Present Day
The following morning my publicist called. By the lackluster tone in her voice, I could tell she hadn’t been successful in getting me what I wanted. “I tried to get Roland Sinclair’s cell phone number for you,” she said, “but I can’t.”
“What do you mean can’t?” I asked. “Sure you can. Call his publicist.”
“I did. He said Roland is very private. He doesn’t give his personal information out to anyone.”
“I’m not anyone. Did you tell him who I am?”
“I did.”
“And they know I’m the one who’s asking?”
“They know, Joss. I even left a message. They’re supposed to give it to him.”
“Mr. Sinclair lives in a small town in Colorado. If I can’t get him on the phone, how am I supposed to talk to him about Alexandra Weston?”
“I may have found another way. I messaged him through his website and received a reply from his PA. She wouldn’t give me her number, but she did tell me he isn’t in town at the moment. I asked her if he knew about Alexandra Weston’s death. She said he did.”
“Did she say where he was going?”
“She only said the trip was unexpected. Last minute.”
His sudden flight out gave me a glimmer of hope.
Alexandra’s funeral was taking place in the next few hours.