Page 55 of My Twin Sister

I eat my bagel while I wait for Brooke to show up and go over in my mind just how much I should tell her. I find it hard to believe that everything isn’t connected somehow — Frank trying to have me killed after an inappropriate relationship, Morgan dying mysteriously with no further investigation, and false accusations against my father. Not to mention his suspicious suicide that no one else seems to question. And now the anonymous texts trying to scare me into silence.

All of it points to a corrupt police force. The cop from the bar admitted they were all crooked when he told me about the drugs and planting them in someone’s car, which I know now was Brooke’s. The problem is figuring out how the hell to take down a group of crooked cops as just a girl the sheriff didn’t kill.

The doorbell rings, and I practically run to the front of the house. Brooke jumps when I fling the door open.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a little jittery this morning. Might need to skip the coffee for now.”

She pushes air through her nose. “Not me. I need your largest cup.”

She walks in and I see she already has a takeaway cup from Carol’s Diner. She tosses it into the trash on her way to the coffee pot.

“Mugs are in the cabinet just above,” I say, and she helps herself. “You’re up and about early this morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep. I’m all kinds of pissed off, and I’m pretty sure I’ve ruined any future chances of making friends with anyone at the police station.” My stomach drops at her words. She turns to look at me and pauses. “Holy shit. Who punched you in the face?”

My hand automatically goes to my nose, and I flinch at the pain. “It’s a long story,” I say. “What do you mean about the police station? Why? What happened?”

She lets the matter of my battered face go. “They won’t let me see the records on Morgan’s death. They’re supposed to be public record.”

I open my mouth to tell her the records aren’t there, but she keeps going.

“I tried to get them years ago, but it’s one thing after another with them. Paperwork, then the paperwork has been lost, then the files have to be requested online, then the fucking website is down. They have them there at the station and they’re making me jump through hoops because their stupid files aren’t digitalized.”

“They don’t have them,” I say quickly in the gap of her rant.

“What? Yes they do.”

I shake my head. “They don’t. At least not in their filing room. They might be keeping them somewhere else, but I doubt it.”

Brooke sets her coffee mug on the counter. “How do you know that?”

I consider lying, but I can’t think of a convincing one quick enough. “I broke in the other night and tried to find them. They’re not there. Neither is my file, but I assume that’s being looked at by someone now that I’m back.”

Her mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. Then she looks away, confusion pinching her face. “How?” she asks.

“It’s a long story. But you really should be careful making enemies with Raven PD.”

She sighs. “Maybe it’s them who should be careful for a change. They’re not invincible.”

No, I think. But pretty close to it.

“We just have to be smart,” I say. “We can’t be reckless about all of this. If they’re going to be taken down, it’s going to be because we outsmarted them.”

Brooke stares straight ahead and her jaw clenches and unclenches. Maybe she isn’t the person I need after all. Her rage might make her reckless. I understand the feeling. I spent years plotting my revenge from states away, planning all the ways I would torture Frank once it was safe for me to come back. But as the years went on, my rage simmered, almost to the point that I no longer felt the need to come back. I just wanted to move on. Finally.

But then my dad died. And his name was tarnished. And I couldn’t just sit back and let it keep happening. So here I am.

“You know something,” she says. I look up to see her analyzing me. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know anything. That’s the problem.”

“Bullshit. Why are you breaking into the police station and looking for my sister’s file? You know something.”

“Not for sure, but I have some theories.”

“Which are? Stop being vague and mysterious.”

“I’m not trying to be. It’s complicated, and I don’t want to say too much when I’m not sure what’s going on. But one thing I know for sure, the PD aren’t dumb. They know what they’re doing. And they’re dangerous, so you need to be careful. Stop pissing them off,” I say and hope she takes me seriously.