MuSR / Who is the most likely murderer?

In the sweltering heat of the desert, Detective Winston finds himself amid the ashes of the flamethrower murder of Renee, with Paige and Marianne emerging as the prime suspects.

Winston opened the thick manila folder labeled 'Renee' on his desk and took in the basic information once again. As he smoothed the slightly wrinkled photograph of the victim, he couldn't help but acknowledge the gravity of the murder that had taken place out in the desolate stretches of the desert.

"Heard you requested a flamethrower for your workshop," Winston started as he visited Paige, Renee's mentee, at her special effects shop. She let him in, even showing him around her tools which included a newly acquired flamethrower for realistic movie effects, which she was seen handling just a few days ago. Winston remembered walking by the open garage door and catching a glimpse of Paige playing with the flamethrower, her face what he could only describe as an excited child with a new toy.

"May I ask if you were the last person seen with Renee?" Winston asked.

"Yes, detective, I was," Paige answered. 

Seeing no reason to evade the question, Paige mentioned how she repeatedly advised Renee to retire from her line of work. "She was always stubborn and distant, especially with me," Paige shared, an indication of Renee trying to distance herself. "She was in her sixties but she refused to slow down, causing me to feel constant frustration and would frequently make me lash out," Paige confided. "It always upset me," she further admitted her thoughts, letting Winston understand the volatile mentor-protege relationship dynamics.

Winston nodded, storing this important information about the dynamics between Paige and Renee. "I have found out from the delivery company that a flamethrower was delivered to this workshop recently. Was it yours? The one you ordered?"

"Yes, that's correct," Paige replied, her face unchanging. "You see, I work in special effects. I deal with all sorts of contraptions, including flamethrowers. They're not as deadly as they seem, you know? Only in the wrong hands..."

It seemed like Paige was positioning herself just within the edge of suspicion, but Winston kept his thoughts to himself, a stoic expression fixed on his face. He then asked about Paige's closeness with the desert, a quick detour from her workshop. 

"Oh, it's easily accessible. I often take a walk to clear my head," she replied, "And Renee knew about my frequent trips there, that's why it wasn't unusual for her when I told her I wanted to show her something in the desert."

Paige's love for Renee was well known and she wasn't ready to hide it when asked. "She was special to me, you know. But she never showed up to see what I planned. The next thing I know, she was dead."

Feeling he had enough for the moment, Winston decided to end the conversation. Among the many things he had gathered, a fact that stuck to him was the requested flamethrower, seen in Paige's possession a few days ago, was also the murder weapon used in this case, delivered right at Paige's workshop.

As Winston was leaving, Paige's gaze followed him. She had a look of a woman caught in a tale of true obsession.

Winston parked his car in front of the coffee shop. The afternoon was calm and dry, typical of a day in the desert.

"Marianne." He called to the barista working behind the counter.

"Yes sir, what can I get you?" She looked up with a plastered service smile that Winston had seen more often than he'd like to admit.

"Coffee, black," he added.

Marianne was usually a woman of few words. It was already known in the café that Marianne, although a people person during work hours, preferred solitude outside of work. She was somewhat enigmatic, leaving work as soon as her shift ended without any explanation about her after-work plans. It was a habit she diligently stuck to, against curious coworkers who often loiter around longer.

"Winston, aren't you?" She handed over the coffee, her facial expression gave away nothing. She had a breed of indifference that he found puzzling.

"Yeah, you remember." He toasted his coffee cup, looking at the foam art on its surface.

Rumor has it that Marianne had been spotted frequenting a local pawn shop on her way from work. Curiously, after one of her visits, a flamethrower was found missing from the shop - the owner had confirmed it himself, ruffling through the shop inventory in disbelief. A particular stock draw from the shop should technically be tagged a coincidence and yet, here he was.

"So, how'd you end up here?" Winston decided to put out some line, in search of a bite.

"Needed a job, this did me good," she stated curtly, keeping it decidedly professional.

"I hear you gotta get fire safety certification to keep the espresso machines running and avoid mishaps. That true?" He ventured further.

"Yeah, mandatory stuff." She added, the impenetrable exterior still intact.

"That's neat, handy skills I reckon." He sipped his coffee, testing the waters.

That's when he remembered the rumors – Marianne had been arrested for a theft charge. Worse yet, she was found guilty and now, a court date next week awaiting sentencing. It all seemed to tie back to an unfortunate event in the desert involving an individual named Renee, who had testified against Marianne in court. Not just a common run-in-the-mill victim, but linked to Marianne with a web of unknown connections.

"What time do you get off work?" He asked, catching her off guard.

"I...like to go straight home." She fumbled her words. The confession about her arrest seemed to take the wind out of her sails.

After a small chat about the dry weather, Winston mentioned he was headed to the pawn shop down the road, on the trail of the missing flamethrower, leaving a hint of a departing farewell. She visibly winced, although she recovered quickly, her unusually bright eyes watched him with a hint of alarm as he walked out.

She turned to the wall clock as soon as the shop door jingled shut - the end of her shift almost due. Winston absorbed this behavior, letting his gaze linger for one more moment before setting off.