Page 9 of The Perfect People

CHAPTER FIVE

Though the face was familiar, and friendly, the sight of it still brought her pain.

Jessie vividly remembered Officer Will Timms. Though it had been over a year since she’d last seen him, the fresh-scrubbed young cop still looked like he’d just joined the force, which was true. He’d only been on the job for eighteen months.

She offered him a smile, though it was hard. Timms was the officer who had found Garland Moses’s body, though Jessie hadn’t known that at the time she first met him. But she still remembered how shaken the kid had been at the sight of the body she would later learn was her mentor. It was hard to separate that memory from the young man in front of her now.

“Hi, Officer Timms,” she said as warmly as she could.

“Hello, Ms. Hunt,” he said, his cheeks turning pink as he nervously wiped his sandy-colored hair out of his eyes. “It’s good to have you back again, even if it is once again under unpleasant circumstances.”

“Thanks,” she said. “This is Detective Susannah Valentine. She’s working the case with me. Are you supervising the witness?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered quietly, stepping out into the hall and pulling the door closed. “Her name is Paisley Sorrento. I’ve mostly been trying to keep her calm, but you should know that she’s really on edge. I just wanted to make you aware of that before you go in.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Jessie said. “Why don’t you stick around? Maybe having someone she already knows nearby will help keep her from spinning out when we question her.”

“Sure,” Timms said with a look of surprised excitement. Sometimes Jessie forgot how big a deal it was for other law enforcement officers to participate in an HSS investigation.

He opened the door and they, along with Sergeant Breem, entered the room, where Paisley Sorrento was curled up in a tight ball on a lounge chair in the corner. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Skinny and pale, with a bright bob of red hair and heavy, black eye makeup, she looked more like a member of a goth rock band than an assistant to a music manager.

Only her outfit, comprised of a sensible, sleeveless white top and billowy black slacks, suggested that she was more interested in receipts than rocking out. The way she was hugging herself tightly, Jessie could almost feel her vibrating with anxiety.

“Hi, Paisley,” she said softly, as she entered the room and sat down on the bed across from her, “my name’s Jessie and this is Detective Valentine. We appreciate your patience. We have a few questions for you and then we hope to let you get clear of all this. How does that sound?”

Paisley looked up to reveal dark shadows under her eyes. Jessie wondered if they were due to the stress of the moment or a general lack of sleep because of her job.

“I gotta say,” the young woman grumbled, “I’m not sure I’m ever going to get clear of this, especially with Shasta’s superstar clients bombarding me every two minutes with texts demanding to know how the investigation is going. How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

“From now on, you can just tell them to pose all their questions directly to HSS,” Susannah told her, using a surprisingly gentle tone for her. “No matter how much they press you, just tell them you’ve been instructed to direct all questions to us. That should get you off the hook.”

“Thanks,” Paisley said, seeming to relax ever so slightly.

“You’re welcome,” Susannah said, sitting down next to Jessie. “That said, we do need you to answerourquestions, so let’s get started with an easy one. When did you find Shasta and why did you come to her house?”

“I found her around eight-fifteen this morning,” she said, once again wrapping her arms around her knees. “She had a nine a.m. meeting with some promoters for Chantilly Mace’s upcoming fall tour and I couldn’t get in contact with her.”

“Wait,” Susannah said, “the meeting was at nine, but you were so freaked out that you couldn’t get ahold of her that you showed up at her home at eight-fifteen? Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“Not if you know Shasta,” Paisley said irritably. “She’s amazing at what she does, one of the best music managers in the business. Clients adore her. That’s why so many big names sign with her. But she’s also incredibly demanding. The word ‘taskmaster’ isn’t unreasonable. She specifically told me that she was worried about being ready for the meeting after having the party the night before. So even though she planned to do it over Zoom from her home office, she insisted that I be at her place at eight a.m. to make sure she was awake in case she slept through her alarm. She wanted me to help prep her for the meeting, to review notes and help with hair and makeup touchups.”

“So you were actually here at eight?” Jessie confirmed.

“A little after, with traffic,” Paisley said. “I live in Mar Vista so it takes a while to get here. By the time I walked through the front door—which wasn’t locked, by the way—it was more like eight-ten. I was actually surprised that I hadn’t gotten any angry texts from her. As I’m sure you saw, this place was a pigsty. I was coming up here to her room when I got cornered by Jelly, who wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Who’s Jelly?” Susannah asked.

“She’s part of Chantilly’s entourage,” Paisley explained. “Apparently she crashed here last night. She was talking about what a rager the party was. I wanted to blow her off but I couldn’t just do that because she’s tight with Chantilly and if she badmouths me to the star and the star says something to Shasta, then I’m screwed. So I had to listen to her blather on for a few minutes. That’s why I didn’t get up here until eight-fifteen, which is when I found Shasta on the bed. I started screaming. That’s how everyone found out about her death so quickly. Jelly came in the room, saw her body, and called Chantilly right away.”

She looked straight at Jessie when she continued.

“I couldn’t believe how blank her eyes were.”

The pale young woman shuddered at the memory of it. Jessie noted that she didn’t seem emotionally overwrought at the loss of her boss so much as grossed out. While her lack of empathy wasn’t ideal, the fact that thinking about a dead body seemed to repulse her suggested that murder might not be in her skill set. If her alibi held up, she probably wouldn’t ultimately be at the top of the suspect list.

“Paisley,” she said, “were you at the party last night?”

“Are you kidding?” the assistant snorted. “I don’t get invited to stuff like that unless I’m going to be on call. And I had another assignment. I spent last night prepping for the promoter meeting, then crashed by eleven.”

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