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Fiona shoots me a curious look.
I shake my head. “Sorry. Just scared.”
“Do all Americans talk to themselves out loud?” Her reddish brows narrow at me, but not unkindly.
I confess. “No. Just me.”
The junior detective standing next to Collins shoots an annoyed look in our direction. Fiona and I stop talking, straighten our spines, and stand at attention.
I try to focus, to look interested and innocent, but all I can think about is his face.
And murder.
Right now, Carol Ann is in town at the local morgue with one of the teachers and a dead body. As she’s distantly related to the man who died, she’s the one who has to identify the body.
Just before a police officer escorted her away, she warned us that tonight we’re going to be “drinking loads of wine after I get through this creepy shit. I’ve never seen a dead body before!”
Lucky girl. Wish I could say the same.
I have to go to the police. If it was just a prank with a homemade firebomb, if it was just property damage, maybe I could keep my word to the dark man with the bright blue eyes.
But murder…
A human being losing their life—changes everything.
Hiding out and pretending I didn’t see what I saw is just not an option for me. There’s no way I could live with myself if I didn’t tell the cops what I know. Not only could I not live with myself, but I also want to talk.
I can’t let a man control me or intimidate me into doing the wrong thing. I’m not a weak woman.
I won’t let him win.
The moment DI Collins dismisses us, I grab Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, come here. We need to talk.”
I pull her over to the garden shed.
She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the wooden door. “What’s wrong?”
Everything? I’ve witnessed a murder… How do I start? “I—um…so listen…” My stomach sinks and my mouth dries up. The words won’t come.
I sink down onto the ramp that leads up to the shed door. Crossing my legs, I sit there, burying my head in my hands.
Fiona crouches down next to me, her hand rubbing circles on my back. “Sweetheart. What’s wrong? I mean, besides the fact that our research center is gone, and a man died.” Even though I’ve only known her for a matter of days, a week on this island is like a month and she already feels like one of my closest friends.
“Sit down,” I say, my voice tight with unshed tears.
“Alright.” She takes a seat next to me, her hand still doing that nice circle thing. Little tingles dance over my skin, calming me.
“Fiona.” I catch her pretty green eyes, filled with warmth. Her brows knit with concern. “I was there. Last night. I saw the whole thing.”
“No!” Her hand slowly rises to her mouth, covering it. She openly stares at me. “Say it’s not true.”
“It’s true. I swear.”
She grabs my hands in her cold ones. “Tell me you’re joking. Like it’s a bit of American humor. A wee practical joke? Isn’t that what you say?”
“No. I’m being dead—” The word makes my stomach flip-flop again, thinking of the man who was trapped in the burning building last night. “I’m being totally serious, Fiona. I was there.”
“What happened? Wait—” Still holding my hands, she glances around. Students are grouped in small clumps. Some wipe away tears, others have already moved on, chatting and laughing as if nothing’s happened.
