“Investigating Cheryl’s death, obviously,” Blake mumbled, arms crossed over his chest.
“Do they think someone killed her?” Scarlette whispered, eyes wide.
Derek’s face paled as he glanced up from his phone, leg bouncing under the table.
“Maybe they’re just trying to be thorough,” I said, trying to ease the tension building around the table. “Her dad is kind of a big deal. They might not want to leave him anything to complain about, so they’re making sure no stone goes unturned.”
“That’s a good point. I know she wasn’t easy to get along with, but I don’t think any of us wanted her dead,” Michelle said.
“You don’t thinkthey’d shut us down, do you?” Derek asked, eyes wild.
Silence was the only answer he received.
“God damnit!” he yelled as his fist slammed into the table, making me jump.
He glanced at me, features softening a little when he saw me, wide-eyed and anxious.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “This was my last chance. Sophie said if this audition didn’t work, she and the kids would move back to Los Angeles. I can’t be here when my kids are on the other side of the country. If they shut us down. This is over.”
I looked down at the table, and my stomach churned as I remembered the fight I’d overheard between Cheryl, Warren, and Derek. As much as I hated to be the cynic, I knew people did horrible things when they were backed into a corner the way Cheryl had done to them.
Silence resonated in the studio as the detective stepped into the room. His suit was wrinkled, and he looked like he’d needed six cups of coffee to get here this morning.
“Miss Reyes?” he called into the room, glancing down at his notepad.
I took a deep breath, knees wobbling a little as I followed him. I hadn’t been in the practice room since we’d watched Michelle and the rest of the EMS workers try to save Cheryl. Someone had added a table and chairs for questioning, which made it a tight squeeze in the small room.
“Miss Reyes, I’m Detective Montoya and this is Detective Boyle,” he said, pointing toward the woman in a gray pantsuit with her dark hair slicked back from her face in a bun. “We’re just asking everyone a few more questions about what happened last week.”
He pulled out the chair opposite Detective Boyle and gestured for me to sit.
I lowered myself onto the cool metal, nodding. “What do you think happened?” I couldn’t help but ask.
Detective Boyle rolled her lips into a thin line. “We’ll ask the questions for now,” she said. “Tell us what you can about the day Cheryl died.”
I took a shaky breath and told them everything I could remember. I recalled Scarlette’s terrified scream and the tears that poured down her cheeks while Michelle tried to revive Cheryl. The missing Epi-pen. Searching everywhere for it and feeling utterly helpless when we couldn’t find it.
“And you were aware of her allergy?” Detective Montoya asked.
My head bobbed up and down. “I would say the entire cast and most of the crew knew about it. She made a huge scene during our first table read when Ed’s assistant got muffins that had walnuts in them.”
“Alright. Tell me about your relationship with Cheryl.”
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “Um. We were coworkers. There’s not much to tell. We never hung out or talked outside of rehearsals.”
“Did you two get along?” Detective Montoya asked.
“About as well as anyone got along with her.”
“Meaning?” Detective Boyle glanced up from her notebook, quirking an eyebrow at me.
Abuelitawould have told me to never speak ill of the dead, but I didn’t think I had much of a choice.
“I’m going to be honest; she wasn’t an easy person to get along with. She was...” I searched for a word that wasn’tbitchy. “Prickly. If you made a mistake or got on her bad side, you’d better be prepared to feel her thorns.”
“Would you say you were on her bad side, Miss Reyes?” Detective Boyle asked.
I shook my head. “No. I wouldn’t say that. Our relationship was relatively professional.”
