“Okay,” he said slowly, “the killer must be someone he knew well. Someone who could have put something in his drink without him suspecting them.”
Adi’s voice hardened. “And who do we think that could be?”
As the smell of strong coffee filled the room, Beck traded grim looks with his teammates.
“Ranielle,” said Sierra.
“Ranielle,” Adi agreed.
Carter got some creamer out of the fridge and started filling mugs. “So do we still think Louis killed Alicia? Or did Ranielle kill Alicia, and she’s trying to frame him for it?”
“Yes, that,” Sierra said, without hesitation. “It makes perfect sense. He was having an affair, so she killed Alicia and convinced Louis to provide an alibi. But when he started to feel guilty about lying, he came up with a plan to start putting clues into the game, hoping Ranielle would come clean on her own before he told everyone the truth. We thought Ranielle had given the fake alibi, but it was the other way around. Maybe he was even planning to tell Carter the truth, but Ranielle found out about their meeting, so she went to meet with him first, and . . . well. You know.”
“Wow,” whispered Beck. “That’s . . . That’s really good detective work, Sierra.”
“Oh, thank god,” Carter said, placing a hand over her heart and wilting against the island. “Maybe you’re right. It really was an interview he wanted. Not . . . you know . . .”
Adi gave a suspicious grunt. “I wouldn’t write off that possibility yet.” She shot him a perturbed look as he grimaced. “I was thinking about it last night, and what if Louis was the one who spiked your drink at the party?”
“Shit,” Sierra said. “You could be right.”
Carter groaned and leaned over the counter, burying her face into her elbows.
“Sorry,” Adi muttered. “But he’s dead now. So, there’s that.”
She groaned again, louder this time.
“If we’re right,” said Beck, “Ranielle might have killed him and leftminutesbefore we arrived.”
There was a sharp knock at the door. Beck and Sierra looked at each other.
The knock came again.
“All right, all right,” Sierra said, slipping off the stool.
She opened the door and cursed.
“Good morning to you, too,” said Ranielle Russell, stepping inside. She was impeccably dressed and glossy as always, her yellow suit a blinding beacon.
A stocky Hispanic man followed her, along with a Black woman in a gray power suit.
“Detective Lopez wants to ask the four of you some questions,” Ranielle said, gesturing to the man. “My lawyer is here to represent you. I’ve spoken with your parents, and they’ve already given their consent to this interview.”
All business, Beck noticed, his insides turning at the sight of her. Hardly a grieving widow.
He, Sierra, Carter, and Adi shuffled to one of the sofas, sitting shoulder to shoulder while the detective, Ranielle, and her lawyer stood opposite them.
“Um,” said Carter. “Does anyone want coffee?”
“No thank you,” said Detective Lopez. He took out his phone. “Mind if I record this?” They murmured their consent, and he continued. “Ms. Angelos, I listened to the 911 call you made. It must’ve been a horrific experience.” He was good at arranging his features into a caring and sympathetic expression.
“Yeah, well, horrific experiences are sort of my thing,” said Sierra, arms crossed as she slumped dolefully into the cushions. How easily she could step back into the role of the sullen, hostile villain. Beck hadn’t even realized the transformation was underway until it was complete. Though maybe not quite as effective without her usual makeup.
The detective turned to Carter. “Your statement says that you and Louis had scheduled a meeting. Can you elaborate?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” Carter said weakly, glancing at Ranielle. “I asked if I could interview him. For my channel.”
“We’ve seen the texts.” The detective made a show of flipping through a notebook from his breast pocket. “You’d requested an interview with him previously?”
