“Pepsi’s fine,” Sophia said.
Dorrie smiled tightly, then left the way she’d come, her high heels clicking loudly in the hallway outside the investigator’s room.
Mendoza passed the can to Sophia, who quickly cracked it open.
“I don’t really get the whole cola-war thing,” she said, smiling as she took a sip.
On the surface, Sophia seemed innocent enough. If she was nervous at being questioned by the cops, she hid it well.
“Let’s get started,” Mendoza said and ran through the preliminaries, typing onto an iPad, and taking notes despite the camera recording the whole interview. After having Sophia state her name, she asked, “What’s your address?”
She gave the address, then added, “It’s a studio. Cascadia Apartments.”
Mendoza asked, “So how long have you been in Riggs Crossing?”
“Six, no, it’s almost seven months now.”
“What brought you here?”
“Work. I mean it’s kinda crazy. I was living in Portland, and—”
“Oregon, right?” Rivers clarified, then took a sip of his coffee, which was tepid and weak. He set his cup aside.
“Yes, they’ve got that whole ‘keep Portland weird’ vibe going, and I liked the idea, and there was all the bicycling. It seemed cool, y’ know. But the rain. More like a constant drizzle. Y’know, the weird Portland thing got old after a while. So, I saw this job at a Christmas tree farm—well, actually a hostess position at the inn—and I thought it sounded like fun, a change of pace, and I especially love the winter season, y’know? So I applied.”
“How’d you find out about the job?” Mendoza asked.
“Online.” She said it as a matter of fact, as if that was the way things were done these days, and she was right.
“Is that where you met James Cahill?” Mendoza asked, glancing up from her screen at Sophia. “At work.”
“He personally interviewed me,” she said, nodding. “Personally.” Did her eyes shine a little bit more when she spoke of him? “I started the next week as a hostess, originally, but I ended up tending bar and working the desk at the hotel, as well as waitressing in the café out back during the busy season, just filling in wherever.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “I’ve also helped out in the office, for the tiny homes.”
“As a receptionist?” Mendoza asked.
“Well, yeah, and I took a couple of years of accounting in community college, so I can do more. I kinda do whatever’s needed, like bartending or table waiting.”
“A jill-of-all-trades?” Mendoza asked and took a sip from her cup.
She lifted a shoulder.
Rivers said, “You moved up pretty fast.”
“I’m smart,” she said. “I know that sounds like I’m bragging, but it’s just the truth. And I’m loyal. There’s a lot of turnover at the inn and Christmas tree farm. Some of it’s to be expected, as a lot of the work is seasonal, and people move on. And then there are the people who just walk out. No notice. No nothing. I’m always dependable.”
There wasn’t the tiniest hint of duplicity in her blue eyes, at least none that Rivers could detect, but it still rang somewhat false.
Mendoza asked, “So when did you and James first get together?”
“You mean . . . ?”
“When did you become a couple?”
Sophia had drawn a breath, her eyes sparkling, and it looked as if she were about to launch into the intimacies of her relationship with James Cahill before Mendoza shut that down. Now, the young woman just looked irritated.
“It was a few months ago, I guess . . . It kind of just developed. We were working together more and more closely . . .” Her steady gaze slid to the side. “There was just this attraction. One you couldn’t fight. And then we were in bed, just loving each other. I’ve never felt so . . . womanly.”
Mendoza’s expression was unreadable. Before Sophia could elaborate, Rivers asked, “What about Megan Travers?”
The girl exhaled and shrugged. “It was over between them.”
“Did Megan know that?”
“Of course she knew. Women know.”
Mendoza prodded, “But James hadn’t told her.”
“I don’t think—I mean no, I’m sure he didn’t.”
For the first time, Sophia seemed uncomfortable; one hand reached up to fiddle with a tress of blond hair.
“So can you tell us where you were on Thursday?” asked Mendoza, clearly ready to get down to the pertinent facts.
“Sure.” Another shrug, this time with a swallow of Diet Pepsi. “I worked until six, in the office, drove into town and went home—no, not straight home.” She shook her head, pale hair skimming her shoulders. “First, I went to the gas station and filled up. My tank had been on empty for a day or two. I was practically driving on fumes, so I stopped down at the station on Sixth. After that, I picked up a salad at Charlie’s Deli and went home. I thought about hitting my yoga class but didn’t go as I was late, so I just showered and binge-watched three episodes of The Bachelor that I’d recorded.” She met Rivers’s gaze before looking at Mendoza again. “Exciting life, I know.”
More exciting than you’re admitting. At least that’s what he suspected. “Did you see James?”
Her eyebrows arched as she took another sip from her soda. “At work.”
“What about after work?”
She was already shaking her head. “Not until I went to the hospital. I heard about what happened at work the next day. Bobby Knowlton had told some of the staff, and we all knew. I busted down there to visit him.”
“That day?” Mendoza took a sip from her cup but didn’t stop typing.
“No. Well, yes. I mean, I went there, but I couldn’t see him because he was in a coma. I think the first time
