The Person Who Most Resembles the Murderer

Detective Quinn didn’t give me a second to breathe.

She locked down the entire villa. The coroner and the forensics team came in wave after wave. Every window was checked. The locks, the alarm system, the magnetic sensor on the back door, the passage to the wine cellar—even the railing on the second-floor terrace was photographed. I was placed alone in a corner of the dining room, a glass of water in my hand that I couldn’t force myself to drink. Everyone who looked at me seemed to be waiting for me to slip.

Quinn came back with a tablet and asked, without preamble, “When was the last time you saw the four victims alive?”

“I’m not sure of the exact time.” I tried to keep my hands from shaking. “It was probably after midnight. We were drinking and making noise the whole time. Later, I got really dizzy.”

“Did anyone leave the villa?”

“I don’t know.”

“The surveillance footage says no,” she said evenly. “Not through the front door, back door, or kitchen passage. After one a.m., the pier was underwater from the tide, and the outer gate was locked. The doors and windows were intact.”

The words pinned me to the chair.

The Sterling family arrived soon after. Vivian’s aunt stormed in first, wearing a black cashmere coat, half her makeup washed off from crying. The second she saw me, she nearly lunged across the room. An officer stopped her.

“You’re letting her sit here?” She pointed at me, her voice sharp. “She’s hated Vivian for years. Everyone in town knows it.”

Another man cut in. “After Ethan left her, how many scenes did she make? You can look it up.”

“I never made a scene.” I looked up, my throat raw. “After I left school, I never contacted them again—”

“But you came last night.” The man stared at me coldly. “And Vivian invited you herself. She was too kind to know better.”

Kind.

The party from last night sliced back through my head. Old college photos had been playing on the projection wall—first dorm pictures, then one of me and Ethan from when we were still together, paused there on purpose. Audrey held up a microphone and asked, “Clara, want to give the bride some advice from the ex?” Belle laughed so hard she folded over. Nina acted like she was smoothing things over, then slid the truth-or-dare question right in front of me. “Have you ever hated Vivian?”

They’d spent the whole night waiting for me to lose control.

Quinn noticed I’d gone still and tapped the table. “What did you just remember?”

“They were trying to humiliate me,” I said. “Every game was about college. They kept bringing up Ethan. Kept bringing up what happened back then.”

“So you were angry.”

“Anyone would’ve been.”

“But not everyone has a public grudge with all four victims.”

I looked at her, my back going cold.

She turned the tablet toward me. It was the villa’s access log timeline. No unknown badge had been used all night. Another page showed surveillance stills: me by the bar while Audrey shoved a drink into my hand; me gathering up scattered glasses; me alone against the side of the couch. After that, fewer and fewer people appeared in frame.

“You were in contact with the drink area last night,” Quinn said.

“Because they spilled alcohol everywhere. I just picked some of it up.”

“Who told you to?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe Nina. Maybe Belle.”

I really couldn’t remember. Every burst of laughter last night had felt hooked. But then one detail surfaced.

Just when they were trying to force a second round on me, Vivian had reached over and pressed a hand over my glass.

“That’s enough,” she’d said. “She doesn’t look right.”

Audrey had laughed. “What, you feel sorry for her?”

Vivian hadn’t answered. She just picked up an unopened bottle of soda water from beside the ice bucket, twisted it open, and handed it to me.

I looked up sharply. “Vivian gave me a drink herself. A separate one.”

Vivian’s aunt let out an instant sneer. “So now you’re saying she poisoned herself?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” I kept my eyes on Quinn. “What I drank was that bottle of soda water, not the mixed drinks at the bar later. She also stopped them from pouring me more.”

“You’re saying the victim was protecting you?” Quinn’s tone barely changed. “Ms. Hayes, that sounds more like you’re trying to come up with a reason you didn’t die.”

She was right. Even to me, it sounded absurd. But that moment was too clear. Vivian hadn’t been putting on a show. She had actually pushed that bottle into my hand and moved the wine glass away from me.

Quietly, I said, “She was acting strange last night.”

“Strange enough to invite the person she hated most to her bachelorette party?” Quinn asked.

I didn’t answer.

Because I couldn’t make sense of that either. If Vivian thought I might lose control, if she thought I might want revenge, then why bring me into this villa of all places? Why pull me into the most sensitive part of the night, with only her and her three bridesmaids?

The coroner came down from upstairs and said a few words in Quinn’s ear. Quinn’s expression hardened.

She turned back to me. “So far, there are no signs of forced entry. All four victims died inside the villa. You had a clear prior grudge against them, you were present the entire night, and you’re the only survivor.”

She paused for a second, like she wanted me to hear every word.

“If the lab results tie you in any further,” she said, “you won’t just be the prime suspect. You’ll be the only explanation for this case that makes any sense.”