Page 60 of What They'll Say About Us

"There was a time when I thought you could have, but I don't think so anymore."

"Good, because focusing on me is a waste of time. We need to find out who wanted your sister dead. Did she ever talk to you about her relationship with Professor Hale?"

"I know there were rumors, but she never said anything to me about him beyond the fact that she respected him and wanted to impress him. Why? Is he a suspect?"

"I'm just asking questions. What about Liam Crawford, my ex-boyfriend? Did she ever talk to you about him?"

"Was she hooking up with him while you were together?" Alina asked, once again not answering my question.

"He says no, but he thought she wanted to."

"Maybe to get back at you. Look, I have no idea, Tessa. I was sixteen when Paige died, and she was twenty-one and living away from home. I didn't know anything about her romantic life. And even though Ray was at school with her, I doubt he knew much, either, because she was private about stuff. She never talked about her boyfriends to us. If anyone knew, it was probably Sloane or that other girl she used to hang out with—Carrie. Will you keep me in the loop going forward? I hate having to wait until you post to know what's going on. I texted you earlier, and you didn't respond."

I hadn't responded because I wasn't completely sure I could trust Alina, but I wasn't going to tell her that. "When I get some actual facts, I will let you know. I was going to call you tomorrow about Cabot. I just got back a little while ago, and we wanted to get the video up as quickly as possible in the hopes that it will generate some leads."

"Okay. But you need to give me more updates when you have them. I'm the reason you're back in this. I have to know what's happening."

"I understand. Goodnight." As I ended the call, I glanced at Morgan. "We should look deeper into the MacIntyre family. See if we can find a link between Ray and Cabot. Or maybe a connection between the parents and Cabot. They are the only other people I can think of who might have been able to persuade him to cut the investigation short." Pausing, I added, "Detective Barclay is texting me."

"What does he say?"

"He's going to be tied up until late tonight. He'll text me tomorrow to arrange to get his car. I'm glad he'll have to talk to me again to get his keys. That will give me another chance to question him, find out what he's going to do next."

Morgan nodded, then yawned. "Sorry. It's not that late, but I'm beat."

"Me, too."

"You should get something to eat, Tessa. There's still some Thai food from earlier, or you could make some eggs, toast…"

"I'm not hungry. My stomach is still queasy from what I saw tonight."

"Understandable. I'm going to take a shower and then get into bed and try not to think about the fact that whoever killed Cabot might have now killed two people and has nothing left to lose by killing us."

"You're starting to get as dramatic as me," I said, her words chilling.

"Sorry, but we can't pretend that whoever killed Cabot is done. They could just be getting rid of all the problem people, and that might include us."

"I know. We need to be extra cautious with everything we do. But I'm hoping that killing Cabot will prove to be a mistake, that someone's camera in the neighborhood will have caught the killer. Then this could all be over soon."

Relief flitted through her gaze at my words. "That's true. There's a new case, a new trail to follow, and one that isn't cold and empty. Cabot didn't die on a deserted stretch of lakefront. He was in his home in a suburban neighborhood."

"Exactly. And maybe he got a text, setting up the meeting, or a phone call."

"That seems doubtful. The killer wouldn't leave a trail." Morgan paused. "I keep thinking of the killer as a man. After what you saw at Cabot's house, is it possible that it's a woman?"

"That's a good question." I thought for a moment, realizing I had been thinking all along the killer was a man. "I believe Cabot was struck in the back of the head with something heavy. I don't know what it was. There was no knife, gun, or anything covered in blood that was left in the room. I'm not sure how tall Cabot was. I only met him once nine years ago, and, tonight, he was crumpled on the ground so I couldn't tell. It's possible a woman could have knocked him out with something heavy."

"Well, hopefully, Detective Barclay will know more tomorrow."

As Morgan headed off to her room, I tidied up the table, putting our film equipment away and sat down to check my laptop. There was nothing new in my email, and I didn't feel like reading the comments on our podcast, so I put Liam's name into the search box, wondering what would come up. I'd always avoided looking him up on social media. But I was curious about him now.

Our conversation earlier had been brutally honest, which had only reminded me that he'd once known me better than I knew myself. He'd always seen through my pretenses, my fake smiles. I'd never been able to fool him, which is probably why I'd started fighting with him just before Paige died, and definitely after, because my insecurities had been running off the charts. I didn't want him to see me for who I was because I didn't like myself very much.

As I searched through various social media platforms, I finally found him on one of them, but it wasn't really about him; it was focused on his nightclub, the music and comedy acts coming to perform at The Peak. His business looked even more successful than I'd realized. He'd always wanted to own a club, and he'd made it happen by the time he was thirty years old.

I looked for evidence of his personal life, but while there were plenty of pretty girls in photos taken at the venue, no one seemed to repeat more than the other. It didn't seem like he was in a relationship, and there had been no sign of a woman living at his apartment. I wondered why he'd stayed single. He'd told me once that he didn't like dating, that he preferred relationships, which had made him different from most of the college boys I knew. But then Liam had always had a vision for his life.

I'd had one, too. But mine had combusted. My dreams had failed early, and I'd given up on them. Maybe I'd quit too soon, or maybe I'd been smart to cut my losses and do something else, because all those other jobs had led me here.