Beck could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Was ityou?”
Elijah’s dreamy expression clouded. “That killed her? Aren’t you listening to what I—”
“No, not that,” Beck interrupted. “There are rumors that she was seeing somebody on the set. Was it you?”
Elijah’s nostrils flared, his quiet melancholy immediately over-shadowed with irritation. “Did Sierra tell you that? You should know she’s a compulsive liar, and she’s been trying to convince people of her innocence since day one. It would be convenient for her if there was somesecret beau, but I’ve seen no proof of it.”
“Okay,” said Beck. “But if she was dating someone, that would be important. That person would be a suspect.”
“She wasn’t seeing anyone!” Elijah stood. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was unprofessional.”
“Don’t you want to know what happened to her?” Beck said.
“I do know what happened to her.” Elijah swung the gate open and stood next to it, tension radiating off him. “Sierra and Alicia were fighting hours before Alicia wound up dead. Sierra has anger management issues and paints disturbing images of people suffering and dying. Of all the suspects, she’s the one whose whereabouts weren’t accounted for that night.” His eyes burned into Beck. “It isn’t hard to figure out.”
Beck knew it wasn’t Sierra. He believed her, body and soul. There was grief in her, and kindness. He’d seen past the crack in her facade.
Sierra had not killed her sister.
But Beck was almost certain that Elijah was hiding something.
29
Sierra
Sierra let the villa’s back door close softly. She could hear Beckoutside the gate, distracting Elijah.
It was a bold move, she’d give him that.
Alicia’s old villa was a mirror-image layout to the one Sierra’s team shared on the other side of the pool: a central living area with an open kitchen and two bedroom suites on opposite sides of a short hallway. This villa smelled better though, like someone burned a lot of scented candles.
She hurried past the bedrooms into the living area. There was a reproduction Van Gogh on the wall—not as famous asStarry Nightbut one of Sierra’s favorites, with its vibrant Parisian setting, the warm yellows and oranges beneath a star-dusted sky.
She’d always admired Van Gogh. Not just because he was a visionary in a world of critics, but because she found something appealing about a person being dedicated enough to cut off their own ear.
A MacBook was sitting open on the kitchen island, along with a mess of papers and a spiral-bound notebook. Sierra scanned the windows, making sure no one could see her as she slipped past.
But then she froze.
Tiptoed back.
The computer screen was open to the Domain, showing the forum started by the Real Game Master.
Scribbles filled the notebook. Elijah’s penmanship was normally neat, but the first page was a mess, most of the letters scratched out. Sierra realized he’d been trying to solve the ribbon clue—the one Adi had figured out.
Sierra shuffled some papers to the side, seeing lists of names, times, notes about Elijah’s memories from the night, interspersed with question marks and exclamation points.
A handwritten note in red ink caught Sierra’s eye. She bent closer.
4a.m.—door slamming. Car pulling out of driveway. Why no headlights?
Wait. Elijah hadn’t said anything about the mystery car having no headlights.
She puzzled through the timing. The argument around nine. Alicia’s phone turning off around ten thirty, a mile away from the complex. Alicia murdered after one in the morning. A mysterious car pulling out of the driveway hours later.
Growling in frustration, she turned the page and her breath left her. She was staring at a photo of her sister. It was a little grainy, like it had been taken from far away and blown up. Alicia was caught mid-laugh, her eyes squinting in delight. She was wearing a yellow swimsuit, a hint of the pool visible in the background.
Beneath the picture, Elijah had written a haiku in his same tidy, precise letters:
