Chapter 18
JUNE
“Oh, meant to tell you, I spotted her,” Hazel says.
I glance up from my phone, where I’ve been pretending to scroll through emails while actually staring at a photo of Carter, Seth, and Kai from yesterday’s grand entry inside the rodeo arena. “Who?”
Hazel finishes snapping the lid onto her takeaway coffee and turns to face me, her dark eyes gleaming with the particular intensity she gets when she’s onto something good. “The chick from the video. The one who spiked Seth’s drink at the Spur. She’s here. At the rodeo.”
My stomach drops. “Wait—she’s here? Right now?”
“Saw her about fifteen minutes ago near the food stands when I went to get my phone I left in the car.” Hazel takes a sip of her coffee, casual as anything, like she hasn’t just dropped a bomb in my lap. “Figured maybe we could chat with her. See if she says anything about that night.”
I glance around the arena automatically, as if the mystery woman might materialize out of thin air.
Day two of the rodeo is gearing up to be busier than day one, the stands are already filling with early birds claiming the best seats, and the smell of coffee and breakfast burritos drifts from the vendor stalls set up along the perimeter.
“We can’t just walk up to her,” I say, my mind already racing through possibilities. “If she thinks we’re onto her, she’ll bolt. And then we’ve got nothing.”
“Yeah, true.” Hazel frowns, chewing on her bottom lip. “So what’s the play? Because I’m not exactly trained in interrogation techniques. My skill set is more aggressive flirting and being really good at Wordle.”
“Both valuable life skills.”
“Thank you for acknowledging that.”
I lean against one of the support pillars, trying to think. The video from the Spur showed someone reaching toward Seth’s drink, but the footage was grainy enough that we couldn’t see clearly if she spiked the drink. But maybe she’ll let it slip? Highly unlikely.
“Here’s the thing,” I say slowly. “She’s not going to admit to anything if we just confront her. Why would she? She knows how much trouble she’d be in because spiking someone’s drink is serious. We’re talking potential felony charges.”
“So we need leverage.”
“We need proof, but first we just need to find her. And then we can work something out.” In truth, I’m not sure yet how to convince her to talk.
Finding one woman in a crowd of rodeo enthusiasts shouldn’t be this hard, but ten minutes later, Hazel and I are still weaving through the growing throngs of people without any luck.
I’m starting to wonder if she left, or if Hazel imagined seeing her in the first place, when Hazel suddenly grabs my arm.
“There.” She jerks her chin toward the far side of the arena. “Behind the funnel cake stand.”
I follow her gaze and immediately spot a woman there.
She’s standing near one of the vendor stalls, looking around like she’s waiting for someone.
Early twenties, maybe. Long, dark hair. Low-cut jeans that sit well below her hip bones and a cropped top with long sleeves that shows off a strip of tanned stomach.
She’s clutching a disposable coffee cup, one of the ones from the arena café with names written in Sharpie on the side.
Even from here, I can make out the letters: B-R-O-O-K-E.
“Brooke,” I murmur. “At least now we have a name.”
“What’s the plan?” Hazel asks, her voice low and eager.
I quickly outline an idea in my head and relay it to Hazel, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. Hazel’s grin grows wider with every word.
“That’s devious,” she says when I finish. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Save the praise for after it works.”
We approach from different angles, me hanging back while Hazel circles around to come at Brooke from the side. I watch as Hazel lifts her own coffee cup to her lips, taking a casual, long sip like she’s draining her cup, looking like she’s just another tourist wandering through the crowd.
Then Hazel adjusts her trajectory and walks directly into Brooke’s path.
The collision is perfectly executed. Hazel’s shoulder catches Brooke’s arm, hard enough to send the other woman stumbling sideways. Brooke’s cup goes flying, hitting the ground and bouncing once, the last dregs of coffee splattering across the dirt.
“Oh my God!” Hazel’s hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”
“What the hell?” Brooke steadies herself, glaring at Hazel. “Watch where you’re—”
I’m there in seconds, swooping down to grab the cup before Brooke can react. I’m careful to hold it only by the base, keeping my fingers away from where hers would have gripped.
“Here, let me help,” I say brightly.
Brooke’s eyes narrow. “I can pick up my own—”
“I feel terrible,” Hazel cuts in, already rummaging in her oversized bag. “Here, I have a—let me just—” She produces a plastic shopping bag, the kind you get from the grocery store, and holds it open.
I drop the cup inside before Brooke can protest.
“What the fuck?” Brooke reaches for the bag. “Give that back—”
Hazel zips the bag into her purse with a smooth motion, stepping back out of reach. I move to stand beside her, and together we form a wall between Brooke and any escape route.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” Brooke’s voice rises, attracting a few curious glances from nearby spectators. “Why did you put my cup in a bag?”
“Brooke,” I say calmly, “we need your help with something.”
Her eyes slip between us, suspicious and increasingly alarmed. “Yeah? What’s that? And I’m not inclined to help you after whatever the fuck that was. Why did you take my cup?”
Time for the gamble.
“Look,” I say, keeping my voice low enough that the people around us can’t hear. “We saw the video. Of you spiking Seth Benton’s drink at the Spur a few nights ago.”
The change in her expression is instantaneous. Her face goes pale, her eyes widening for just a fraction of a second before she schools her features back into defiance.
But that fraction of a second is all I need to see the truth.
I exchange a quick glance with Hazel, a silent confirmation that we’re on the right track. She gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Brooke says, but her voice has lost its edge. “I’m not from this town. I don’t know any Seth.”
“Funny, as his face and name are plastered all over this arena,” Hazel says, pulling out her phone and scrolling to something.
“And I have a picture of you stalking his friends at the carnival. You were in the background of their photo booth pictures, taking photos of them on your phone. Super subtle, by the way.”
She turns the screen to show Brooke. I can’t see the image from this angle, but I see Brooke’s jaw tighten.
“You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No, we really don’t.” I step closer, lowering my voice further.
“See, the cops already have the video. They also have the glass you touched at the bar, the one with your fingerprint on it. The only reason they haven’t arrested you yet is because your prints aren’t in any database.
” I’m lying through my teeth about most of this.
The cops only have the video, and I have no idea if they collected the glass or if fingerprints are even viable evidence at this point. But Brooke doesn’t know that.
Brooke’s face goes from pale to almost gray.
“But now we have this.” I gesture toward Hazel’s bag, where the cup is safely stashed.
“Your name. Your prints. All we have to do is hand it over, and they can match it to the glass from the Spur. After that?” I shrug.
“Well. Spiking someone’s drink is a felony in Montana. You’re looking at serious time.”
Judging by the dread blooming across her features, she believes every word.
“Look,” Hazel says, her tone shifting to something almost sympathetic.
“If you just confess, they might go easier on you. Cooperation counts for a lot with prosecutors. But if they have to track you down, drag you in, do all the work themselves?” She shakes her head.
“That’s when they throw the book at you. ”
“Why do you even care?” Brooke’s voice cracks. “What’s it to you?”
“Because of that video, Seth is facing drunk and disorderly charges,” I say.
“He could face worse depending on what happened that night while he was drugged. If he can’t clear his name, his career is over.
His reputation is destroyed. And all because someone decided to slip something into his drink without his knowledge or consent. ”
I let that sink in.
“So yeah,” I continue quietly. “We care a lot.”
Brooke glances around like she’s calculating escape routes. Hazel and I shift slightly, closing ranks. We’re not physically blocking her, but we’re making it clear that running isn’t going to solve her problems.
“So,” Brooke finally says, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t my decision. I didn’t want to do it, okay? Someone paid me. I needed the money.”
The air between us goes electric. That’s new.
“Who?” Hazel demands.
Brooke shakes her head frantically. “He told me to spike the drink because Seth’s the star of the rodeo. Said if Seth got bad publicity, the town would lose the circuit after this year. I don’t know why he wanted that—I didn’t ask questions. I just needed the cash.”
My mind is racing. Someone who wanted the rodeo to fail in Honeyspur Meadow paid her.
“Who paid you?” I press.
Brooke’s eyes dart between us. “If I tell you, you give me back the cup. And you let me go.”
“Depends on the name.”
“Fuck.” She drags a hand through her hair, looking like she might cry.
“If I get caught later, he’s going to deny everything.
He’ll hang me out to dry. But I’ll tell you if you promise to give me the cup and not turn me in right now.
If you catch him with actual evidence, I’ll confess that he made me do it.
I’ll testify or whatever. Just… not like this. Not with nothing to protect me.”
Hazel and I exchange a look. It’s a risk, letting her go without concrete assurance that she’ll follow through. But right now, the bigger fish is whoever orchestrated this in the first place.
“We need your phone number,” Hazel says. “And your address.”
Brooke hesitates.
“We need some guarantee before we decide not to report you,” I add. “Insurance. You understand.”
“Fuck me.” She laughs bitterly, a hollow sound. “Everything’s gone to shit since I came to this crappy town. Fine. Fine.”
She rattles off a phone number and an address. Hazel types it into her phone, then sends a quick text. A moment later, Brooke’s pocket buzzes.
“Check it,” Hazel says. “Show me the text.”
Brooke pulls out her phone and turns the screen toward us. The message is there—Hazel’s number, a simple “Hi.”
“Okay,” I say. “Now tell us who paid you.”
Brooke takes a shaky breath. “Some guy called Holden Pierce.”
The world tilts.
Holden. Who works in the committee with Pete as the financial director.
The same guy I saw yesterday, talking with Seth’s father about the rodeo’s poor performance.
Who got defensive when I pointed out that the town was fully booked with visitors and who is supposed to be managing the finances for the committee that works with the rodeo circuit. What the hell is he doing?
“You’re sure?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Holden? That’s the name he gave you?”
“Yeah. Skinny guy, kind of nervous-looking? Said he worked for the town. Paid me half up front, promised the other half after the rodeo.” She laughs again, that same bitter sound. “Guess I’m not seeing that money now, huh?”
“Probably not,” Hazel agrees.
“Are you going to give me the cup or what?”
I nod at Hazel. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the plastic-wrapped cup, holding it out to Brooke.
“Holden still owes me five hundred dollars,” Brooke mutters, snatching it from Hazel’s hand.
“But I guess staying out of prison is worth more than that.” She gives us both one last wary look.
“If you find real evidence and need me to back you up, you have my number. But I’m not sticking around this town for another second. ”
She turns and disappears into the crowd, moving fast, shoulders hunched like she’s afraid we might change our minds.
I watch her go, my thoughts spinning in a dozen directions at once.
“Holden,” I say slowly. “He’s the financial director at the town committee that overlooks all events.”
“Okay…”
I tell her what I saw and heard yesterday.
“So why would he be trying to sabotage the rodeo on purpose. Pete is working so hard to keep the rodeo in our town. And I think there’s something a lot bigger going on here than one girl spiking one drink.
” I stare out across the arena, at the crowds gathering for day two of the rodeo, at the massive banners featuring Seth and Carter and Kai.
“And I think Seth was just collateral damage. A way to create scandal, drive down attendance, give Holden a cover story for why the numbers don’t add up. Except, I have no idea why.”
“Maybe the next town over paid him?”
I shrug. “Something I’ll tell the guys and see if they know anything else.”
Hazel loops her arm through mine, squeezing tight. “For now, let’s go and enjoy the shows.”
And together, we walk back into the arena to watch the rodeo, and I can’t get it out of my head as to why Holden would orchestrate this, seeing as he’s been living in Honeyspur Meadow most of his life.