Page 33 of Tell Me Your Lies

“It could be.” Linc wipes a trembling hand down his face. “But we were at anchor, and she looks as if she went under the prop.”

“I don’t think so.” The lines around the male detective’s mouth turn down. “Someone stabbed her and cut her throat.”

“What?” Linc’s eyes open wide and he shakes his head. “That’s impossible. Someone would have seen something. There were fifty people on board last night.”

“Convenient, don’t you think? Her dying like that?” The female detective’s eyes narrow as she looks at him. “Your new song, ‘Blood on the Tide,’ describes exactly the way the victim died. It’s déjà vu, isn’t it, Mr. Boswell, but this time you’re right in the middle of it.”

FORTY-THREE

Alani

I’m sure most people would believe that after watching Linc Boswell perform on stage that he is a volatile person, but since living in the house with him I have found him to be the absolute opposite. I stand close to the family room door beside Lucas trying to hear what’s happening in the foyer. They’re all speaking in hushed tones and we hear nothing, so his sudden explosion of anger surprises me. We both peer around the door and Mia joins us.

“What!” Linc reels back on his heels. “Do you honestly think I’d murder someone as a publicity stunt to sell more records? Trust me, I don’t need the money.”

“You’d better come and speak to the family.” Isabelle sounds very calm. She turns to Linc’s bodyguard. “Come with us. I would like a witness.”

We all spring away from the door and sit on the long black leather sofa as footsteps come toward the room.

“A body was found on the beach and it looks like it’s Allison.” Linc runs a hand through his hair and scans our faces. “She’s been stabbed and her throat cut—now these idiots believe it’s a publicity stunt for ‘Blood on the Tide.’”

“You need to calm down, Mr. Boswell.” A sweaty male detective with his sleeves rolled up follows him into the room. “We need to ask you all a few questions. It’s normal procedure. We are not accusing you of anything.”

“Is that so?” Linc shakes his head. “I reserve my right to remain silent. If you want to speak to me or any member of my family it will be with my lawyer present.” He turns to Max. “Call David Brunel and ask him to get to the house ASAP. Tell him the cops are here and accusing me of murder.”

“You’re being very hostile, Mr. Boswell. We haven’t read you your rights, and there’s no need for a lawyer at this time.” The female detective narrows her gaze at him. “What are you hiding?”

Linc pulls his fingers across his lips as if closing a zipper and sits beside Isabelle.

I’m trembling and Lucas’ hand covers mine. He looks at me and smiles. I’m so glad to have him here. The female detective, with eyes like a hawk, notices the exchange between us and zooms in on me as if I’m her next meal. I try to hold her gaze but it’s as if she’s trying to read my soul.

“You’re not one of the Boswells.” The female detective moves a few steps closer. “What’s your name and did you attend the party last night?”

I glance at Linc and he gives me an imperceptible nod. “Alani Fairchild and yes, I did attend the party last night.”

“When was the last time you saw Allison?” The female detective’s lips curl as if she’s won.

“She doesn’t have to answer your questions either.” Linc flicks me a glance. “My lawyer will represent her as well. I would have offered you my full cooperation before you started accusing me of murder. Now, we’ll just wait until he arrives. Or you can go on your way and find out who did this, instead of blaming me.”

“We’ll wait.” The male cop dabs at his sweaty brow with a damp tissue. “Could I possibly get a drink of water?”

Beside me Mia grunts something unintelligible and picks up the house phone to order bottled water for everyone. I feel violently ill and push to my feet. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Me too.” Mia follows me from the room. In the hallway she grabs my arm. “What’s up? You’re acting like a scared rabbit. Do cops frighten you?”

I rush to the bathroom. “No. It’s not that—I’m going to spew.”

When I come out, Mia hands me a wet towel and leans against the sink, observing me with curious eyes. I look at her. “I’ll be fine.” I wipe my face and the cold water revives me. “I’m still feeling the aftereffects of whatever drug someone slipped me.”

“You really need to sleep it off.” Mia shrugs. “It happened to me too but not at one of Dad’s parties, it was at college. It gets better—trust me, by tomorrow you’ll be back to your old self.”

I nod, glad she is finally opening up to me and acting interested. “Thanks. What was your major?”

“Art.” She winks at me. “Dad converted one of the guest houses into a studio for me. You must drop by sometime and I’ll show you my work.”

I rinse out the towel in the sink and smile at her. “I’d like that, thank you.”

“I guess we better get back to the interrogation.” Mia pulls open the door. “No doubt they’ll believe we’ve been colluding.”