Page 36 of Not This Place

Rachel moved away from the table, restless. She stood in the shadowed corner of the room, her boots planted firmly on the linoleum floor. The air hung heavy with tension, each breath seeming to draw it tighter around her. She watched Alice's every movement—the tilt of her head, the flicker of her eyelids, the way her hands rested too casually on the tabletop.

"Cheryl," Alice began, her voice steady, "was my world. You think I had anything to do with what happened to her?"

"Your relationship with the Hargreaves family is well-documented," Ethan pressed on, his tone even, relentless. "Your affiliations are... problematic."

Alice's lips curved into something that could've been a smile, but her eyes remained glassy, unreadable. Rachel noticed a slight tremor in Alice's fingers as they brushed over the fabric of her dress—a flash of red amidst the starkness of the interrogation room.

"Affiliations don't equate guilt, Detective Morgan," Alice retorted. "Are we guilty by association now?"

She no longer looked frightened as she had last night. She looked in control, steady.

Rachel's pulse thrummed in her ears. She catalogued every shift in Alice's body language, the subtle cues that could betray lies or truths.

"Guilty? That's for a jury to decide," Ethan said. "But hiding something? That's what we're here to uncover."

"Hide?" Alice's laugh was devoid of humor, a sharp exhalation that echoed off the walls. "I've lost my daughter, Detective. What else is there to hide?"

Rachel edged closer, her gaze locked onto Alice. The woman sat like a coiled spring, her red dress a splash of defiance in the sterile room. Rachel's thoughts churned with questions, doubts, theories. She felt the itch to jump in, to take control of the questioning, yet she held back, allowing Ethan to navigate the waters.

"Loss doesn't absolve involvement," Ethan continued. "We need to understand where you fit into all this." Ethan leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. His eyes never left Alice's as he spoke. "We know about Cheryl's plan," he said. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Alice stiffened. Her gaze flickered, a brief moment of vulnerability betraying her composed exterior. She clasped her hands together, knuckles whitening. "Cheryl had many plans," she replied, her voice steady but strained.

"Plans that involved betraying you," Ethan pressed, voice unyielding. "Collaborating with the Hargreaves against you."

A muscle twitched in Alice's jaw. She swallowed hard, the bob in her throat visible. The fabric of her dress seemed to pulse with her quickened heartbeat.

"Cheryl was my daughter," Alice said, a crack surfacing in her armor. "Her death..." She paused, the effort to maintain control evident in the tightening of her features.

"Still hurts," Ethan finished for her, softening his tone just slightly.

"Yes." The admission escaped Alice like a sigh, the word barely above a whisper. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, an attempt to compose herself.

Rachel watched from her vantage point, a silent sentinel. She noted the way Alice's hands tremored before settling into stillness again. She saw the glisten in Alice's eyes, the defiance battling with grief. Rachel's own heart thudded, empathy a dull ache in her chest. But her focus stayed sharp. Every detail mattered.

Alice seemed genuine… glimpses of sadness. But she could easily have been acting.

The clock on the wall ticked, each second a drumbeat in the quiet room. Alice lifted her chin, reclaiming some semblance of her prior steeliness.

The silence stretched. Rachel shifted, the leather of her boots scraping faintly against the linoleum floor. Her movement was deliberate, a signal that cut through the stillness like a knife. Alice's head turned, eyes locking onto Rachel with an alertness that betrayed her cool exterior.

"Who shot at you last night?" Rachel asked, her voice low and steady.

Alice's fingers tightened around the armrests of the chair. She didn't flinch, but the question had landed. "Someone in a large RV," she replied, her tone almost casual. "At a gas station."

"Bodyguards?" Ethan's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze never leaving Alice's face.

"Retaliated," Alice confirmed with a nod. The corners of her mouth twitched as if the memory brought some dark amusement. "They were prepared. I have good people."

"Seems like you've made quite the enemy," Ethan added, folding his arms across his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, watchful.

"Or enemies," Rachel corrected, her focus unwavering. Every word mattered. Every detail they could glean from Alice was another piece of the puzzle.

Alice leaned back. "It's not a small list," she admitted, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "But I'm still here."

"Where were you the night Cheryl died?" Rachel's voice cut through the silence of the interrogation room like a blade.

“This again? I told you.”

---