Hale’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like that answer.
Harmony stepped forward slightly, not enough to draw attention, just enough to feel the tension. Vega’s gaze snapped to her.
“And you?” Vega asked.
Harmony held his stare. “I write novels.”
“Crime books,” Vega said, again, not a question. He’d done his research. “Nice coincidence.”
Cass bristled beside her. “Harmony couldn’t kill anyone!”
Vega didn’t look at Cass. “Everyone’s innocent . . . until they’re not.”
Harmony tilted her head with a smile. “Seems you have a bit of a writer in you as well.”
“Nope, not at all,” Vega said. “I deal in facts, not fiction.”
Though it was clearly supposed to come across as an insult, Harmony was still smiling. She liked the guy even if he was hoping to cart one of them away. He didn’t appear to know what to think about her.
Hale strode over to Torie, who averted her eyes to the tarmac, her body tensing as attention landed on her.
“You were the last person to see the victim alive,” Hale said.
Torie’s throat bobbed. “I tried to stop her from leaving.”
Vega circled behind her, slow, deliberate, invasive. “Then why did witnesses say you two were fighting a hell of a lot?”
“We did fight, but we had a truce last night,” Torie insisted.
“People say you’ve said that a lot,” Hale said. “But it appears you have no way to prove that.”
Torie lost what little color she had left.
The coroner approached as Hale turned. Torie barely stayed upright. Mary helped before she could fall.
“Preliminary assessment suggests post-mortem staging consistent with the previous two.”
“Consistent how?” Vega asked.
Vega turned back to the group without a word. He looked at each one as if they were all guilty. Harmony was sure it would give him immense pleasure to take them all away in cuffs.
“The body was cleaned, draped, and arranged like an art project.”
Vega shook his head in disgust. “Our killer isn’t panicking. They’re growing bolder and more confident. This is the cleanest scene yet.”
Harmony’s stomach tightened—not in fear, but in recognition. This was an artist’s work, and something was off. Did any of the people she calledfriendhave it in them to carry it out? Were they that talented? Were they artists?
Hale addressed the crowd. “You will each give formal statements at the station over the next forty-eight hours. No one leaves the island. Phones remain on twenty-four-seven. If we have to chase you, I promise it won’t be pleasant.”
Tosh snorted softly. Hale snapped her attention toward him.
“Do you find something amusing?”
Tosh’s expression didn’t change. “We’ve been told this repeatedly. But, no, I don’t find anything about this funny.”
Hale stepped closer to him. “You were personally involved with the victim, withtwoof the victims.”
“Yes. Sometimes. Not last night.”
