Page 118 of This is Why We Lied

“Stressed,” he said. “We cater to very demanding guests up here. Most of our conversations yesterday were like, ‘don’t forget Keisha doesn’t like raw onions and Sydney doesn’t do dairy and Chuck has a peanut allergy.’”

Faith watched him roll his eyes. “What do you think of Chuck?”

“He’s here at least once a month, sometimes more. I thought he was a relative at first.”

“Did Mercy like him?”

“She tolerated him,” Alejandro said. “He’s a lot to deal with, but then so is Christopher.”

“Are Christopher and Chuck together?”

“As in lovers?” He shook his head. “No, not with the way they look at women.”

“How do they look at women?”

“Desperately?” He seemed to struggle for a better description, then shook his head. “It’s hard, because the problem is, they’re both very awkward in general. I’ll occasionally have a beer with Christopher, and he’s an all right guy, but his brain is wired differently. Then you throw a woman into the mix, and he freezes up. Chuck has the exact opposite problem. You put him within ten feet of a woman and he’s going to recite every line from Monty Python until she runs from the room.”

Unfortunately, Faith knew the type well. “I heard about the fight Mercy had with Jon.”

Alejandro winced. “He’s a sweet kid, but very immature. Not a lot of friends in town. They know who his mother is. And his father. It’s not right, but the stigma is there.”

“Have you seen him drunk like that before?”

“Never,” Alejandro said. “Honestly, I was like—no. Don’t let this kid go down the addiction trail. He’s got it in his blood. Both sides. It’s just sad.”

Faith silently agreed. Addiction was a lonely road to travel. “What time did you leave here last night?”

“Around eight, eight-thirty. The last conversation I had with Mercy was about clean-up. She let Jon have the night off, so she was doing it by herself. I didn’t offer to help. I was tired. It was a long day. So I saddled up Pepe and I rode to my house, which is about forty minutes over the ridge. I was there all night. I opened a bottle of wine and watched a crime show on Hulu.”

“Which show?”

“The one about the detective with the dog. You can probably check those things, right?”

“I can.” Faith was more interested in the fact that he had anticipated all of her questions. It was almost like he’d crammed for the test. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about Mercy and her family?”

“No, but I’ll let you know if I think of something.” He pointed down a steep incline. “That’s Fishtopher Trail. It’s very muddy, so be careful.”

He’d already opened the door, but Faith stopped him with a question. “Can you get to the bachelor cottages from Fishtopher Trail?”

He looked surprised, like he’d put together why she was asking. “You can if you follow the creek past the waterfalls, then walk along the lake, but the quicker route is down the Rope Trail. It goes around the side of the gorge. They call it the Rope Trail because there’s a series of ropes you have to grab so you don’t slip and break your neck. Only the staff uses it. It’s not on the map. I only went down once because it scared the shit out of me. I’m not big into heights.”

“How long did it take?”

“Five minutes?” he guessed. “Sorry, I really need to get back to work.”

“Thank you,” Faith said. “I’ll need to get a written statement later.”

“You know where to find me.”

Alejandro disappeared into the kitchen before Faith could say anything else. She stared at the closed door. She tried to get a read on how the conversation had gone. In her experience, there were four ways a suspect could approach an interview. He could be defensive. He could be combative. He could be disinterested. He could be helpful.

The chef fell roughly between the last two. She would have to get Will to weigh in. Sometimes suspects were disinterested because they really weren’t interested. Sometimes they were helpful because they wanted you to think they were innocent.

Faith started down Fishtopher Trail. Alejandro had not been lying about the mud. The going reminded her of a slip-n-slide. The angle was severe. She saw large footprints with heavy treads. Men going up the trail. Men going down.

She took a chance, shouting, “Will?”

The only response was a bunch of birds chirping, probably discussing a plan of attack.