Beatrice peered at the book, which seemed to be a yearbook. Sure enough, there was a black-and-white photo of a young woman, smirking back at the photographer.
Nicole narrowed her eyes. “And this is Starr’s office?”
“Yes. But what’s this doing here? Is this Aspen’s yearbook? Did Starr take it?”
Nicole flipped through the book. “No, all the notes in here mention Starr. It’s Starr’s yearbook.” She stared at Beatrice. “I thought she said she didn’t know Aspen? Maybe she’s the one who murdered Aspen. If Starr could lie about knowing Aspen, she could lie about anything.”
Which was when the door to the office was pushed open and Starr appeared, staring silently at them.
“That’s personal,” said Starr, striding across the small room and snatching the yearbook out of Nicole’s hands.
Nicol
