seemed, let go of the tall
man’s fingers. He made hasty introductions among the producer, Bianca, and
what must have appeared to be her entourage, adding at the end, “And this is
Fiona Carpenter, Mr. Sphinx’s assistant.”
“Executive assistant,” she corrected. Fiona was compact and petite and
radiated competence. Her brown hair was cut short and highlighted with thin
streaks of red, and her outfit was composed of a gray long-sleeved T-shirt, tunic
length, and black leggings that tucked into her boots. She didn’t smile, wore no
visible lipstick, just a sheer gloss, and appeared to be all business.
Sphinx was sharp, remembered everyone’s name and said to Pescoli, “You’re
the cop, right? A homicide detective?”
“Yes. With the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Perfect,” he said, nodding to himself.
She didn’t really see how her career path could be considered “perfect” by
anyone’s standards, much less a Hollywood or Seattle producer of different
reality shows for cable TV, but what the hell.
Carlton interjected, “As I said before, Bianca’s . . . uncomfortable telling her
story to the group, a little shy, so I thought you could speak, Barclay, and then
later people could ask Bianca some questions.”
“How about this?” Sphinx asked, as if the idea just occurred to him. “What
about if I ask Bianca questions on stage, kind of a personal interview in front of
the group, and then I could say a little bit about her responses.” His eyes, behind
the round glasses, found Bianca’s. “You would only have to answer with a word

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or two. I read your story in the papers and online from all of the posts from your
friends, so I have a pretty good idea what happened. That way it’s a little more
intimate, not so nerve-wracking.”
Bianca’s eyebrows drew together. “I’m not shy.”
“All the better,” Sphinx said. “We’ll set up as an interview and you can
expound to your heart’s content.” Then he looked directly at Carlton. “Set it up
on the stage. Just that way. Now.” He didn’t smile, didn’t frown, just gave the
order, as if he was used to barking out a command and expecting people to
scramble to do his bidding.
“Good. Sure. Sounds great.” Carlton was starting toward the stage in the other
room.
“Oh, and Jaffe—?”
“Jeffe,” Carlton corrected quickly.
“Yeah, maybe another chair. I’d like Mom to join us.” He swung his gaze to
Pescoli, flashing his most sincere grin. “I understand you’re involved in a
murder case as well. That your daughter found the body of a classmate while
running from Sasquatch.”
“I am investigating a murder and yes, Bianca did find the victim, but there
was no Big Foot, and I’m not getting on the stage to discuss an ongoing
investigation.” To Carlton Jeffe, she called, “You won’t be needing that extra
chair.”
“Oh—okay. I’ll set up now. We’ll be on in five.” With that, he bounded out of
the room.
Sphinx pulled a face. “You sure you don’t want to be a part of this? Someone
in the crowd might know something that could help you solve this murder. I
heard that you’re kind of a rogue cop, that you don’t always play by the rules,
that you’d bend them to close a case and bring a killer to justice.”
“I think I’ll just hang with the crowd, stand in the back and watch.”
“Not a believer then?”
“Of Big Foot? No. Definitely not.” From the corner of her eye, she spied
Lucky, his face a mask of horror that she was actually standing up to the
producer, and Michelle, too, looked appalled.
Sphinx was unfazed. “You probably know I’m considering a second series,