The Dead Girl’s Stilettos: A Bexley Squires Mystery

She tried to play it cool when she recognized some of her favorites, like the veteran actress who had won four Oscars in a row, or the mastermind known for making billions from producing her favorite movies as a kid. Her inner fangirl didn’t appear until she recognized the voice that complimented her on the small star tattoo she’d gotten on her shoulder blade to honor her mom.

“Oh my god, Dave, it’s an honor to meet you,” she gushed, spinning around to greet the lead singer of her favorite rock band. She had just enough champagne by then to feel a bit light-headed and carefree. “Seriously, you have no idea. I’m like a top-tier fan. Not like on a stalker level or anything, but…if you ever need to consult with someone who knows everything about your band, I’m your dork.”

The musician let out a dark chuckle, flipping a strand of his dark hair behind his ear before shaking her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind when my memory goes to total shit…at the rate I’m going, it won’t be long.” He was taller in person than Bexley would’ve thought, and twice as charismatic.