SSMM Ch33

Ava Googles Karina.

Her social media presence is minimal. She has accounts, but at a glance, it looks like she uses them mainly to interact with other people rather than posting stuff of her own. No thirst traps, although there are a couple of pics of her on a night out with some other girls. She follows a lot of people who are associated with FUTA, but those aren’t the people she talks to. Most of her likes and comments are directed at people who are probably friends and family.

She’s not very high-profile. Ava finds an article in a youth sports magazine from many years ago about how promising Karina was at the time. League and program sites show her W/L record and things like that. There’s a big gap in her playing, which is explained later: two years ago, Karina’s performance suffered, and she dropped out of the sport for a while. An intentional look at her socials around that time reveals that Karina was greatly affected by the loss of a friend who died by suicide. There’s a photo of her; she’s pretty. Joanna Bunn. It had happened shortly after the US Open.

Ava checks the records from that event; neither Karina nor Joanna did particularly well, although Joanna started off strong and then started losing.

This makes sense. Karina is a talented player, but her career took a hit, and she’s trying to make a comeback. Her confidence is surely shaken, and maybe she doubts that she can get back to that elite level, so she’s settling for the presumably less demanding pro tennis environment offered by FUTA. That’s how Ava reads it.

Jane clears her throat, cutting Ingrid off as she’s about to speak.

“Yes?” Ingrid’s facial expressions are understated, but she’s intense right now.

Jane hesitates. “OK, look. It wasn’t the sort of thing that I’d mention normally, but with somebody dead… earlier tonight, we found some video playing downstairs. It was a sex tape.” Jane gives Viv an apologetic look. “I’m guessing one of Viv’s. Seems pretty likely that whoever played that did it for a reason.”

“Were you gonna mention that?” Viv asks faintly. The loss of her wife is more pressing than this oversight; she doesn’t sound upset.

“Figured it would just upset you. Wouldn’t be the first time someone took a shot at you for tomcatting.”

Viv nods, gazing at the floor. She doesn’t look at Cristy or Belinda. It had to have been one of them, and Ava’s all but certain that Cristy was the one looking at the photos.

Cristy sees her staring and gives her a challenging look.

Ava looks away.

“Belinda, can you describe your history with Vivien Corbin?” Ingrid asks.

Belinda takes a deep breath. She gives everyone in the room an unfriendly look.

“We all know this is bullshit, right?” she says. “You aren’t a cop. And you want me to talk about that in front of a room full of strangers?”

“A woman is dead.”

“And if Viv is the target, then none of us has to worry.” Belinda smiles.

“That’s not a great look, Belinda,” Annette says.

A lot of people are looking at Belinda skeptically. She rolls her eyes.

“OK. Fine. I was in Japan, I was eighteen. Viv was shooting Kill Jill. They needed a stuntwoman who spoke good English. So in the fight scene in the restaurant, I’m the one that jumps off the stairs in the fox mask. Viv came on strong. We hooked up a couple of times on set. She made me some promises.”

Viv keeps her eyes on the floor.

“Like what?” Kia asks sharply.

“Like that she’ll show me her place in Big Sur. Shit like that. We wrapped, she never called. Couple of years went by, and I got hurt, so I moved to coaching and producing. She had started dipping a toe in production at that point too. We were shopping a show about GLOW, and we went to her company because who better to throw money at a production like this? Case and point,” she adds, gesturing toward Chitose. “I was at the meeting. She did it again, and that’s on me. I fell for it. But she didn’t call, and she didn’t move on the show. Netflix ended up picking it up.” Belinda shrugs. “That about what you’re looking for, Blondie?”

Ingrid nods.

“But if you’re thinking that shit gives me motive, it doesn’t. First, I don’t like rejection, but I don’t kill people over it. And second, we were moving on tonight’s pitch. Killing Viv would kill my project.”

“Do you need the money?” Ingrid asks softly.

“What? Of course I do. I mean, I’m not broke or anything. But I have to work.”

Is that skepticism on Ingrid’s face?

She faces the group. “The killer planned this ****. The weapon. The timing. She wanted Aubrey out of the room. She could not **** this to happen, but she could make it likely.” Ingrid points one finger at Kia and the other at the body. “With a small dose of MDMA. Limit inhibition. They are already having an affair. Her wife is flirting with all of these other women.”

“Look, the kitchen’s open,” Jane cuts in. “Anyone can go in there and do whatever they want. This isn’t a prison.”

Ingrid nods. “Yes. Kia, has anyone given you a drink?”

“Only Jane,” Kia replies. “Dinner.”

Ava remembers; the dinner trays had all contained several drinks: a glass bottle of mineral water, opened, and a glass for the water. Then some coffee and/or a glass of wine or a mixed drink, according to what the person wanted.

And those trays had been staged. Anyone who entered the kitchen while Jane was working could have theoretically done something. The trays had been labeled because Jane was only human.

“Doesn’t narrow it down,” Ava says. “Doesn’t really point to Jane, either.”

“Thanks,” Jane says, squeezing Ava’s hand.

Ava still has her phone. Who to Google now?