Page 7 of Little Shattered Dreams

Clara crossed her arms in front of her. “I mean, no. I wasn’t. I wasn't gone for long though. Fifteen, twenty minutes at most.”

“Still, you weren’t here theentiretime, so you don't know what happened here tonight. Do you?”

“All I’m saying is—”

Foley raised a hand, stopping her. “That will be all for now, Miss Foster. I have an investigation to focus on. I’ll have one of my officers escort you out. I’ll follow up with you when time permits. For now, you keep what happened here tonight to yourself. No sense riling everyone up until we know what happened.”

Clara tipped her head in my direction and huffed an irritated, “Why aren’t you arrestingher? Don’t you care about what I just told you?”

This, Foley didnotfind amusing.

“I don’t,” he said. “You have no proof. You’re making baseless accusations, which, if I’m being honest, makes me wonder why.”

“I wonder the same thing,” I said. “How long have you known the deceased?”

“Same as you,” Clara said. “A couple of days.”

“And yet you seem protective of her, almost like there’s a personal relationship between the two of you.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Then why do you seem so determined to point the finger before the investigation has even started?” Foley asked. “Seems to me like you know something you’re not saying.”

Clara went quiet for a moment and then said, “When Quinn first arrived, I could tell she was troubled, looking for answers, a way to restart her life. She didn’t deserve to die. Not like this, and not here.”

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Foley asked.

“No, why? You don’t think I’m involved in this, do you?”

“Never said you were. I don’t know what to think yet. What happened to the deceased and why has yet to be discovered.”

“I don’t know how you could consider me a suspect after everything I just told you.”

“You’re no different than anyone else,” Foley said.

Now that the spotlight was on her and not on me, I bit my lip, trying not to grin when I saw the shocked look on her face. I failed, and she shot me an icy glare.

“How does it feel to be accused of something you didn’t do?” I asked. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Clara muttered something I couldn’t make out before storming out of the room, Officer Decker in tow.

Foley shook his head at me, and then turned to Clara’s partner in surveillance crime. The young man sported a man bun and loose, all-white clothing that made him look like he was about to compete in a karate tournament.

“And you, why are you here?” Foley asked.

Man bun shrugged. “I’m here because Clara asked me to be.”

It wasn’t the full truth. I’d seen him around since I’d arrived. He wasn’t just here because Clara asked him to be. He was here because he liked her. It was obvious. Earlier, while we waited for the police to arrive, he kept stealing glances at her when she wasn’t looking. I wondered if she was aware of it and if there was something between them.

“What’s your name?” Foley asked.

“Tyler O’Dell.”

“What’s your position here?”

He cleared his throat and said, “I’m the chef.”

“Do you have anything to add about what happened here tonight?”

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