Colton's Mistaken Identity. Geri Krotow

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СКАЧАТЬ it. Skye referred to it as “something our grandmother would love.” Phoebe missed Skye’s constant teasing. It was how they often showed their deep affection for one another. She could use some sisterly love to help her get through the next several hours, possibly the next week.

      Of course, if Skye were here, Phoebe would be happily engrossed with the production and guest services end of the festival. It wouldn’t matter what shade of lip gloss or eye shadow she wore.

      The view of the mountains was unsurpassed even by the extensive terraces that surrounded the majestic Chateau. A summer breeze puffed the sheers that hung from the rods with French provincial finials, bringing the scent of Skye’s potted jasmine into the room. The French doors onto her small but well-used terrace were closed. Walking to the door to open it, Phoebe chided herself for being so edgy. It had to be a combination of playing her role as Skye and the scary murders that had tragically touched her family with Sabrina’s death.

      But when she reached to unhitch the hook at the top of the door, it was already unfastened. Phoebe pushed open the door and stepped in bare feet onto the stone-paved terrace, checking to see if Skye’s chaise, small side table and several potted plants were as she’d last seen them this afternoon, when she’d been here to pick out some clothes and jewelry.

      When she saw Skye’s potted jasmine was crushed on one side, and a smear of dirt drawn on the mortar railing, a cold rush of fear ran over her scalp and down to her toes.

      Taking the few steps forward, she saw the imprint of feet on the soft lawn not more than six feet below. Someone had been in Skye’s room and exited via the terrace, but why? And who? And had they been in her apartment, too?

       It could be Skye.

      Skye was pulling a doozy on Phoebe and Mara, but if she was back in Roaring Springs she’d help with the festival, wouldn’t she?

      Phoebe checked the terrace more thoroughly before she returned inside and shut the door. She’d have to ask about getting a dead bolt—on both of their patio doors. In all the years her family had lived in The Chateau, she’d never felt the least bit afraid for her safety. Mara had been vigilant, though, and always kept Phoebe and Skye away from the public and guest eyes as needed.

      She walked into her sister’s closet, a luxurious feature they both relished, and stepped out of Skye’s dressy business suit that she’d borrowed earlier and dressed in the T-shirt and drawstring shorts she’d left behind on a small dressing bench. Wearing Skye’s business clothing helped her play the part to a T in front of the press, but she wasn’t going to trade out her own evening wear, which was cut to fit her shape and more comfortable. Even though she was an avid runner, Phoebe’s curves were slightly fuller than her twin’s, and she’d always worn dresses that flattered her bust and hips. Skye’s clothes tended to flatten out her curvier features, plus the waists were a tad tight.

      Phoebe reached up to take a sparkly wrap from the hangar on the back of the closet door and stopped when she saw a large sheet of cardboard, one of The Chateau’s desk blotters that was in each and every guest room, hanging by a thread over the gossamer shawl. In matte, bloodred lettering, a shade creepily similar to Skye’s lipstick, Stay Away from Him! was lettered in slanted print. The sign definitely hadn’t been here earlier when Phoebe had raided the closet for the suit.

      “Stay away from whom?” She wanted to believe the scary message was some kind of prank that her sister had done, but Skye wasn’t here and had no idea that Prescott had asked her out. And while Skye was the definite extrovert and prankster between the two of them, she’d never done anything this frightening.

      Besides, Skye would never waste a good lipstick on something so childish.

      Someone else clearly had seen Phoebe with Prescott and wasn’t happy about it. But who could it be?

      She gingerly unhooked the warning, and when she lowered the cardboard to the floor, she noticed a lipstick case, open, the stick of makeup ground into the carpet. Sure enough, it was one of Skye’s designer shades. Phoebe wasn’t a cop, but she knew she needed to call the head of hotel security. If it needed to be reported to the police or sheriff, they could pass it on.

      Grabbing all that she needed from Skye’s room, Phoebe check to make sure no one was in the corridor that linked the residential apartments before she scurried to her room, careful to keep the cardboard message facing away from her so it wouldn’t smear. Once in her room, she placed the warning sign on her dining table and went through to her bedroom and into her closet to change.

       Call Security now.

      But if she called the security officer, he’d tell her parents, then Mara would find out and have a freak-out, the last thing they needed as the festival launched. She’d have to speak directly with security, They’d handle it discreetly and have dead bolts placed on their terrace French doors.

      Melancholy gripped her as she fumbled to zip her halter-style sparkly pink gown. In such a short time, her happy, secure life The Chateau in Roaring Springs had taken a serious nosedive. All because of a cold-blooded murderer who’d snuffed out Sabrina’s life so horrifically.

      Her first instinct was to find Skye and talk out her feelings. While Phoebe always had a sense of being in Skye’s public shadow, she could trust her twin with her life and heart. Sadness slammed the thought back as she remembered Skye wasn’t here.

      “You’d better get back here, Skye.” She spoke to the empty room as she added more powder to her face and made certain the false eyelashes weren’t going to fall off in the middle of her red carpet interviews.

      Prescott Reynolds was going to be there, in a tuxedo and smiling his killer trademark grin. And instead of being behind the backdrop with an earpiece and clipboard, making sure it all flowed perfectly, she’d be the one interviewing him.

      Playing her twin sister had its perks.

      * * *

      It was as if a dozen separate orbs of sunlight edged the red carpet that ran across The Chateau’s circular drive, up the stone stairs to the expansive landing and circled to the front entrance doors. The bright lights that were brought in by an event production tech group from Denver each year were the definition of blinding.

      Phoebe longed for the familiarity of the smart tablet she usually carried, and her running shoes, which allowed her to work the entire red carpet behind the scenes. She’d done it for three years and was proud of how she’d streamlined the process, which had been pretty messy when Mara ran it. Her mother was more about keeping guests comfortable and well fed, while Phoebe was far more interested in the operational part of a business. The rest of the year she did the books, but during film fest week she liked to think of herself as a producer.

      Not tonight.

      Her legs quavered like a brook’s water trickling over craggy rocks as she approached the spot where she’d stand on the landing, microphone in hand, to greet each actor, film VIP and celebrity. Skye had worked out a deal with a major network last year, and the producers had spoken to Phoebe after the press conference. They’d gone over each part of the red carpet, including the opening ceremony, which would include the moment of silence she’d already briefed the press about.

      “Hey, Skye.” Remy Colton, Phoebe’s cousin and the Colton empire’s public relations director, stood in front of her. The tall man exuded confidence and calm amid the chaos of pre-event preparation. Next to him was his maternal half-brother, Seth Harris, who had similar hazel-green eyes and brown-blond hair but whose temperament Phoebe had never СКАЧАТЬ