“We’ll be brief.” Bree whipped out her notepad. “You told us you were here shooting a commercial all day on Tuesday.”
“That’s correct.” Monica nodded. “Same director. He doesn’t let up, but the money is good, so . . .” She made a whatever gesture.
Bree flipped some pages, then made direct eye contact with Monica. “But the surveillance video actually shows that you left the building at 4:44 p.m. and didn’t return until six.”
Monica scooted her butt backward and sat up a little straighter, her movements restless. When she broke eye contact, Matt predicted her next words would be a lie.
She couldn’t deny she’d left. They had her on video.
“I forgot about that.” The lie rolled smoothly off her lips. “I was upset.” She returned her gaze to Bree’s. “I know Spencer broke up with me, but I still liked him. I always like men who treat me like garbage. It’s something I need to work on.”
Matt sensed her last admission was the truth. Monica still pined for Spencer, even though she admitted he had been a terrible person. Some people were drawn to drama and addicted to heartache.
“Where did you go?” Bree asked.
Monica blinked but didn’t hesitate. “There’s a convenience store down the street. I don’t usually eat during a shoot, except maybe a protein bar. I don’t want a bloated stomach. The camera already adds pounds. I told everyone I was getting a Red Bull—which I did—but I also bought a doughnut.” She whispered the last part, as if she’d said heroin instead of doughnut.
“You were shooting for thirteen hours,” Matt said. “Surely you need more than a protein bar.”
Monica lifted a shoulder. “It’s part of the job. I’m used to it. But Tuesday was so freaking loooong.” She cast a rueful glance at the door. “So much yelling.”
“You didn’t mention this foray to the convenience store when we talked to you yesterday,” Bree said.
“I just said I forgot.” Monica’s eyes misted. She jumped to her feet. “I can’t cry. The director would be so mad if I ruin this makeup.” She pinched the bridge of her nose for a few seconds. Then she reached for a tissue from a box on the vanity and, leaning close to the mirror, carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “This makeup took forever. I was here before dawn.” She assessed her reflection, seemed satisfied, then turned to them. “I need to get back to work.”
“Just another minute.” Matt held up a hand. “Did you eat the doughnut at the store?” He hoped he could trip her up. He could sense she was still holding something back. But what?
“No.” Monica sank back into the chair. Her gaze darted to Matt, her expression guarded. She cleared her throat. “I took it back to my car.”
Bree cocked her head. “It was cold. Why did you eat in your car?”
“I didn’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t just eat it. I scarfed it down in two bites.” Monica looked ashamed. “I know food isn’t the answer to stress. I can’t let it be.” She motioned to her long, lean body. “I have to look like this. There’s always an eighteen-year-old waiting to take my place. I know I sound superficial, but I don’t have a fallback career. I need to milk this one as long as possible. I’m pretty, not smart.”
Matt thought she was savvy, though. “I get it. It’s your job.”
“Yes.” Monica batted her weirdly long eyelashes at him.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did she really think a little attention from her would make him drop her from their suspect list? Or forget her omission? It was so cliché. And also, really weird in that makeup. It was like having a robot flirt with him.
“You were gone for an hour and fifteen minutes,” Bree interrupted. “It doesn’t take that long to eat a doughnut.”
Monica turned off her seductive act like she threw a switch. Her gaze returned to Bree’s. “I needed some alone time. I sat in the car and listened to music. It was a rough day.”
Bree didn’t respond but continued to study Monica, who squirmed under the intensity of her scrutiny. Monica looked back at Matt, as if she could convince him to take her side. If she could play the flirty cliché, then Matt and Bree could work with a good cop, bad cop theme.
Matt played along, nodding. “Everyone needs alone time.”
“Exactly.” Monica sat back, one eyebrow rising in a haughty expression as she looked back at Bree.
“Do you have a receipt for the Coke and doughnut?” Bree asked.
“Red Bull,” Monica said pointedly.
Bree acknowledged the correction. “Do you have a receipt for the Red Bull and doughnut?”
Monica shook her head.
“Did anyone see you there?” Matt applied pressure and tried to trip her up again. “Did your friends go with you?”
“No. No one went with me. That was the whole point.” Monica shot him a betrayed look. “I just said I wanted to be alone.”
Bree nodded. “Did you pay with cash or credit?”
“Cash,” Monica said.
“What’s the name of the store?” Matt asked. “I’m sure they’ll remember you.” He used a tone that suggested she was memorable.
But Monica wasn’t flattered. She shot him a sharp glare he couldn’t interpret, but it didn’t seem grateful. She gave him the name of the store. “But they were very busy.”
Was she providing an excuse for them not remembering her?
“It’s a shame you don’t have a receipt,” Bree commented, her tone regretful. “Do you want to know what time Spencer was killed?”
The color drained from Monica’s face, but she didn’t ask.
Matt supplied the answer. He couldn’t help it. “Between 4:30 and 5:30.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but her face barely moved. She was smart enough not to respond.
“We’ll check with the convenience store,” Bree said. “I’m sure they have video surveillance as well. Everyone does these days.”
Monica’s eyes narrowed a millimeter. She was smarter than she pretended not to be. Without saying another word, she rose, applied fresh lipstick, and put a tissue between her lips and smacked them together. Crumpling the tissue, she tossed it into the wastepaper basket.
After she disappeared through the doorway, Matt pushed off the wall. “This is the kind of moment when I want to say, ‘Don’t leave town’ like a TV cop.” In reality, they had no authority to limit a suspect’s movement.
“If we were on TV, we could get DNA results in an hour.” Bree removed an evidence bag from her pocket. She put on a glove and retrieved the lipstick tissue from the trash can.
Matt grinned. “Gotta love free DNA.”
“Cops do love to trash pick.” Bree bagged and tagged the tissue.
Matt jerked his head toward Bree’s thick boots. “If we were TV cops, you’d have to wear stilettos, though.”
Bree shrugged, as if unconcerned. “Not for long. The case would be solved in under an hour.”
“So true.” Matt led the way out of the studio.