When a wealthy donor drops dead at her charity gala, Fox Theater fundraiser Bunny Beaudoin finds herself thrust into a murder investigation that threatens everything she's built. Teaming up with enigmatic private investigator Dash O'Neill, Bunny discovers the victim was poisoned—and he's not the killer's first target. As bodies pile up and the theater's reputation hangs in the balance, Bunny and Dash navigate a web of secrets, lies, and dangerous attraction. Between dodging a suspicious police chief and uncovering a conspiracy that reaches the highest levels of Magnolia Heights society, Bunny must decide how far she's willing to go for justice—and whether she can trust the mysterious man who's stolen her heart. In a world where everyone has something to hide, the deadliest secret might be falling in love with your partner in crime.
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Midnight transformed Lantern Hill Drive from an affluent showcase into a sinister playground. The grand homes, so impressive by day, loomed like mausoleums in the darkness, their manicured lawns rendered in shades of blue-black under the quarter moon. Security lights created pools of harsh brightness, separated by stretches of absolute darkness where shadows seemed to breathe. Bunny arrived fifteen minutes early, parking Dusty three blocks away and walking the rest of the distance with her heart hammering against her ribs. She’d traded her usual vibrant work attire for black leggings, a charcoal sweater, and running shoes that whispered rather than clicked against the pavement. The small flashlight in her pocket bumped reassuringly against her thigh with each step.
At the designated corner, she pressed herself into the shadow of an ancient oak tree, feeling utterly conspicuous despite her dark clothing. Every passing car seemed to slow suspiciously, every distant dog bark an alert to her presence. The neighborhood was quiet in that particular way of places where wealth insulated residents from the noisy indignities of ordinary life.
“You’re early.”
The voice, soft but unmistakably Dash’s, came from directly behind her. Bunny nearly jumped out of her skin, barely suppressing a yelp as she whirled around.
“Jesus Christ,” She hissed, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
Dash materialized from the darkness, dressed in similar dark clothing but somehow looking like he belonged in the shadows, while she felt like an imposter. His face was difficult to read in the dim light, but she could detect the ghost of amusement in his expression.
“Sorry. Habit.”
“What? Terrorizing unsuspecting people?”
“Moving quietly.” He corrected, his voice low.
“The security system at number forty-seven will go offline in exactly seven minutes. We’ll have a two-hour window.”
Reality crashed over Bunny like ice water. They were actually doing this. Breaking into a dead man’s home. Committing a felony. Risking her career, her reputation, possibly her freedom.
“I’m having second thoughts,” She admitted, “Maybe even third and fourth ones.”
“That’s normal,” Dash replied, checking his watch, “But we’ve come this far.”
He had her there.
“Fine,” She said, squaring her shoulders, “But if we get arrested, I’m telling everyone this was your idea.” Her past words of solidarity were seemingly forgotten.
“Noted.”
They moved through the neighborhood swiftly, keeping to the darkest patches between streetlights. Dash led them through a neighbor’s yard, ducking beneath perfectly trimmed hedges, until they reached the back of Glen Valentino’s property. A wrought iron fence presented the first obstacle.
“I was afraid of that.” Bunny whispered, eyeing the sharp finials atop each iron post.
“Here,” Dash said, moving to where a large magnolia tree grew close to the fence, “Nature provides.”
He hoisted himself up with surprising agility, using the tree’s lower branches to swing himself over the fence, landing with a soft thud on the other side. He made it look effortless. Bunny, on the other hand, had flashbacks to junior high gym class as she struggled up the tree, her sweater catching on bark, twigs snapping beneath her weight with what seemed like thunderous cracks in the quiet night.
“You’re doing great.” Dash encouraged from below, which only irritated her more.
When she finally dropped to the ground beside him, leaves stuck in her hair and a fresh tear in her leggings, she shot him a glare that dared him to comment on her less-than-graceful descent.
“Made it,” She breathed, plucking a twig from her sweater, “Now what?”
“Service entrance,” He said, already moving across the perfectly manicured lawn toward the back of the mansion, “Less visible and the locks are typically simpler.”
The house loomed above them, a dark monolith against the night sky. Its many windows stared down like vacant eyes. Earlier that week, with Lancaster beside her and sunlight streaming through those windows, the mansion had seemed merely excessive. Now, in darkness, it exuded a palpable menace.
“This feels like the part in the horror movie where the audience starts screaming ‘Don’t go in there!’” Bunny whispered as they approached the service door.
Dash pulled something from his pocket– a slim leather case that contained several odd-looking tools. He selected two and inserted them into the lock with practiced precision.
“If it helps, the monsters in horror movies are rarely dead pharmaceutical executives.”
“No, they’re just the vengeful spirits of said executives,” She countered, nervously scanning the yard, “Coming back to haunt the idiots who broke into their homes.”
The lock clicked softly, and Dash turned the handle, pushing the door open with excruciating slowness to minimize any creaking hinges. The security pad on the wall remained dark, confirming that his mysterious “contacts” had indeed disabled the system.
“After you.” He whispered, gesturing to the darkened hallway beyond.
“Oh no. Definitely you first.”
He slipped inside, and she followed, closing the door gently behind them. The service corridor was pitch black, the air stale and undisturbed. Bunny pulled out her flashlight, clicking it on and aiming the narrow beam at the floor. They moved through the service area, past the laundry room and break room, toward the door that connected to the main house. Everything looked different in the darkness. The mundane walls now seemed ominous, the practical vinyl flooring too quiet beneath their careful steps. Emerging into the main hallway, the transition was jarring. Here, the luxury that had been impressive by day turned oppressive by night. The massive gilt-framed mirrors reflected their flashlight beams in disorienting flashes. The oil paintings’ subjects seemed to follow their movements with painted eyes.
“Let’s head to the study first,” Dash suggested, “Where Glen’s body was found. Then check out that gallery with the alcoves.”
The grand foyer’s black and white tiles created a disorienting checkerboard effect under their flashlight beams. Bunny felt like she was walking across a surreal game board where the stakes were far too high. The marble staircase, so elegant in daylight, now resembled the bleached spine of some enormous creature. Glen’s study appeared mostly unchanged, except for the ghostly shroud that darkness laid over everything. The high-backed leather chair where his body had been discovered sat empty behind the massive desk, silently accusing. Dash moved methodically around the space, examining surfaces without touching, his flashlight beam lingering on the side table where the gun had been found, then the chair, then the drinking glass that had held the poisoned liquor.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Bunny asked, hovering near the doorway, feeling like an intruder despite having been officially invited earlier that day.
“Inconsistencies,” Dash replied, crouching to examine the area of carpet beside the chair, “Lancaster was dismissive of your observations because they didn’t fit her theory. I want to see what else might not fit.”
He paused at the desk, studying its arrangement with focused intensity.
“Tell me again how Valentino was found.”
“Slumped in the chair,” Bunny recalled, “Gunshot wound to the temple. The gun was found on that side table. Lancaster said his fingerprints were the only ones on it.”
“And they’re sure it was suicide?”
“Cashler seemed uncertain, but apparently the evidence pointed that way. Gunshot wound, his gun, his fingerprints, no signs of struggle.”
Dash frowned, playing his flashlight slowly across the desk’s surface.
“What if the body was moved? Positioned to look like suicide after he was already incapacitated by the poison?”
The suggestion sent a chill through Bunny. She’d been imagining Glen taking his own life as the belladonna began to affect him– a desperate final act. The idea that someone had arranged his corpse, placed the gun in his hand, staged the scene… that was more calculated, more cold-blooded.
“It’s possible,” She admitted, “But how would we even tell?”
“We probably can’t, not definitively. But let’s check the gallery. That paint can is bothering me more, the more I think about it.”
They moved back through the foyer and into the long corridor gallery that Lancaster had walked her through. In darkness, the art took on an eerie quality. The Renaissance angels looked demonic rather than beatific, the landscapes apocalyptic rather than pastoral. The stone sculptures in their alcoves seemed poised to step from their platforms. Working by flashlight, they moved slowly along the walls, Dash paying particular attention to the baseboards– the white trim that ran along the bottom of the walls throughout the gallery.
“Look,” He murmured after a few minutes, “The baseboards are painted white. Federal White, I’d guess.”
“So the paint can did match something in the house.” Bunny said, feeling oddly disappointed. Had she been making mountains out of molehills?
“Yes, but look at this.”
Dash had stopped before one of the alcoves housing a headless Greek statue. He ran his light along the baseboards where it met the wall, then along the adjoining sections.
“The paint here is different. Slightly less matte. Can you see it?”
Bunny knelt beside him, squinting at where his light illuminated the white baseboard. At first, she saw nothing unusual, but then– yes— there it was. A subtle difference in the finish, as if this section had been painted more recently than the surrounding trim.
“I see it,” She confirmed, excitement bubbling up despite her anxiety, “It looks newer. And with a different finish.”
“Exactly. I need something to scrape with.”
“Are you fucking crazy?!” Bunny whispered harshly but was only met with a cocked eyebrow.
“Don’t be so dramatic. There’s obviously been some choice renovations. This could be the lead we’ve been looking for all along.”
She tried to mask her panic under the guise of anger, but the anticipation was killing her. And time was certainly not on their side.
“There were paint scrapers in the supply closet,” She whispered reticently, conceding to Dash’s request, “I saw them when I was with Lancaster. But don’t get too crazy, Bob the Builder.”
He ignored her last comment, already bounding to the closet. They retraced their steps through the darkened house in the service corridor, finding the supply closet exactly as Bunny had seen it earlier. The paint can with its slightly ajar lid still sat on the shelf. Dash selected a small metal scraper from a nearby tool caddy. Back in at the alcove, Dash knelt again, positioning the scraper at the edge of the baseboard with the different finish.
“This feels wrong,” Bunny glanced nervously toward the enormous windows that lined the gallery, “We’re damaging property now.”
“No. Shooting a guy and staging his death as a suicide is what’s wrong. I’ll be careful,” Dash assured her, “Just a small section. If there’s nothing underneath, we’ll never know otherwise.”
He began to scrape gently, removing a thin layer of the white paint. Bunny held her flashlight steady, illuminating his work while constantly glancing over her shoulder, convinced that at any moment police lights would flash through the windows.
“Look.” Dash said after a minute of careful scraping.
Beneath the white paint, a different color began to emerge. Not the natural wood tone Bunny had expected, but something darker.
Something red.
“Is that–”
“Blood,” Dash confirmed darkly, scraping a larger patch to reveal more of the dark crimson stain beneath, “Someone bled out here, and someone else tried to cover it up.”
Bunny stared at the revealed patch of baseboard, the reality of what they were seeing sinking in with horrible clarity. Not paint touch-ups. Not routine maintenance. Someone had died against this wall– violently enough to leave a substantial bloodstain— and someone had meticulously covered the evidence with fresh white paint.
“Glen didn’t die in his study,” She whispered, “He died here, in the gallery.”
“And someone moved his body, staged the scene, and repainted the baseboard to hide what really happened.” Dash added, rising to his feet.
The mansion suddenly felt even more threatening, its shadows deeper, its silence more ominous. Bunny fought the urge to run for the door, to put as much distance as possible between herself and this house of secrets.
As they stood there, flashlights illuminating the damning evidence beneath the fresh paint, Bunny couldn’t shake the feeling that the house itself was watching them, measuring their discovery, calculating its response. They stared at the crimson stain revealed beneath the white paint, the implications sinking in like a stone dropped in still water.
“So he was killed here,” Bunny whispered, her voice barely audible despite the empty house, “Then moved to the study.”
Dash nodded grimly, his flashlight beam illuminating more of the baseboard.
“Poisoned with belladonna, shot, and then arranged in his study to look like a suicide.”
“But would anyone be strong enough to move a body that far?” Bunny asked, mentally tracing the path from the gallery to the study.
“Not to mention a body that must have been covered in blood. There haven’t been any reports of blood traces anywhere else in the house,” She leaned in closer to the stain, “Someone cleaned up very thoroughly.”
“Lancaster’s team would have checked for blood residue with luminol. They’re thorough, even when they’re wrong,” Dash said, rising from his crouched position, his expression thoughtful, “What about security cameras? The CCTV?”
“I asked Lancaster the same thing. Apparently the system was down for maintenance that day,” Bunny frowned, “Convenient timing.”
“Too convenient. Someone with connections to the security company could have arranged that.”
Bunny shot him a doubtful look.
“Not everyone has your dubious talents for disabling security systems. Do you really think someone else has those kinds of connections?”
“I can’t rule it out,” Dash admitted, “ But maybe they didn’t need to come through the front door at all.”
He directed his flashlight across the gallery, the beam sweeping the elegantly papered walls.
“They might—” Dash’s words cut off abruptly as Bunny grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” She whispered, “Look at this alcove.”
Her fingers wrapped around the solid warmth of his forearm, feeling the muscle tense beneath her grip. Dash went perfectly still beneath her touch, his gaze darting to her hand then back to her face. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them charged. Then, Bunny cleared her throat softly, releasing his arm and breaking the silence.
“It’s empty.” She gestured to the space in the wall.
Dash followed her gaze. The recessed space in the wall was bare, the pedestal vacant.
“That’s odd,” She continued, sweeping her flashlight beam across the gallery, “Every other alcove has some kind of sculpture or art piece. This is the only empty one.”
“And it happens to be right where we found the blood stain,” Dash stepped closer to the vacant pedestal, examining it carefully, standing near enough that she could feel the heat from his body in the cool air of the mansion, “Something was removed from here, and recently.”
“Why would anyone take a piece of art?”
“It could be evidence,” Dash said, running his fingers lightly across the pedestal, “Or the murder weapon itself.”
Bunny shivered, imagining a heavy sculpture becoming a deadly instrument.
“So someone killed him here, shot him to make it look like suicide, moved him to the study, and painted over the blood evidence.”
“Exactly. And they needed to be strong enough to move a grown man’s body through the house without leaving a trace.”
A distant sound cut through the silence. Car tires on gravel. Headlights swept across the windows at the front of the house, illuminating the gallery in stark relief before plunging it back into darkness.
“Someone’s here,” Dash hissed, instantly dousing his flashlight, “We need to go. Now.”
Bunny’s heart hammered against her ribs as she killed her own light.
“The paint. We can’t leave it like this.”
Dash moved swiftly to the supply closet and returned with the paint can and a small brush. With practiced efficiency, he covered their discovery with fresh white paint, the evidence disappearing beneath each careful stroke.
“Will it dry in time?” Bunny whispered frantically, her eyes darting toward the foyer where a car door slammed shut.
“It doesn’t need to be perfect, just enough to avoid immediate notice,” Dash replied, making a final pass with the brush, “There. Let’s go.”
They replaced the supplies exactly as they’d found them and retraced their steps through the service corridor, moving quickly but carefully to avoid making noise. The back door beckoned like salvation, but as Dash reached for the handle, voices drifted from the driveway. Multiple voices.
“Security patrol,” He breathed against her ear, his body tense beside hers, “Change of plans. Side window in the laundry room.”
The window was smaller than Bunny would have preferred, but fear made her agile. Dash helped boost her through first, his hands steady at her waist, then followed with the silent grace that still amazed her. They crouched beneath the magnolia tree, listening as footsteps circled the house, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness.
“The tree. Same way we came in.” Dash whispered, gesturing toward the branches overhead.
This time, Bunny climbed with desperate determination, ignoring the scratches of bark against her palms. She maneuvered across the branch that extended over the fence, Dash close behind her. The drop to freedom on the other side seemed miles below.
“I’ll go first,” Dash offered, “then catch you.”
Before she could protest, he swung down and dropped to the ground with minimal sound. He looked up at her, arms outstretched.
“Trust me.”
Taking a deep breath, Bunny released her grip on the branch and fell, the moment of weightlessness terrifying and exhilarating. Dash caught her, his arms strong around her waist, absorbing the impact. For an instant, they stood frozen, bodies pressed together, the night air electric between them.
“We should go.” She whispered, though she made no move to step away.
“We should.” He agreed, his voice low, but his arms remained around her for a heartbeat longer before releasing her.
They moved swiftly through the neighboring yards, keeping to the shadows until they reached the street where Dash’s Ford Bronco waited three blocks away. The adrenaline refused to fade. Even after they’d put miles between themselves and Glen’s mansion, Bunny’s pulse hammered against her throat, her skin electric with memory. She’d never broken into anywhere before tonight. The woman who’d spent her entire career following protocols and maintaining donor relationships had just committed a felony. And the strangest part was how alive it made her feel.