“It’ll be going for a while yet, I suspect. You’ll feel better after you talk to him.”
Sandy looked to Cam.
He kissed her cheek. “Go. We’re fine here.”
Not knowing where else to look, she headed for The Babylon. Louis would probably be there. If she could find him, he could find Trey. Probably. As she passed the fountain, a man fell into step beside her. She tensed. Was he a reporter? Someone connected to Waylan? Someone after Waylan?
“Mrs. Peyton.”
Sandy stopped dead to get a better look at him and recognized the broad shoulders and big barrel chest. “You. You were at Tosca last night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re Trey’s detective,” she realized.
He inclined his head.
So, Trey had still been protecting her, even when he wasn’t with her. And she was surprised to realize she wasn’t annoyed by that. She was…warmed by the idea.
“Before you go find him, there’s something you should see.” He pressed something into her hand.
Sandy stared at the jump drive. What was on here? Whatever dirt he’d managed to dig up on Waylan? “I don’t understand.” But when she lifted her head, the detective wasn’t standing there.
She turned a quick circle, but he was just…gone.
“What the hell?”
“Sandy!” Adele hurried over. “You okay, sugar?”
She curled her f
ingers around the drive in her hand. “I have a feeling I could use some moral support. Will you come to my office with me?”
“Of course.”
In silence, they climbed to the second floor of City Hall. The lights were still on from where the boys had dressed earlier for the wedding. Garment bags and other wedding detritus were scattered everywhere. Sandy picked her way through it and circled around her desk to plug in the flash drive.
Adele crowded beside her. “What’s that?”
“We’re about to find out.”
Inside the single folder was a lone video file. Surveillance footage? She clicked play.
It wasn’t surveillance. It wasn’t anything to do with Waylan at all. The screen filled with a garish, neoclassical chapel. Faint strains of “Love Me Tender” spilled out from the speakers as the camera panned toward the front, where Trey stood beside…Elvis, in a gold lame sport jacket, strumming a guitar and crooning out of tune.
“Holy shit. Is this…?”
“My wedding.”
Adele leaned closer to the screen. “Where are you?”
“In the back, I guess.”
As they watched, Elvis finished his song. Trey’s lips twitched with amusement, as he clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Hey, do you mind if I play her down the aisle myself?”
“Whatever floats your boat, brother.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Trey deadpanned, and made Elvis grin. The camera followed as he slipped behind the white piano set to one side. His fingers stroked over the keys, coaxing out the familiar notes of “Moon River”. Sandy’s heart squeezed. He’d played her favorite song. Adele wrapped an arm around her shoulders.