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Angélica’s jaw clenches. “Sometimes.”

That seems to delight the detective as she scratches it into her goddamn book.

“So you and Ms. Flores were together all night?” Detective Montgomery asks, changing the subject quickly in the hopes of jarring us into saying something stupid. I’m used to the tactic.

“Yes,” I grit through my teeth. “The whole night.”

“Except for a few minutes when I had to use the restroom,” Angélica chimes in, unable to avoid honesty.

Christ, we’re supposed to be giving these fuckers thebare minimumuntil the lawyer gets here. My angel doesn’t realize that the whole truth isn’t always what sets you free when the cops already have a guilty card with your name on it.

“And when was this?” Detective Montgomery asks with another array of scribbles.

“Right before everything went out? It was pitch black when I came out, and I had to stumble my way back.”

Shit.

The detective looks up at us, her eyes bright like she just got her murderer handed to her on a platter, and she gets to go home early. “So you weren’t together at the time of the murder?”

Angélica’s brows furrow. “Oh, well I’m not certain when Collette was killed, but Greyson and I weren’t together until a little before the flames came back on.”

“How long were you alone?”

“A few minutes? No more than five.”

“You can do a lot of damage in five minutes, Ms. Flores. I’ve seen the crime scenes to prove it.”

Angélica doesn’t know how to respond, so she stays silent. Like she should have been from the moment this preliminary “statement taking” started.

“Mr. Greyson said you didn’t leave his side the whole night,” Detective Montgomery continues. “That means one of you is lying.”

A mere evasion, really. Lie makes it sound so much more sinister.

Angélica bristles at the accusation. “No one islying. It was just a miscommunication. We were together the whole night except for those few minutes.”

“The few minutes before a girl was found murdered.” The detective looks Angélica dead in the eye, and I can feel the seriousness of our current predicament start to sink in.

“You don’t have an alibi for the time of death, Ms. Flores. Three people can account for Mr. Greyson during the entirety of the power outage—Mr. Holt, Mr. Ashford, and Ms. Caine. Everyone else we’ve questioned tonight has someone to vouch for their whereabouts during the presumed time of the murder. Except you. And you have the victim’s blood on your hands.”

Shit, this looks bad.Reallyfucking bad.

“Well, not everyone can have an alibi,” Angélica argues. “There was another woman in the restroom at the same time I was.”

My ears prick up at this new information.

Detective Montgomery shoots her a dubious look. “Did you see this woman?”

“Not her face. She was in the stall beside mine. Red stilettos—they stuck out because everyone else is wearing gold tonight.”

“A lady in red shoes,” the deceptive scoffs. “Is that all you got?”

“I didn’t really stick around to chat.” Angélica is letting her attitude show, and that won’t do her any favors with these people.

“Shame,” the detective sighs in mock sympathy as she taps her pen against the notepad.

“Oh, and I bumped into someone in the dark when I was trying to find my way back,” Angélica adds in a rush. “Our hands brushed. I thought maybe my hands were still wet from washing them, but when the lights came on, I saw the blood. Could that have been the killer?”

The look on the detective’s face is absolutely patronizing. “Everything is a possibility, Ms. Flores.”