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."

"Help? Look, I wasn't exactly friends with either of them…and none of their friends, either. But I still hear some things from time to time."

"Have you completely removed yourself from the theater scene?" Jack asked.

"Basically. I do some freelance pieces from time to time." She gestured to the fabrics on the coffee table, cigarette perched between her fingers. "But I stay away from the drama and egotistical bullshit of it all."

The air seemed to grow heavier as they sat in silence. Rachel could feel the undercurrents of resentment emanating from Juliette, as tangible as the dogs that were still sniffing around her feet.

"Everyone's quick to judge," Juliette continued, her voice laced with scorn. "Quick to point fingers at the easy target. But those girls weren't saints either. They played their parts on and off the stage."

"Did they have enemies that you know of?" Rachel asked. "Anyone who might have wished them harm?"

"Enemies?" Juliette paused, her lips twisting into a ghost of a smile. "In this business, darling, everyone's your enemy. And again…as I said, I didn't know either of them like that."

"But you worked with them on a few occasions?"

"I did."

"Did you ever hear them complain about anyone in particular?" Jack asked.

"Complain?" Juliette's voice cracked like a whip. She took a drag of her cigarette and puffed the smoke out in a long ribbon. "That's all they ever did. Whine about the fit of a dress, or how I played favorites." She spat out the words as if they were bitter seeds.

It occurred to Rachel that Juliette may be too jaded and bitter. She didn't think they were going to get helpful answers out of her. She was too self-involved, the first person they'd spoken to who had shown no remorse.

The sour stench of cigarette smoke seemed to cling to every word that filled the cramped space of the apartment. "Did anything happen to Emily or Sarah that was out of the ordinary when you worked with them? Any incidents where they might have been in danger?"

Juliette scoffed, tossing her head back, the lines etched on her face deepening. "Danger? These girls thought a broken nail was a tragedy. But there was this one guy..."

The way Juliette's eyes narrowed sent a chill down Rachel's spine, as if she was peering into a memory laced with darkness. "He was always there, lurking at the late shows. You could feel his eyes, hungry, watching them like he was crafting some sort of masturbatory fantasy."

"Did he ever try to approach them?" Rachel pressed, her voice low and urgent.

"Approach? He practically lived by the stage door when those shows were over, waiting for the final applause to fade so he could try to slither in," Juliette said, a sneer curling her lip.

Rachel exchanged a glance with Jack, who sat rigid, his jaw clenched. This was the first they'd heard of someone taking an unhealthy interest in the actresses outside the usual fanfare. It was a lead worth following, she supposed. And soon, hopefully. Between the cigarette smoke and the absolute self-importance emanating from Juliette, Rachel was ready to get out of there. Plus, the stupid dogs were still sniffing around her feet.

Rachel stepped back a bit, trying to get away from the annoying little dogs. "Did you ever actually see this man confront Emily or Sarah…or any of the other actresses for that matter?"

Juliette shook her head slowly, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the cluttered room. "No, but there were whispers, you know? Talk of him making lewd comments, gestures that really got under the girls' skin. The sort of thing that doesn't sit right with you."

"Anything more concrete?" Rachel pressed, aware that hearsay wouldn't stand up under scrutiny. They needed hard evidence, something definitive.

"Once, I heard he got pretty nasty," Juliette admitted, her eyes flickering with the memory. "The girls were spooked, said he wouldn't take no for an answer when he wanted to come backstage after a show. One of the directors stepped in and sort of pushed him around a bit. They had to call the cops to drag him out. He was shouting about being wronged, about them not understanding his devotion."

"Did you hear about this incident involving the police yourself?" Jack interjected, the timbre of his voice indicating that he, too, was a little reluctant to take Juliette at her word.

"Sure did. It was the talk of backstage for days." Juliette's tone took on a note of certainty. "Couldn't miss it. The girls were shaken, and no one wanted to be alone by the stage door for a while after that."

"How long ago was this?"

She took another long drag from her cigarette as she considered. "I'd say maybe a little less than two years ago."

"And for the sake of the record," Rachel said, "we'd like to know where you were on the nights Sarah and Emily were murdered. That would be last night, and then four nights ago."

"Are you serious?" Juliette asked, anger snapping up like a snake about to strike.

"Yes. We need alibis."

Juliette looked absolutely livid, but Rachel thought the woman understood the gravity of the situation. With her entire face a stone slate, she answered in a severe tone that had gone sharp and sour.

"I've been here," she said. "Haven't been out in weeks. You can ask anyone, the delivery boys, my neighbors. I haven't left this hellhole in at least two weeks.

Rachel studied Juliette for a moment, her icy gaze unwavering and intense. She was either telling the truth, or she was a remarkably good liar. "What delivery boys?"

"Oh, Christ," she said, fuming now. She got to her feet and headed for the small counter in the kitchen, where she grabbed her phone. "I ordered pizza for dinner two nights ago, and Thai take out two nights before that. Both were brought by Uber Eats. I have receipts on my phone."

"But no friends or family that can back this up?"

"No. As I said. I was here. Alone."

Intuition told Rachel that she was being honest. All the same, she was by far the most hostile character they'd met along the way. "Very well," Rachel said. "Thank you for your time. We'd appreciate it, though, if you'd stay in the city for the next few days while we continue the case."

Rachel looked over to Jack, her gaze communicating: Anything else?

Apparently, there wasn't…and apparently, Jack wanted to get out of the house as quickly as he could as well.

"Thank you, Juliette. You've been very helpful," Rachel said, heading for the door. The little dogs followed along, making a small whining noise.

She and Jack stepped outside. Juliette closed the door behind them with a decisive slam.

"What a charming lady," Jack commented. "Likely not a killer, though."

"Yeah, I didn't think so, either."

"Maybe she gave us something, though," Rachel said, inhaling the crisp, fresh air. The smell of smoke still clung to her.

"The fan she mentioned?"

"Potentially. This fan, if he could be called that, may have crossed a line from obsessive to threatening."

"If Juliette's story is to be believed, that is," Jack pointed out as they got into the car.

"We could find out easily enough if it actually happened. If the police were called, there would be a report. We need to find the report and then locate the guy."

Jack got behind the wheel and pulled back out onto the street. They drove in silence, each lost in thought as the cityscape blurred past. If this lead panned out, they might finally have a solid suspect. But time was of the essence, and Rachel knew that with each passing hour, the killer was getting further out of reach. And maybe even more dangerous.