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“Liam is dead, Tom. Murdered, almost certainly with my gun. There’s not a split second where I wondered whether they were here for you.”
He nods, still breathing hard. “I know. Sorry for the panic.” He takes a deep breath, and I realize that isn’t from running up the stairs. “I swear I hyperventilate when I see a cop in my rear-view mirror. I know they’re here about Liam.”
“They’re here for me,” I say as I pull on my jeans.
“Or me. I’m the ex-con. I’m the one who argued with him. I live here. Not you.”
“Celeste sent me here. She knows exactly where I am.”
He curses. The pounding comes again, this time accompanied by a voice, and he dashes down the stairs to listen.
“They’re saying they have an arrest warrant,” he says when he comes back up. “For you.”
I inhale. “Okay, let’s deal with this.”
“Up the stairs. Onto the roof.”
“What?” I shake my head. “I’m not fleeing the cops, Tom.”
“You aren’t. I didn’t open the door. They haven’t served their warrant. Until they do, you’re fine.”
I hesitate.
“Trust me on this,” he says. “In prison, I had a cellmate who educated my dumb ass about my rights. Need-to-know information if your skin isn’t lily white.”
I still hesitate. “I should turn myself in. Tell them who I really am and face this. I didn’t kill Liam.”
“No, that imposter did, and she probably also killed your grandmother. If you reveal your identity, you give her time to run.” He lays his hands on my shoulders. “We just need to get the diary and talk to Doc Hoover. We can do the first tonight and the second in the morning. I know where he lives. You can be there before breakfast.”
The pounding comes again. Tom’s right. I know he’s right, no matter how much my rule-following soul screams, Dear God do not run from the police.
“CeCe?” Tom says.
I nod and run for the ladder onto the roof.
