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“Do you name them?” the detective asks as I roll up the bag of food and stuff it into a nearby dumpster. My nose wrinkles at the smell, and I shrug at her when I’m done.
“Some of them. But it wouldn’t be feasible to name them all.” It’s hard for me to say it, but I continue with, “A lot of them don’t last long. And I don’t want to get too attached.”
“That’s rather sad.” As if I didn’t know that. But she follows me, keeping up her small talk about the cats, until we’re out of the courtyard and in front of the building. We reach my car where it sits with hers pulled up neatly behind it, close enough that it looks almost like she’s touching my bumper.
Is that a threat? I wonder. Some way to tell me that there’s no escaping from her and her antiquated Ford cruiser that could probably do with a new paint job?
Sinking down to the sidewalk in front of my car, I glance up, brows raised, and wonder if she’ll do the same. Unless she’s arresting me, I don’t care to move to any kind of secondary location, and if I can give her any hints that I don’t want her here, then I’ll do my best to make sure she gets every single one of them.
Including my sigh of disappointment when she does sit down beside me, hands shoved in her pockets as she stretches her legs out in front of her. “Have you gone to see Evan?” she asks out of the blue, and from the way the words hit me in the stomach, she might as well have just punched me.
“No.” There’s no point in lying to her. “Why in the world would I?”
“Because he’s one of your old friends. Because you were peers.” She shrugs. “Because Hollow Bridge is a small town.”
My fingers drum on the concrete beside me and I spare a look around. I wish this was the one time Rory and Phoenixwerestalking me, instead of keeping their distance to look like we aren’t involved in the wake of what had happened at the barn.
But they’re not here. Or at least, not visibly so. And I’m on my own with Angleson.
“This is weird,” I admit finally, turning my insincere smile on her. “You know that, right?”
“No, I don’t. What’s weird?” I hate the color of her eyes and the way she looks at me, as if trying to suss out some secret that she thinks I’m hiding.
Unluckily for her, there’s really nothing for her to find.
“Well, when Daisydiedand it was their fault, no one was on them for visiting or going to her funeral or whatever. But now Evan, who took any chance he could in high school to distance himself from me andmock me, is in the hospital, and you’re here telling me I should visit him? Out of peer obligation or something? Shall I get him a bouquet of flowers, too? Maybe linen bandages to wrap around his wounds? Perhaps you’ll have me self-flagellate next, to show my repentance?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Angleson is quick to admit. “Self-what, again?”
“Never mind,” I mutter, trying not to let my irritation go further than it is already. “It doesn’t matter. The sarcasm is lost on you if I have to explain it.” I know my look isn’t nice, or friendly, or welcoming toward Hollow Bridge’s finest, but nothing in me cares whatsoever. “Want me to visit Emily’s grave, too? With a bunch of flowers? Should I send Jack’s parents a pie? Or a casserole?”
I can feel her frustration with me even before she looks at me with her tiny, unimpressed frown. “You’re not doing yourself any favors, you know,” she informs me. “If you were a suspect—”
“If I were a suspect and didn’t have all kinds of alibis, I’m sure you’d have me in jail by now,” I agree. “I mean, I think we’re all pretty clear whose side you’re on, detective.”
“You’re right,” she agrees. “It’s clear I’m on the side of the kids who’ve beenmurderedhere the past few weeks. What about you? Whose side are you on, if not the side of the people trying to catch a killer?” It’s a smart question. It’s meant to make me squirm, or to make me reveal something that I don’t want to.
It’s just a shame that she doesn’t scare me, and that all of my unease around her has turned from discomfort, to hesitation, to dislike. After all, I’ve never been very good at hiding how I feel, as I’m sure she’s picked up by now.
“Daisy’s side. You know, that side no one was ever on? You included?” I can’t help but hint dryly.
“I don’t think that is a side.” She gets to her feet with a sigh, rubbing one knee. “I know you don’t like me, but you should stop to think of something, before you blow me off again,” the officer advises me, not really looking in my direction.
When she doesn’t continue, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “And what is that?”
“That you were involved in Daisy’s death too,” she reminds me. “And maybe that makes you just as much a target as anyone else.”
She’s wrong, is the first thought that whispers through my mind, the faces of Rory and Phoenix swimming into my mental vision at the same time.She’s wrong, because they wouldn’t.
At least, I hope they wouldn’t.
I hope they won’t, honestly. But them hating me is probably just as believable as Phoenixlikingme, or having a crush on me. Especially now, with Rory in the picture.
Do I really believe they came here to do more than kill people? Do I really believe, for a moment, that they’re telling the truth about me, instead of toying with me before I meet the same end of their knives that the others had?
Whatever Angleson sees on my face, it seems to mollify her somewhat. “I’ll see you around,” she says casually, already heading back to her car as if she didn’t come here wanting answers. Hell, maybe she just came here to upset me.
If she did, then she’s succeeded. And I hate the feeling of doubt crawling at my insides, whispering just below my skin.
