“But the WestonCon party in question was held in the main ballroom,” he says, “and we have all their entrances and exits on video.” Gabriel double-clicks on one file folder, then another, then another, until a long list of files comes up. “Which I pulled for Sheriff Morrow not an hour ago. Shields has been watching the vids on a laptop, with the badge checkers from last night, ever since.” He opens a drawer with a flourish, pulls out a thumb drive.

“Give me five minutes, and you’ll have it, too. You can find Reama’s entrances and exits yourself, see if she has an alibi.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“Just remember, I didn’t give it to you.”

“Can’t we look now?”

“There’s no time. The party was four hours long, and I don’t want to get caught.” Gabriel’s eyes dart to the doorway.

“Four hours?” That’s a lot of footage to watch. A preemptory wave of boredom rushes over me.

“At least you know who to look for.” He jerks his head in the direction of the lobby. “Sheriff Morrow’s team is creating an interview list by process of elimination. You simply have to check if Reama went in, and when.”

“Or never attended at all,” I say, picking up the thread. “You’re rather observant, aren’t you?” I perch on the edge of the desk. Gabriel blushes.

“No one pays attention to the staff. They’ll say anything in front of you. Especially if they see you as a stupid kid.”

“You’re not a stupid kid to me.” The room stills with my sincerity. I want to be embarrassed, but I can’t deny its truth, nor the way my stomach drops when Gabriel’s eyes find mine.

“I don’t pay you to flirt, you know,” comes a voice from the doorway. I jump so hard I knock my elbow on a file cabinet next to the desk. I rub it, biting down curses, and raise my eyes to the interloper. I recognize her from Maura’s party. So this is the woman with questionable taste in sailor paraphernalia.

Gabriel doesn’t bother to respond to the barb. “Cecelia, this is my boss, Elaine. She owns Hotel Seaview.”

“And it only took every male family member dying for it to happen,” she says. “Fuck the patriarchy.”

“We’ve met,” I say. “And now I see why you’re friends with my grandmother.”

Elaine gives a throaty laugh. It makes sense. Cool-grandmas squad.

“We’ve heard all about you. Vanessa’s baby girl. Spitting image, too. I think I even caught her in here with a boy or two when she was your age.”

“Wait, she worked here?”