My face goes slack, and my chest hollows. “No.”
Mama sneers, storming toward Walker and me. “You ungrateful bitch.”
Walker steps in front of me, holding his hand up. “Lor! That’s enough. The fire isn’t spreading. The snow is keeping it in place. Firefighters are on their way. Go back inside your home.”
The implacable expression on Mama’s face doesn’t fade, but she does as Walker directed and goes back inside.
She hates me. She’ll always hate me.
Walker’s hand on my arm guides me to his truck. He opens the passenger door, ushering me to slide in.
Spinning around, I hope Walker has the sense to hear me out. “Walk. Just let me explain.”
“Sure thing. Down at the station.” He lifts me by my hips, sitting me on the seat and buckling me in. Walker shuts me in and marches off to coordinate with the fire department.
I hope he listens long enough to hear the full story, and I pray that he won’t kill me when I tell him the truth.
CHAPTER 19
BLAKE
I’ve been waiting so long that I'm wondering if Walker is pulling some kind of elaborate prank on me.
When we got to the station last night, Walker emptied my pockets and locked me in here. I've been in this interrogation room for hours. I wouldn't be surprised if the sun has come up.
Peering into the two-way, I make note of the dark circles under my eyes. I tried sleeping, but a metal chair and table aren't exactly the ideal bed.
The warm beige walls and the gray tile flooring of the interrogation room are nothing special to look at. So much so that I feel like I’ll go cross-eyed any second.
Despite my exhaustion, I get to my feet and yell through the door. “Hello? Anybody there?”
I try to turn the doorknob, something I've done periodically, but find it locked. Frustrated, I groan and plop back down in the chair.
As I'm rubbing my eyes, the tumblers in the doorknob click, and Walker strolls in, a paper cup of coffee in each hand. He sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the table, passing oneof the cups to me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee makes me perk up in my seat.
As I'm bringing the cup to my mouth, Walker starts, “Miss Jennings?—”
I interrupt him with the sound that is halfway between a groan and a growl. “Oh, God. Not this bullshit again.”
Walker gives me a look, telling me to behave. “What were you doing at Riverbend Trailer Park?”
Taking a quick sip of the coffee, I keep my answers simple. “I was checking in on my mom.” Walker scrutinizes my answer, and I know he sees right through my half-truth. “I need to?—”
It's Walker's turn to interrupt me. “This is the second time you were the first person at the scene of a homicide. Both people were killed in the exact same way.” As he says the second statement, he lays out two photos of the bodies from each crime scene as well as headshots of two Men.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I quip back, then look more closely at the pictures of live people. “Are these the victims?” The two pictures look like DMV photos.
Walker slides the pictures closer to me across the table. “Do you know them?”
“That’s Reverend Ricks.” I answer, pointing to the first photo, then I indicate the second as I respond, “I don’t know who that is.”
Walker taps his index finger on Rick's photo. “What’s your relationship with the reverend?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I lean back in my chair. “He presided over my dad’s funeral services and burial.”
“Is that all?” Walker interrogates as if I'm not telling the whole truth.
His suspicion is understandable. He's right. I was at both crime scenes before anyone else, but he doesn't know that it was by design.
