truth, and what will reveal it. That’s why my partner asked about Stella’s romantic life. What we don’t know could allow any potential perpetrator to get away.”
Bevie made a sound that was part growl and all rage. She stabbed her friend with furious eyes. “Fine. Go ahead. Tell her. Tell her everything. My life is ruined anyway.” She stomped from the room, carrying her sandwich and the beer and leaving the mess on the table.
Elisa heaved a sigh and began putting the food back in the fridge while her sandwich grilled. I could tell she was thinking things through, and I held myself still, when I really wanted to shake her and ask why Bevie’s life was over. She shoveled the sandwich onto a plate with a spatula. When the bar top was clean of everything except her plate and her beer, she pulled up a stool, sat, took a bite, and considered me.
“Bevie is from a really strict farm family. Like, she couldn’t date or anything until she was eighteen. Growing up, she had to work the farm, feed chickens, gather eggs, help birth cows. Like that. But she was really smart in high school, like, number one in her class, and she got a full ride at TTU. So when she went away to college she went kinda wild. Dated a lot of guys. Like, a lot of guys. And girls too. And then last year she met Stella and . . . well, Stella’s got this public persona, a paragon of straitlaced propriety, you know? But in reality? Back before she was a star and got squeaky-clean branding? She spent five years living with several people in a pansexual relationship, and she still has, well, lots of lovers. Bevie was one of them and her family and her church will freak if they find out. And she really loved Stella. We all did. Even the ones of us who didn’t spend time in her bed. Stella was this magical creature, you know?”
Elisa took a bite and chewed and swallowed. “Stella could look at you and tell exactly what you were feeling and exactly what you needed to be whole and happy. Some of her riders came from bad home lives, were really broken, and she paid for meds and counseling. Some of them were practically homeless and she let people stay here or in her RV between tours, until they got on their feet. She was a good person. And anyone who says different can kiss my butt.” Almost viciously, she bit into the sandwich and chewed, her eyes on me. A string of cheese stretched from her mouth to the bread.
I accepted all that without a change of expression, even the butt-kissing part. Elisa turned her attention fully to her sandwich, the stringy cheese, and sipped her beer. I didn’t ask her age or if she was legal to drink.
“You don’t seem upset by all that sex stuff,” she said.
Keeping my voice unemotional, I said, “I come from a polygamous background. My own mother is one of three wives. I was married at fifteen. I understand relationships that are different from society’s norm.”
“Holy shit. Fifteen? Wait. They forced you to get married?”
I had no idea why, but I answered. “No. I married to keep from becoming the preacher’s youngest concubine. One of several, in addition to his several wives.”
She chewed. Frowned. “I saw this show on TV one time. Sister Wives? You know it?”
“I’ve heard of it.” Never watched it. Had no interest in it.
“So it would help to solve Stella’s murder if you knew the people she slept with on a regular basis?”
I pursed my lips, thinking how I wanted to phrase my reply, because we hadn’t released anything about a trigger for death and decay. The term murder was being bandied about by the press, but not by PsyLED, and my boss wouldn’t be happy if I used it now. “This was a very violent way to die,” I said carefully. “If someone set this up to kill Stella, then they wanted to not just kill her, but wipe her and her friends and her musical instruments and even unpublished songs off the face of the earth. If it was murder, it was personal.”
“I could . . . I . . . I know a lot of names. Maybe not all.”
“Anything you can do will help. And I’ll try to keep Bevie’s name out of any media releases. Law enforcement has no desire to