Page 117 of This is Why We Lied

“Lunch starts in half an hour.” Alejandro opened the door and let Faith go first. “They usually shovel it down in twenty minutes. I could talk afterward.”

Faith felt her attention snap to the chef like a rubber band. “Why do you think I want to talk to you?”

“Because I was sleeping with Mercy.” He seemed to realize this conversation was happening now. He closed the door behind him. “We tried to be discreet, but obviously someone told you.”

“Obviously,” Faith said. “And?”

“It was casual. Mercy wasn’t in love with me. I wasn’t in love with her. But she was very attractive. It’s lonely up here. The body wants what it wants.”

“How long were you sleeping together?”

“From the moment I got here.” He shrugged. “It was infrequent, particularly lately. I don’t know why, but that was the nature of things with us, an ebb and flow. She was under a lot of pressure with her father. He’s a very hard man.”

“Did Dave know about you two?”

“I have no idea. I rarely spoke to him. Even when he was extending the viewing platform, I kept my distance. I suspected he was hurting Mercy.”

“Why is that?”

“You don’t get bruised like that from falling.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Let’s just say if Dave had ended up murdered, you would be talking to me for very different reasons.”

A lot of people kept saying that, but no one had done anything when Mercy was alive. “You said you weren’t in love with her, but you also would’ve murdered for her?”

His smile showed all his teeth. “You’re very good at this, detective, but no. It’s my sense of duty.”

“What did Mercy say when you noticed the bruises?”

The smile disappeared. “I asked her once, and she told me that we could either talk about it and never have sex again, or we could just keep having sex.”

“Forgive me, but you don’t seem conflicted by your choice.”

He shrugged again. “It’s different up here. The way they treat people—they just wear them out and throw them away. Maybe I did the same thing with Mercy. I’m not proud of myself.”

“Was she seeing anyone else?”

“Maybe?” he asked. “Do you think Dave got jealous? Is that why he killed her?”

“Maybe,” Faith lied. “What made you think Mercy could’ve been seeing someone else?”

“A lot of things, really. Like I said, the ebb and flow. Plus—” He shrugged. “Who am I to judge her? Mercy was a single mother with a demanding job, a difficult employer, and very few outlets for enjoyment.”

Faith had never felt so seen. “Did she mention anyone in particular?”

“She wouldn’t volunteer, and I wouldn’t ask. Like I said, we fucked. We didn’t talk about our lives.”

Faith had enjoyed a few of those relationships herself. “But if you had to guess?”

He let out a short breath of air. “Well, it would have to be one of the guests, right? The butcher is older than my grandfather. Mercy hates the vegetable guy. He’s from town. He knows about her past.”

“What’s there to know about her past?”

“She was very honest with me in the beginning,” he said. “She did some sex work when she was in her early twenties.”

“Did she do some sex work with you?”

He laughed. “No, I didn’t pay her. I might have if she’d asked. She was very good at keeping things separate. Work was work and sex was sex.”

Faith could see where that would be worth the money. “How was she yesterday?”