CHAPTER TEN
Maxwell headed up the wide, tiled stairs to the home’s front porch. There, his first interviewee was already waiting, lounging against the frame of the open front door while she stared down, combing her pink-nailed fingers through the blond tips of her ponytail.
She looked up when she saw him. Her face brightened briefly as her gaze flicked over him. Maxwell guessed that would be because he was relatively tall, fit, and dark haired.
Hopefully, this might give him some credibility points with the young woman that he sensed immediately was snobbish, image-conscious, and on the defensive after having been at a party where a murder occurred.
Her copybook was blotted and now she was angry at the world, and law enforcement in particular.
“Are you Jessica Duarte?” he asked.
With
