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“Take it easy,” Matt says, heavy brows knit. “Maybe we should wait for the effects of the sleeping pills to pass.”
“Or maybe not,” I all but snarl, because fatherly figure or not, I thought the point of this whole show was to solve the mystery today, now. “I have to remember.”
He lifts his hands, backing off.
Good. I’m not sure how much bullshit bravado I can work up when just hearing the word murder cuts off my air supply.
Murder.
That’s it. This is it.
“He killed her,” I mutter.
Octavia’s cheeks are pale, her eyes round. “Who? Who was there, Merc?”
“I don’t fucking know.” And I could be wrong. I’m probably dead wrong.
But if I am, what was that body doing there? Where did the blood come from? If we assume I am remembering… then what the hell went down that night?
“My boy.” Mom is back, and she insists on checking my forehead for a fever, for some unfathomable reason. Her hands are actually warm against my skin and rough like sandpaper. “You gave us a—”
“—scare. I know. And I’m sorry. Nothing happened, I’m f—”
“Why would you do such a thing?” Her eyes fill up. “Is this how I raised you? To take… pills to sleep?”
I stare at her. “Mom. They’re just over-the-counter sleeping pills. Not hard drugs.”
A nod. Then, “You have to stop taking them, Merc.”
“I will. I swear.” I put a hand over my heart, and her gaze softens. “Okay?”
“My boy.” She pats my arm. “Eat something. You’re not eating enough.”
I consider arguing the point—I eat like I’ve always eaten, like a goddamn truck driver, and I’m not sick—but I gauge I’ve put her through enough stress and just dig in.
We’re taking a break from brainstorming for some breakfast, and it feels weird to be sitting in my kitchen—well, JC’s kitchen—with my family all around the table.
Even weirder is having JC serve us coffee and donuts, moving quietly about, being a gracious host to my family.
Not that JC isn’t a good host. He’s been nothing short of a saint lately, or let’s face it, since the start, though he seems to be battling his own ghosts.
“Merc?” Gigi says, kind of impatiently, as if she’s called my name at least once before.
“Hm? Yeah.” I tear my gaze off my roommate, who, I just realized, is wearing black dress pants and a shimmery white shirt, as if he just came back from a fundraiser ball. “What?”
“I said, what did you tell Ross to make him spring into action and call Tati?”
I stuff a donut into my mouth to buy myself time to think. “I guess I…” Yeah, what did I do? “Asked him how he’s doing.”
“That can’t be it,” Gigi says, shattering my theory with one blow, and it’s a sort of a relief. I don’t wanna feel pity for Ross. “He said something about a swan. What did he say when he called, Tati?”
Octavia looks up from her phone. “Something about a swan, yeah. Said he had to talk to you.”
She’s been texting Matt’s mom every ten minutes for updates on the kids. Maybe she thinks Matt’s mom can’t use a phone to call if something’s wrong?
Wait a sec… “He wants to talk to me?”
“Yeah. Why are you so surprised?” Octavia sends off her text and puts her phone down on the table. “I told you Ross needs us.”
