Under the Bright Lights
By noon Avalon was unnaturally bright, as if the sun had decided to interrogate the island. People clustered around the plaza—on the steps by the fountain, beneath the palms, outside Bluewater—faces drawn tight with expectation. Word had spread.
The mainland detectives weren’t getting the answers they wanted.
Vega and Hale moved through the square like they owned the ground. They weren’t impressed with Avalon’s charm. They’d come to excavate the truth even if bones needed to be dug up.
“We have a list of those who were at both the beachandthe airport party,” Hale announced. “We’ll call your names one by one.”
“You’ll run out of daylight,” Tosh said with a smirk.
Vega didn’t blink. “We like a challenge. Since you’re chatty, you can go first.”
Tosh’s smile—weaponized in most social settings—barely scraped their armor.
Cass leaned toward Harmony at the edge of the crowd. “I hate this,” she whispered. “Everyone looks guilty.”
“We’re the island’s newest true-crime special,” Harmony murmured. “We just don’t have the script in hand yet.”
Mary arrived with Zach moments later, shoulders squared, jaw locked. Lily walked behind, pale but determined, the breeze tugging at her hair. Conversations dimmed when Mary stepped forward as if the grief pulled gravity with it.
Hale noted the hush, then lifted her voice. “Listen up. We’ll be conducting interviews in the council chamber. You’ll come when your name is called. Until then, don’t leave the square.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, but the people couldn’t have been paid to leave. They wanted to see the grand finale of this show that none of them had signed up for.
Tosh took a seat inside. There was a view of him through the windows, though no one could hear what was being said. Hale and Vega sat across the table, both unreadable. No one was smiling.
“Tell us about the night of the bonfire,” Vega said.
“You’ve heard it. We were drinking. She—”
“Lisa,” Hale corrected, forcing him to say her name.
“Lisa went for a walk. The next thing I knew, people were screaming.”
“How much did you have to drink that night?” Hale asked.
“Enough to be honest—not enough to forget.”
“What about Candy?” Hale pressed.
Tosh’s mouth opened too fast. “Lisa was fine that night.” He blinked, jaw tightening. “Candy. Candy was fine.”
Hale slid a photo across the table—Candy’s body on display at the airport.
Tosh turned away, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I’ve never hurt a woman.”
“But you’ve touched a lot of women,” Hale said evenly. “Lisa, Candy . . . Heidi. Did your relationship with any of them turn sour?”
He glared at the detectives. “I was never with Heidi. Yes, I was with Lisa and Candy. And many others. I didn’t want any of them dead!”
“But they all had you in common,” Hale pushed.
“Not Heidi. I barely even talked to her,” Tosh pointed out.
“Yousayyou didn’t have a relationship, but you have no proof,” Vega murmured.
“All of my friends can confirm it.”
