Amelia Keery’s eyes widened in surprise, and she quickly minimized whatever had been on her screen with a click of her mouse.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She straightened hastily in her chair. “I thought you were Billy. How can I help you?”
She rose from her chair after wiping her palms on her jeans. As she approached the counter, her gaze fell to Kinsley’s badge, then to Toby standing just behind her, and a flicker of resignation crossed her features, tightening the corners of her mouth in a way that suggested she’d been half-expecting this visit without consciously admitting it to herself.
“Amelia Keery?” Kinsley asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Yes.” Amelia’s voice had a slight rasp to it, as though she’d spent years raising it over the noise of machinery and hadn’t fully recovered. More likely, she was a smoker. “That’s me.”
Fine lines framed Amelia’s eyes and mouth, though she was aging gracefully. Her skin had a smoothness that spoke to either good genetics or an expensive skincare routine, and Kinsley caught herself thinking she should ask for the brand name, given that she probably had more wrinkles than the woman standing in front of her, despite being over a decade younger. Even the backs of Amelia’s hands were smooth, and on one of them, Kinsley noticed a modest engagement ring, its small diamond catching the overhead light. Engaged three times, never married. The ring was either a souvenir from one of the previous attempts or evidence of a current fourth.
“I’m Detective Kinsley Aspen, and this is Officer Toby Drewett.” Kinsley gestured toward Toby, who nodded politely. “We’re hoping you might have a few minutes to talk about Iris Bell.”
“I heard the police reopened the investigation into her death.”
“News travels fast in Fallbrook,” Kinsley commented, keeping her tone neutral.
“Always has.” Amelia crossed her arms loosely over her chest. The posture wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. It was the stance of someone who intended to cooperate just enough to avoid trouble and not a syllable more. “I told the police everything I knew thirty years ago. I’m not sure what else I could possibly add now.”
“Sometimes details that didn’t seem relevant at the time take on new significance with distance,” Kinsley said, leaning slightly against the counter. “Or with new evidence.”
“What kind of new evidence?”
Amelia’s gaze flicked between them, assessing their expressions and postures with the quick, evaluative intelligence of someone accustomed to reading people across a counter. She genuinely didn’t seem to know what had been discovered at the old Bell mansion, which told Kinsley that whoever had been spreading the news through Fallbrook’s gossip network hadn’t shared the specifics, only the headline.
“Twenty-seven cassette tapes hidden in the attic,” Kinsley said, monitoring Amelia’s face carefully as the words landed. “And ten thousand dollars in cash behind a false wall in one of the bedrooms.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“We both know that isn’t true.” Kinsley’s tone hardened by a degree, just enough to signal that the conversational portion of this interview was over. “You failed to mention to the detective in charge thirty years ago that Iris was blackmailing people, anyone she could find leverage on. You were her best friend, Amelia, and I have a taped conversation that proves you were aware of exactly what she was doing.”
Amelia’s cheeks flushed, a pale pink that spread across her face and down her neck. She glanced toward the front doorbehind them, and Kinsley couldn’t tell if the look was a reflex toward escape or simply a search for support that wasn’t there. When she turned back, her hand had drifted unconsciously to her engagement ring, twisting it in tight, nervous circles.
“Thirty years is a long time,” Amelia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What difference does any of this make now? Grant Tatlock killed Iris, and he died in prison.”
“Look, Ms. Keery, I can only imagine how hard it was to lose your best friend,” Kinsley offered, and her tone was genuinely sympathetic. She meant it. Losing someone at that age, when the future still felt infinite and untouchable, could reshape the entire trajectory of a life. “Especially at that age, when your whole life was still ahead of you both. But there is a real possibility that?—”
A dry laugh escaped Amelia’s lips, bitter and sharp. She rested both hands on the counter and met Kinsley’s gaze with an honesty that hadn’t been present a moment ago.
“I always thought that, too. That losing Iris was the worst thing that could happen to me.” Amelia shook her head slowly. “But as time went on, it was a relief. How sad is that?”
Toby’s pen paused over his notebook. Even he seemed caught off guard by the honesty of the admission.
“A relief?” Kinsley repeated, not out of judgment but because she wanted Amelia to hear her own word spoken back to her and decide whether to expand on it or retreat.
“I didn’t realize until my twenties just how much of a hold she had on me. How much energy I spent trying to please her, to be worthy of her friendship, to stay on her good side so she wouldn’t turn on me the way she turned on everyone else.” Amelia shifted her weight and rested her left arm on the counter, her posture loosening as the truth began to flow more easily. “Iris wasn’t nice. She was cunning and manipulative. She wanted out of Fallbrook, and she didn’t care how that happened or who got hurt along the way.”
“Did she blackmail you, too?” Kinsley asked directly, maintaining her softer approach now that Amelia had begun to open up.
“Of course she did.” Amelia twisted her ring again, her apprehension evident in the repetitive motion. “I had a shoplifting phase when I was fifteen. Nothing major, just some makeup from the drugstore, a pair of earrings from the mall in Bismarck. I know it sounds silly when my parents would have bought me anything I wanted, but the thrill of doing something without getting caught was a rush.”
The desk phone behind Amelia rang, its shrill tone cutting through the office. She didn’t move to pick up the receiver. Instead, she waved a hand in dismissal, and after several rings the call was redirected to voicemail.
“Iris was with me one time, and that was my mistake. She recorded the whole conversation afterward, me bragging about what I’d stolen, how I’d done it, how easy it was. You get the picture.” Amelia’s jaw tightened briefly. “My parents would have been devastated if they’d found out. My father was so proud of his reputation in this town. Still is.”
“What did Iris want from you in return?” Kinsley asked, studying Amelia’s face for the micro expressions that often told a different story than the words.
“That’s the strangest part.” Amelia looked up, meeting Kinsley’s gaze directly. “She never wanted money or items from me. Not like with the others.”
