Take the Fall(67)

Once Felicia’s breathing shifts to an even rhythm, I head into the kitchen to find my phone lighting up with texts on the counter. They go back hours.

Marcus 6:01 p.m. Thought you said no texting.

Marcus 6:02 p.m. Am I allowed to ask where we’re meeting?

Mom 6:32 p.m. Elena says you got there ok. I love you.

Aunt Elena 8:13 p.m. Noah ok, docs not sure what’s wrong . . . More tests.

Mom 8:20 p.m. Hanging in there?

Marcus 8:27 p.m. Hello?

Marcus 8:28 p.m. What did the sheriff tell you?

I dash off quick replies to my mom and Aunt Elena, letting them know everything’s fine, Felicia’s asleep, and I’m settling in to watch a movie. I do turn on the TV, but more out of a need to fill the silence than an actual desire to watch anything.

I text Marcus.

Change of plans. Meet tomorrow. Evil Bean.

My phone buzzes a few seconds later.

Not tomorrow. Tonight.

Can’t tonight. Family emergency.

Should I ring your uncle’s doorbell, or do you want to step outside?

The back of my neck flares hot. I tiptoe to the front window, peek between the curtains, and gasp. The old Cadillac is across the street, right behind where I parked Dina’s hatchback. The dome light comes on and Marcus climbs out, loping toward the house. I look over my shoulder at the empty stairs and hurry to the front door, barely opening it a crack.

“I could report you for stalking.”

“We need to talk.”

“What are you even doing here?”

Marcus gazes up at the sky. “Do you want to have this conversation here, or are you going to let me in?”

I listen for sounds from the second floor. Part of me badly wants to let him in, but something in my gut makes me hold back. Maybe I’ve been too careless with my feelings. His fingerprint might not have been on the postcard, but it’s still unclear what role he played the night Gretchen died. And I can’t forget Reva’s accusations that he might be working with someone else.

A car drives by slowly. My fingers dig into the doorframe.

“The patio. Around back.”

I stumble through the darkened house, somehow making my way to the kitchen without knocking over anything that could break into a million loud and messy pieces. When I open the patio door, Marcus is leaning against the barbecue grill. His baseball cap is pulled low over his eyes; his jaw is unshaven.

I close the door firmly behind me. “How did you know where I was?”

“I saw you take off when I was leaving the sheriff’s office. I’d just read your text and thought you might be going somewhere to meet me.”

I shake my head. “Babysitting my cousin. My uncle’s in the hospital. So you’ve just been sitting out there for the last two hours?”

“I hope your uncle’s okay.” He ignores my question, but the gentle tone of his voice makes it sound like he does care. “Why were you at the sheriff’s office?”

“Why were you there?”

“Sergeant Blake had me come in. She asked all kinds of questions about my history with drugs.”

I wrap my arms around my waist, not sure I want to hear this. “What did you tell her?”

“That after the time my mother got busted hiding her cocaine in my lunchbox, I pretty much decided to avoid the stuff.”

“That’s a good answer.”

“It’s the truth.” His voice is flat.

I avoid his eyes, thinking of the money in Gretchen’s purse. “Even if you don’t use, people pay a lot to move that stuff around, don’t they?”

Marcus looks at me like I’ve slapped him. “Are you going to tell me what you and Aisha were chatting about with the cops?”

I stare at my hands. The sheriff said not to tell anyone about the money, and that probably goes double for Marcus, but I’m not sure how else to go about this. Gretchen was supposed to meet Marcus in the woods. She had a large amount of cash. According to Reva, Marcus needs money. I just wish it didn’t make so much sense. “Look, some new evidence has been . . . brought to light.”

“Brought to light?” He pushes up his cap and glares at me. “Sonia, what the f*ck is this about?”

I step back, bumping into the wall of the house. His eyes are wild, uncertain.

Afraid.

“I found the purse Gretchen was carrying that night. Aisha and I turned it in.”

He doesn’t move or say anything. The only light on the patio shines through the kitchen door, but even in the dim glow, it’s clear his face has paled.

“Was there anything in it?” he finally mutters.

“Would you know something about that?”

“What was inside?” he snaps.

I start, crossing my arms over my chest. “It sounds to me like you know exactly what it was.”

He looks away.

“Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” I say, trying to sound calm. “If you still want my help with this, you need to tell me exactly what you were up to the night Gretchen died and what that money was for. If you can’t be straight with me at this point . . . you’re on your own.”

His eyes come back to mine, bright and focused. “I never wanted to get back together with Gretchen.”

I hold my breath.

A bold look flashes across his face. His gaze moves along the arch of my brow, over my jaw, down my neck and collarbone. My skin warms as if he’d actually touched me in each of those places.