He almost smiled. They always tried.
“I’m Beth,” she said, voice smooth as glass. “What’s this about?”
Rick’s tone stayed professional, carrying that practiced cadence of interrogation: calm, direct, each word designed to narrow the field. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. You mind if we talk here?”
Her chin angled, defensive tilt below the polish. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
Ash leaned an elbow against the front desk, letting casual ease seep into his bones. His mouth curled, not quite a smile,more suggestion than substance. “Beth,” he said, rolling the name like a coin. His voice dropped soft, coaxing. “We just want to talk. Won’t take long.”
Her focus flicked to him again, the resistance cracking. Shoulders loosened. Something in her spine uncoiled, a ribbon slipping its knot. She hesitated only a breath, then gave the smallest shrug. “Fine. Follow me.”
Beth led them past the main hall into a side room, her heels clipping with a precision that dared them to keep up. The space opened into what seemed like a private office repurposed as part-showroom: a heavy desk sat under a chandelier that dripped glass pendants, light scattering in fractured gleams across the pale walls. A leafy plant sulked in one corner, glossy leaves catching dust, while black-and-white photographs lined the wall, angular portraits of strangers, their stares hard as mirrors.
Nice setup,Ash thought, drifting behind and letting his gaze wander.Everything posed, nothing lived in. Even the plant’s given up the ghost.
Rick stood near the center, his frame anchored, notebook already in hand, the stub of a pencil pinched ready between his fingers. “We talked to Griffin Shaw last night. He told us he was with you at the Green Fairy on the twenty-eighth of September. Is that correct?”
Beth folded her arms opposite him, her pearls catching stray flecks of light. “I don’t remember the exact date. But yes, we were there about a month ago.”
Ash brushed a finger along the back of a chair, leaned to peer at a framed print of a girl with sad eyes, and circled lazily toward the desk. He was aware of Beth’s stare tracking him the whole time.You can’t put me on display, sweetheart, he thought.I’m not one of your precious portraits.
“You confirm his statement, then?” Rick’s eyes locked on hers, immovable.
“I suppose,” she said, irritation sharpening the polish of her voice.
Ash dropped into the seat behind the desk, letting it spin half a turn left, right, left again. He tilted his head, let his voice soften. “We need more than ‘suppose,’ Beth. This is important.”
Her shoulders eased, her breath caught in the small pause before her words. “Fine. Yes. Griffin went there with me. I wanted to keep an eye on my ex.” Her lip twitched. “He’d just left me. I had to know if it was for someone else.”
“Of course you did,” Ash murmured, giving it another lazy spin.
Rick’s glance cut sharp as a paper edge toward him before returning to Beth. His pencil scratched across the page, a steady rhythm. “What’s his name?”
“Declan.” The word came bitter, bitten off. “Big shot at theGazette. Bastard thinks he can treat people like trash because he’s got a byline.”
Rick’s head lifted, sudden, a break in the rhythm. “DeclanFrost?”
Ash caught the flicker across Rick’s face, a jolt quickly buried, smoothed into that granite cop mask. Whoever Frost was, the name carried weight.
Beth’s whole posture shifted. Irritation melted into something almost gleeful, conspiratorial. She leaned in a fraction, lips curling. “The same. Sweet talker, that one. Could weave poetry out of thin air. Then once he got what he wanted—poof. Gone quicker than a rat up a drainpipe. God, I feel like such a fool now. But I’m not the only one. Man leaves a trail.”
Ash swung around again, knees spread, arms draped loose over the rests. Beth’s confession rang familiar: smooth talk, sharp teeth, a string of broken hearts. Change the names,change the faces—it could be his rap sheet she was reciting. He wondered how many of his own past conquests might say the same about him. They’d have every right, just as Beth did. Even if he always told himself he had reasons. Maybe Declan had his, too.
Rick reached into his coat and drew out a slim file, worn from travel. From it, he produced Elliot Price’s smiling face, glossy under the chandelier’s fractured light. He held it steady for Beth. “Was this the fellow he was with?”
Beth leaned forward, studying the photo. Her mouth pulled into a doubtful frown before settling. “I think so. I didn’t stare too long—I was just relieved it wasn’t another woman. But yes… I’d say so.”
Rick returned the photo to its folder, tucked it clean into his coat again. “Anything else you remember from that night? Who else you saw, times, details?”
She shook her head, a little impatient now that her story had been spilled. “Not really. Declan came in with that guy, Griffin and I slipped out before he could spot us. That’s all.”
Ash let the chair spin slow under him, one lazy half-turn, before he pushed himself up. The black-and-white faces stared down from the walls, hollow-eyed witnesses to Beth’s bitterness. Perfume and poison hung in the air, impossible to separate. He couldn’t wait to get out.
Rick shut the notebook with a soft snap, pencil clipped across the spine. “That’ll do for now.”
Beth’s lips curved, a bitter little smile meant for no one in particular. “Do me a favor—nail that bastard to the wall.”
When they finally stepped out of the gallery, the street hit them with its usual clamor: horns blaring, tires hissing over asphalt, snatches of conversation tangled with the growl of a passing bus. Pedestrians threaded by in a hurry, shoulders hunched, collars turned up, eyes fixed on their own destinations.Exhaust hung low in the air, a gray haze caught between the buildings. Ash tugged on his gloves, leather creaking, and shot Rick a sideways glance.
