As they approached the Magnolia Gateway Studios complex, Riley noticed the media vehicles gathered near the entrance—satellite trucks from local and national networks, reporters doing standups with the studio gates visible in the background.
“Vultures are circling,” Hayes muttered as he slowed the car.“Been like this since the story broke last night.I’ll get us through.”
He flashed his badge at the security checkpoint, and the guard waved them through immediately, much to the visible frustration of the reporters who surged forward, shouting questions and thrusting microphones toward the car.
Hayes ignored them all, and so did Riley and Ann Marie as he navigated them through the throng until they reached the relative sanctuary of the studio grounds.He parked near a modern glass building with “Administration” etched on the doors.
“Ms.Sinclair’s office is on the third floor,” he explained as they exited the vehicle.“She’s been...well, devastated is putting it mildly.They were close friends for decades.”
Inside, the building was cool and quiet, the usual bustle of a film studio notably absent.As they crossed the lobby to the elevator, a security guard nodded solemnly, his expression grim.The third floor was decorated with framed movie posters—productions from Magnolia Gateway’s history, Riley presumed.Hayes led them down a corridor to a set of double doors with “Gillian Sinclair, President & CEO” engraved on a brass plaque.
He knocked once before opening the door.“Ms.Sinclair?The FBI agents are here.”
The office beyond was spacious and tastefully decorated, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the studio lot.Gillian Sinclair sat behind a large desk, her silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that emphasized the stark lines of exhaustion on her face.She looked up as they entered, her eyes red-rimmed but dry.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, rising to greet them.Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying or shouting or both.“I’ve been trying to make sense of this nightmare, but...”She gestured helplessly.
“Ms.Sinclair, I’m Special Agent Riley Paige, and this is Special Agent Ann Marie Esmer.We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Gillian nodded, motioning for them to sit in the leather chairs arranged in front of her desk.Hayes took a position near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“I’ve told Detective Hayes everything I can remember,” Gillian said, sinking back into her chair.“But it’s all so surreal.Veronica was singing—her voice was still so beautiful, you know, even at sixty-six—and then...just minutes later …” Her voice cracked.“I keep seeing her face.That terrible expression of pain.”
Ann Marie moved her chair closer to Gillian’s desk.“Ms.Sinclair,” she said gently.“I’ve seen how violent death affects those left behind.There’s no right way to process what you’ve experienced.”
Riley knew that Ann Marie had learned how to be with people during such terrible moments from growing up in her father’s funeral home.She observed the interaction silently, noting Gillian’s physical responses—the slight relaxation of her shoulders at Ann Marie’s words, the way her hands unclenched from the fists they’d formed.But was that genuine grief, or a skilled performance?
“Ms.Sinclair,” Riley said after allowing a respectful pause, “I understand you were the one who conceived of the Midnight Lounge re-creation.”
Gillian’s face crumpled.“It was supposed to be a tribute.A celebration of Roberta’s legacy and Veronica’s connection to it.I never imagined...”She trailed off, swallowing hard.“I even encouraged her to sing ‘Midnight Reverie.’The last thing she ever did was recreate her mother’s most famous scene, and now she’s gone the same way.It’s like some twisted joke.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Veronica,” Riley prompted.
“We’ve known each other for over thirty years,” Gillian began, her gaze drifting to a framed photograph on her desk—a younger version of herself with Veronica Slate, both smiling broadly at some long-ago event.“When I was just starting out as a production assistant, Veronica was already established as both an actress and vocalist.We met when she came to Atlanta for a film her mother was making—one of Roberta’s last before retirement.Veronica took me under her wing, introduced me to people who could help my career.”
Her voice caught, then she continued.“Over the years, our friendship deepened.When I founded Magnolia Gateway, Veronica was one of our earliest supporters.She invested financially, yes, but more importantly, she lent her name and connections to help establish us.And when Roberta’s centennial approached, it seemed natural to honor both women with this retrospective.Veronica was excited about it.Said it felt like bringing her mother home one last time.”
“I’d like to see the crime scene,” Riley said.“Would you be willing to accompany us, Ms.Sinclair?It might help us understand exactly how events unfolded.”
“Of course.Whatever helps catch whoever did this to Ronnie.”
The use of the nickname—intimate, personal—struck Riley as significant.Either Gillian was truly close to the victim, or she was masterfully playing the grieving friend.
They followed Gillian out of the office and through a maze of corridors, eventually exiting the administrative building and crossing the lot to a large soundstage marked “Stage 4.”A police officer stood guard outside, nodding to Hayes as they approached.
“The scene’s been fully processed,” Hayes informed Riley and Ann Marie.“Forensics finished around dawn.”
Gillian pushed open the heavy door, revealing the meticulously recreated Midnight Lounge.The set was now harshly illuminated by work lights that stripped away any nostalgic glamour.Crime scene tape still cordoned off the area where Veronica’s body had been found.
Riley stepped carefully into the space, absorbing details.The period-appropriate furniture, the vintage glassware behind the bar, the small stage with its lone microphone standing sentinel—every element had been chosen with care.She tried to imagine the scene as it had been: filled with elegantly dressed guests, suffused with atmospheric lighting, the air hazy with theatrical smoke.
“Ms.Sinclair,” Riley said, turning back to face the studio executive, “could you walk us through exactly what happened last night?Start from when you arrived at the set with the guests.”
Gillian nodded, visibly steeling herself.“We’d just come from the screening at the Majestic.The guests were excited when I mentioned a surprise waiting at the studio.And Veronica had no idea what was in store.When we arrived here, the set was dark.Then the lights came up slowly, revealing the Midnight Lounge exactly as it appeared in the film.There was audible gasping.Veronica was stunned.”
“Where were you seated?”Riley asked.
Gillian pointed to a table near the stage.“There.That table for two.It’s the same one Roberta’s character sat at in the film before her performance.”
