The Rubys

3| s h o c k

Saturday | 4:26 a.m.

Detective Tristan Rodriguez watched the girl who claimed to be Remy Ruby, the victim's younger sister.

They were now outside in the huge compound of the mansion which stank of money and pompous rich people. He couldn't believe the rich party-goers weren't gone yet, although the crowd had lessened compared to when he first arrived to the crime scene.

The victim's corpse had long been taken to the lab and Tristan was still here to take witnesses' statements and for the forensics to finish up collecting evidence.

Tristan studied Remy Ruby who was talking to another girl, who he assumed was her friend, a few feet away from him.

There was something about her that unnerved him. The way she boldly demanded to see her sister's corpse or the way she hadn't shed a single tear made him believe she wasn't just a typical snobby rich daughter of a business magnate.

But most of all, it was the expressionless face she had after seeing her sister's body. He had expected her to break down into hysterical tears, but she had surprised him by doing the exact opposite. It was either she was an expert at masking her feelings or she didn't feel a thing for her sister's death at all.

"Detective?" Bethany Morales, his partner, called out, making him leave his train of thoughts from the younger Ruby girl.

He turned to acknowledge her and noticed another person sauntering alongside his partner. It was an older woman wearing a purple evening dress with an authentic white fur coat above it, no doubt one of the rich elites who had continued to stay on.

"This is Mrs. Vivian Alastair," Bethany introduced him to the woman, who was already looking at him as though he was a fine piece of jewelry that she had taken an interest in. "She has some interesting information to tell you."

That immediately caught Tristan's full attention. Vivian's lips curled up into a smirk, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting off him.

"Well," she started, licking her purple tinted lips excitedly. "Me and a few of my friends were talking with our poor little Chevelle — Rest In Peace her dear soul — during the party. I'm guessing it was around ten?"

She looked up at the starless New York sky, the vast darkness slowly cracking into the pale pink light of dawn, with her brows scrunched together in concentration. When she couldn't remember, she just waved her hands in dismissal. "Anyway, where was I? Oh right, then came the best part."

Mischief gleamed in her eyes as though she was going to reveal the best gossip she had ever had. Tristan couldn't help but be reminded of a hyena as her lips curled up viciously. "We were talking but our interesting conversation was interrupted when the most unexpected guest arrived. T.J Sanders."

The woman looked extremely pleased with herself, a satisfied smile forming after she had said the name. Tristan wondered where he had heard the name before. It sounded faintly familiar.