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  Once inside, I’m required to turn in my cell phone and any other personal and potentially dangerous belongings before being escorted to the interrogation room. I’m surprised they didn’t make me turn over my shoes. These heels could cause some serious damage if so intended, though I’m not going to point that out to them. These are Louboutins. They’d have to take them kicking and screaming. I already lost one pair of shoes for these bitches, I’m not going to lose another.

  I know – or, well, I assume – working in a precinct probably isn’t the most upbeat and joyous profession, but, damn. These people need to lighten up. A smile can go a long way, ya know? It’s not like I’m the killer, so what do they have against me? The cop – Detective Morrison? Morgan? Max? I don’t remember his name, but at the very least he seems nice.

  I’m sitting in this cold, tiny square room for what feels like hours. The walls are bleak and gray. I thought there’d be a two-way mirror in here at the very least so I could make sure I appear normal, but no such luck. A woman popped in a few minutes ago asking if I would like a glass – no, sorry, a Dixie cup – of water and I gratefully accepted. What I didn’t take into consideration is the fact that I now have to pee.

  Am I allowed to go pee? Where is the bathroom? Can I contact someone? There’s no phone in here so I can’t even call the front desk or anything. I hope someone gets here soon before I succumb to peeing in this cup they gave me.

  Just as I think it, the door opens and Detective M-something walks in with his partner. A quick glance to his badge provides me with his name: Morgan. Detective Morgan. So I was right.

  “Hello, Mrs. Sinclair. You remember my partner, Detective Stone?” We met briefly at the house. If I wasn’t in a police station, and if I didn’t have the utmost respect for our servicemen I might make a snarky comment about the fact that his name is literally Stone. How apropos is that considering the many hard lines covering his old, tired face?

  I’m sure it’s not every day these cops get handed a murder investigation but hey, what do I know? Regardless, both of them already look exhausted with the amount of work they have to do.

  “Hi.” I sound meek and mousy even to my own ears; my naturally loud and bubbly voice comes out like a high-pitched squeak. How would you react in a room with the two cops you just witnessed arresting one of your best friends? The wrong friend, mind you. It’s an intimidating situation.

  “Is there anything I can get you before we proceed? Some coffee, maybe?” Detective Morgan’s face is tired and hard. It is evident he’s been doing his job for several years. Despite this fact, his green eyes remain kind behind his stony façade. I feel calm in his presence, like I can trust him.

  I clear my throat to prevent the shrill lilt of my voice from presenting itself once more. “Actually, yes, can I, um, use the bathroom first?” I’m looking down at the wood table in front of me as if I’m embarrassed to ask to use the bathroom. Everybody has to pee so I don’t know why I’m discomfited at the thought.

  “Of course, I’ll show you where to go.” I follow Detective Morgan down a long, bare hallway to a women’s restroom. There’s another Detective or Officer or something standing outside the restroom as well. For a minute, I’m afraid Morgan will follow me in but he stands beside the other man. Must be protocol or something.

  Entering the bathroom, I see another woman about my age with brown hair at the sink washing her hands obsessively. A rush of excitement overcomes me with the possibility that I could be getting a moment alone with Kennedy. Unfortunately, the similarities between this lady and Kennedy stop with the chestnut brown hair.

  Her clothes are ratty and skimpy, despite the chilly night air. They are completely tattered and torn in several places. Her make-up is dark and heavy; her hair is disheveled and frizzy. It makes me wonder why she’s here and what kind of life she’s led.

  I attempt to ignore her, heading to the nearest open stall but she’s eying me up as I walk in her general direction. “What’re you in for?” Her Boston accent is strong and her disdain as she stares at me is even stronger.

  “I’m not in for anything.” I don’t want to waste my time talking to this woman when my bladder is seconds away from exploding.

  She eyes me up and down once more. She smirks, showing rows of rotted, dirty teeth. “Your husband beat ya or somethin’?”

  Did she seriously just ask me that? I turn around, attempting to ignore her but my temper gets the best of me. I spin back around to face her, a sneer fully formed on my lips. “No, actually, my best friend murdered someone.” With that, I slam the stall door in her face, but not before I see the shock of my statement take her down a notch.

  I realize what I just said. And that I probably shouldn’t have yelled it so loud with Morgan standing right outside the door. Oh well, I’ll have time to set him straight.

  Chapter 10

  I’m back in my square box of a room and I’m nervous for what comes next. I’ve seen my fair share of cop shows, but it’s a lot more daunting when you’re the one in the hot seat.

  Detective Morgan has been friendly for which I’m grateful. I don’t know if this is a good cop, bad cop situation or what because Detective Stone has been less than jovial.

  “We already have everything we need to complete this case, but we still need you to confirm the details.” Detective Stone’s raspy voice booms through the concrete room. He’s eying me with a stern expression, narrowed eyes and pinched brows. His lips are pursed as he studies me, his eyes never leaving me, and therefore seemingly burning a hole in the side of my face. I get the definite impression he thrives off of intimidating people

  “Stone.” Detective Morgan scolds his partner, and I relax somewhat. Stone, on the other hand, looks like he’s swallowed a frog; his face is reddening more by the second and the veins in his forehead are protruding. He’s holding back his anger, and I don’t know if I’m scared for my life or Morgan’s. “Mrs. Sinclair, I’m sure you want to help us solve this crime, so we’d greatly appreciate your cooperation on this matter.”

  “Yes, of course.” I’m incredibly eager to straighten out this entire nightmare and get the real killer behind bars.

  “How did you know Taylor Bellemore?” Detective Morgan asks, his kind eyes meeting mine.

  “Kennedy introduced me to Sage a few years ago. Shortly after that, we all started getting together with our husbands. That’s how I met Taylor.” I know I’m obviously here for questioning, but I didn’t know they’d jump right into questions about Taylor.

  “Can you name everyone you’re referring to when you say ‘we all’?” Morgan asks me. I guess Stone is taking the backseat in the interrogation now. Thank God.

  “Yes, um... Myself and my husband, Parker Sinclair, Logan and Kennedy Sinclair, Sage and Taylor Bellemore, and Grayson and Alexia Kinsley.” I list off my friends and it feels awkward, like I’m ticking them off on my fingers and simultaneously putting a target on their backs.

  “So you met Mr. and Mrs. Bellemore through Kennedy Sinclair, is that correct?” Inquisitions are irritating. I literally just answered this question. It takes all of my effort to not outwardly roll my eyes.

  “Essentially, yes. Without Kennedy introducing me to Sage, I wouldn’t have met Taylor. So I met them through Kennedy.” I tell him, forcing my voice to remain steady.

  “For clarification, is Mrs. Sinclair your sister?” Stone speaks up now, his demeanor calmer than it was minutes ago.

  “Not biologically. Our husbands are brothers, so Kennedy is my sister-in-law.”

  “And did Mrs. Sinclair also introduce you to Mrs. Kinsley?” Morgan is leading the questioning once more.

  “No. Sage introduced us.” It’s weird calling my friends by their first names when the detectives keep using only our last names.

  “When did Sage introduce you to Mrs. Kinsley?”

  “It was the same night I first met Taylor. We all gathered together at one of Kennedy’s dinner parties and made introductions. That was a
bout three years ago.” I’m clasping my hands together so tightly under the table my fingers are beginning to go numb.

  Detective Morgan looks over at his partner. A pointed look appears briefly but it’s gone just as quick. He raises his eyebrows and I don’t understand what conclusions they’re drawing from what I told them, but I feel the need to clarify.

  “Sage knew Grayson for years. They were friends for ages or something. All I know is Sage and Lexi had a rough start. And apparently things have always been rough for them.” I’m rambling and likely only making the situation worse. Mouth meet foot.

  The bad cop purses his lips, nodding in apparent understanding. “What do you mean they had a rough start? How would you describe the relationship between them?” Stone asks me.

  I don’t want to start talking threesomes with two detectives during questioning. It’s awkward and unimportant. Or…is it extremely important? “Mrs. Sinclair?” I took too long to reply because Detective Morgan is pushing me now. Awesome.

  Is it warm in here? I could really use another water. “I’m sorry, can I get some more water?” I’m nervous about asking for a drink, and what I’m about to tell them.

  When Stone returns with another cup of water I take a large, refreshing gulp. Then I dive in. “The story I was told was that Sage surprised Grayson at college or something. The same college Lexi attended, where they met and started dating. They were dating like, two years before Sage even met her. But Sage and Grayson were best friends so that was weird. Lexi caught Sage flirting with Grayson, and I’m still not sure how this happened but they all slept together. Then Grayson chose to be with Lexi and Sage got jealous or pissed or something. I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Uh-huh.” Morgan rubs his five o’clock shadow. His eyebrows pierce together with this information.

  “I never noticed any tension between them over the past several years. I thought Lexi was just naturally quiet, and Sage was just naturally bitchy and narcissistic. I never spent too much time with them alone over the years; only the four of us girls together, so I can’t say for sure.”

  “Okay, we’ll circle back to them. Mrs. Sinclair, where were you at the time of Taylor’s murder?” Morgan’s gaze is piercing into mine, and I’m sweating. My forehead feels hot and damp where the sweat has formed.

  “I was in my car outside of Grayson and Lexi’s beach house.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “No, Kennedy was with me.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Kinsley kill Mr. Bellemore?”

  My body jerks back in shock. It’s ironic to say, but I wasn’t prepared for that question. “No, but Lexi didn’t kill Taylor. Sage did.” Finally, I told them the truth. I’m almost euphoric, and I bite my lip to prevent myself from smiling.

  “Did you see Mrs. Bellemore kill her husband?” Stone asks me this, but he already knows the answer to this. I was in the car. I wasn’t there. Damn it.

  “Well, no, I wasn’t in the house when it happened…” I trail off, feeling like an idiot.

  Morgan clears his throat and resumes asking the questions. It appears he doesn’t like Stone’s attempt to take over. “What did you see at the scene of the crime when you arrived?”

  “Taylor’s body was on the floor…he was already dead. Um, Lexi was crying on the floor, and Sage was sitting on a couch beside the body with a gun lying next to her.” My mind takes me back to the graphic scene. I gulp and shake my head, trying to dispel the images from my memory permanently.

  “How did Mrs. Kinsley acquire the gun to kill Mr. Bellemore?” Stone interrupts again. He keeps asking the unpleasant questions, and it makes me dislike him more.

  This time I audibly sigh. They’re just not getting it. “Lexi didn’t get the gun. Sage stole it from Kennedy’s nightstand – it was Kennedy’s gun.” I feel guilty admitting this, but I’m sure they already know that tidbit.

  “Mrs. Sinclair, did you help dispose of Mr. Bellemore’s body?” Morgan’s tone of voice completely contradicts his question. His voice is soft and pleading but the words are ugly.

  I pause, knowing I’ll probably be going to prison for this. Goodbye, Parker. Still, my answer erupts from my lips. “We were forced – all of us. Sage forced us to help her. It was a freaking set-up – she blackmailed us! She said she would turn Lexi in if we didn’t help her. She said she’d implicate all of us, but it looks like she did that anyway. Lexi didn’t do this. We did help getting rid Taylor but…we didn’t want to. It was awful. She made us – Sage made us.” I’m begging them to believe me. They need to believe me.

  “Where did you dispose of Mr. Bellemore’s body?”

  “The ocean. We dumped him and the gun in the ocean.”

  “You said this was a set-up; what makes you believe that?”

  Are they dumb? I just told them why! “Because Sage told us how she was going to set us up. She’s as brilliant as she is menacing. It was all calculated. She told us she killed Taylor at Lexi’s house for this very reason – so she could frame her and that’s exactly what she’s doing.”

  “Why would she want to frame Mrs. Kinsley?”

  Shit. “Because Lexi was sleeping with Taylor.” He nods; it seems like he already knew this information, but it’s not fun to share.

  He starts asking me more questions about Lexi and Taylor’s affair and they keep trying to trick me into admitting Lexi did this. It’s not true so they can’t trap me.

  *****

  I don’t know how long I was questioned but they left a while ago. I’m just sitting in this gray room staring at the walls and going crazy. I’m afraid they forgot about me. After approximately three days in this room – yes, I have a habit of exaggeration – Morgan and Stone reappear.

  “You’re free to go, Mrs. Sinclair. Don’t leave town because we may have to bring you in for more questions.” They escort me back out to the station’s lobby, and I practically collapse into Parker’s arms. I can’t get out of here fast enough.

  Chapter 11

  Parker tells me he was questioned briefly, and so were Logan and Grayson. Grayson took longer, I guess because of his relationships with Lexi and Sage. The bastard.

  I call Kennedy while Parker drives me home and hearing her voice when she picks up nearly brings me to tears. “Hello?” Despite my relief I can hear her anxiety through the phone.

  “God, that was awful. What did they say to you?” I ask in lieu of a greeting. I know we probably shouldn’t be talking about this, but I can’t help myself. I need to know if we were all asked the same bullshit.

  “Basic questions. Same as you, I’m sure,” Kennedy says. She’s generally soft-spoken, but I can barely hear her through the receiver.

  “They kept blaming Lexi, despite my efforts to explain to them that it was Sage who pulled the trigger. I don’t know if they believe me since I didn’t actually see Sage kill Taylor. It’s ridiculous. It’s like they kept trying to trip me up by mentioning Lexi, but I didn’t waver. I mean, I know the truth...right? I told them the truth. But...” I let the sentence hang. “Nevermind.”

  This is stupid. It doesn’t even make sense. I mean, Sage confessed to us. Even if I didn’t see her pull the actual trigger, it doesn’t negate the fact that she admitted it. It’s not like Lexi and Sage are teaming up against us and pulling off the biggest scheme of all, right? That just wouldn’t make sense.

  Kennedy remains quiet on the line. I pull my phone away from my ear, checking to see that I didn’t lose the call, and she’s still on the other end. When I verify she is, I try to fill the awkward silence. It’s unusual for Kennedy to clam up like this. Generally, once she starts talking, the word vomit spews out of her mouth and no one can get her to stop talking.

  “Did you see Sage or Grayson at all?” I ask. I don’t know why I was the last to get out of questioning, but I feel like I missed a lot. I’m sure Kennedy was in questioning just as long, but being in the cold room alone really messed with my head.

  “Logan saw Grayson. Apparently, the
re’s a lot of omission on Sage’s end of the story that she told Grayson. It’s a mess, I don’t know. But Grayson is definitely skeptical of Sage, and the story she spun.” With this tidbit of information, Kennedy’s voice perks up. There’s nearly a mischievous lilt to her tone. It’s obvious what we have to do next.

  “We have to talk to him,” I tell her with an urgency in my tone I usually reserve for work.

  “Can we even get to him with Sage having manipulated everything? Will he even believe a word we say?” She’s anxious. I can imagine she’s toying with her shirt or jewelry right now despite not being able to see her.

  “We have to try.”

  *****

  The next day I once again find myself sitting beside Parker in Kennedy and Logan’s house. We’re gathered in their living room as the news on Taylor’s murder continues to unfold on the screen before us.

  The weird thing is the reporter states having two suspects in custody. Unfortunately, they don’t divulge much else considering it’s an ongoing investigation. They do, however, show a crew on a boat presumably searching the water for Taylor’s body and the discarded gun.

  It’s surreal, but not in a good way. The realization that I played a part in Taylor’s death – well, not his death but his disposal…it makes me sick.

  I can’t imagine the heartbreak Taylor’s parents are experiencing right now. I don’t even want to imagine what Lennon is going through and what she’ll endure in the future. It’s completely devastating on all accounts.

  I hate myself for participating. Maybe I should’ve been stronger and told her no. Maybe if Kennedy, Lexi, and I ganged up on her we could’ve taken her down. Or maybe we would’ve gotten hurt ourselves. I don’t know. But I’m sick with guilt and it makes me hate not only Sage, but worse, myself.