Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [60]
Duane Hines lived in a little town called Carey, Missouri, seventy-five miles south of St. Louis. He had been easy to locate. The last two letters he had written and sent in care of Dillard’s Starlight Production Company—one letter to the late Hilary Finch Chambless and the other to Lorie Hammonds—had included his return address. If the man was a killer, he was a damn stupid one.
At present, Derek and Maleah Perdue were assigned to locate and speak to potential suspects. The main office in Knoxville had the job of locating all the Midnight Masquerade actors. Each actor was being notified about the deaths of their three costars and asked if they had received any threatening letters during the past few months. Only if Nic and Griff believed that there might be a crossover in the potential victims and possible suspects categories would Derek and Perdue personally interview that actor. And the decision would be based on facts unearthed by Powell’s investigation.
Derek preferred to drive, but he hadn’t made an issue of it with Perdue, knowing full well that she was a lady who needed to be in charge. He would bet his last dime on one fact—somewhere in Perdue’s past there was a man who had subjected her to complete and humiliating submission. All the signs were there, even if she wasn’t aware of it.
The more time he spent with Maleah Perdue, the more fascinated he became with her. Despite her bristly attitude toward him, he found himself liking her. He liked that she was smart and spunky and worked diligently at keeping her emotions under control. He figured it really bothered her that he got under her skin.
Was there something about him that reminded her of the man in her past?
What other reason could there be for her to dislike him so intensely? It wasn’t that he expected everybody to love him. Hell, even his own mother didn’t love him. But for the most part, people in general liked him. After all, he was a nice guy, wasn’t he?
“Look for number ten,” Perdue told Derek as she turned off the main road and drove into the Poplar Creek Trailer Park.
A couple of minutes later, Derek pointed to a small, rusty trailer anchored beneath a couple of towering poplar trees. “There it is.”
“Lovely place.” She turned up her nose.
“Now, now, don’t be judgmental.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Perdue pulled their rental car up beside an older model Harley-Davidson motorcycle. She got out and marched up the rickety wooden steps in front of the single door. Derek waited a few feet behind her while she knocked several times.
No response.
“He should be home,” she said. “Our report stated that he was laid off from his last job a month ago and is drawing unemployment.”
Perdue knocked again.
The door eased open and a dark-haired man in jeans and a wifebeater undershirt that exposed his hairy chest and arms looked at her and smiled. “Well, hello there.”
“Duane Hines?” she asked.
“Sure am, sweet thing. And just who are you?” His grin widened, revealing uneven, discolored teeth.
Derek wondered in what universe did this skinny, yellow-toothed degenerate think that a woman such as Maleah Perdue would actually give him the time of day.
“I’m Ms. Perdue, with the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency,” she told him. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about your obsession with the movie Midnight Masquerade.”
He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, then burst into laughter. “You’re kidding, right?” His bloodshot, watery brown eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over Perdue’s body, pausing at her breasts.
“She’s not kidding.” Derek stepped forward, coming up beside her.
Hines’s smile vanished when he saw Derek. “You a private dick, too?” He inclined his head toward Perdue. “You with her?”
“Yeah, I’m with Ms. Perdue. And we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Hines said. “Maybe I just want to talk to her.” He grinned lasciviously at Perdue.