To Catch a Killer(9)

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, my internal organs slide into a dark abyss located somewhere around my knees. I press my nose to the orange and inhale deeply. I get it. Discovering a murder has to be the pinnacle of gossip-worthy news. Seriously, what could trump that? I’ve been so crushed over Miss P I haven’t considered what being the one to find her body will do to me. All that attention and pity … again.

I smooth the place mat in front of me with my finger. “What are they saying?”

Lysa pats my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s really not about you.”

Spam gives Lysa a wide-eyed look. “Dude. It’s totally about her.”

“It is?” I squeeze Lysa’s hand. I don’t think I can deal with this.

Lysa frowns. “Go easy, Spam. She’s been through a traumatic experience.”

“You guys, I can’t talk about this right now.” My eyes fill with water but I hold perfectly still to keep it from spilling down my cheeks.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. We can talk about something else.” Lysa lays her other hand on top of mine, but I notice she passes a pointed look to Spam.

“Right.” Spam glances away from Lysa and settles into a soothing tone. “It’s just you did sort of become an instant legend, but that’s not really important right now.”

“L-l-legend?” I can barely speak.

“God, Spam, stop it! You’re making it sound like she won prom queen or something. Just get to the point,” Lysa says.

“She kinda did,” Spam says with a grin. “Everybody knows who you are now.” Lysa’s glare causes Spam to drop the humor. “But we want you to know we’re really, really worried about you. And we know you must have been investigating something important at Miss P’s. We just don’t understand why you didn’t tell us about it.”

This is so hard. I hate lying to them. “It’s not what you think. And it didn’t have anything to do with you guys.”

“Are you sure?” Lysa asks carefully. “Because you know we think it has something to do with the box … and if that’s the case then we are involved. Big-time.”

I need to say something but I can’t seem to dredge up a new lie.

“Come on. We helped you steal it, and if that box caused what happened with Miss Peters, you can bet we’re going to get grilled about it.” Lysa’s voice gets higher and louder, a clear sign that she’s starting to panic.

“Miss Peters was murdered by a person, not a box. No one even knows I have it. I promise.”

“Erin, my father’s a criminal attorney. I know all the ways that this can go wrong for us,” Lysa says.

“Where’s the box now?” Spam asks.

“It’s in a safe place,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe you should give it to one of us,” Spam says. “For safekeeping.”

“No!” My tone is sharp and nonnegotiable. The box is mine. I’m keeping it. “It’s fine where it is.”

“Where exactly is it?” Lysa asks. “Since we’re involved, I think we should know.”

I push away from the table so fast I bang the chair against the wall. “I should be resting.” I manage a shaky half smile. “Rachel agrees that I probably have PTSD. Don’t worry about the box; it’s hidden in a place where no one would think to look.”

I stand like I’m going to walk them to the door. Spam and Lysa rise and ease in that direction, but then Lysa turns back for one more question.

“When did you first suspect there was something weird about Journey Michaels?”

“Huh?” I freeze, and the image of him walking past the interrogation room door leaps to my mind. Pale and sullen, his hands cuffed behind him. “I never suspected anything about him. Why?”

“Because isn’t it weird that just yesterday you were watching him?” Spam says.

“The same day he killed Miss Peters and you found her body,” Lysa adds.

“Allegedly,” I say, stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking. “You can’t say he did it. Not yet.”

Lysa and Spam exchange a tight-lipped frown that suggests there’s something seriously deranged about what I just said, but I’m done talking for the day.

“I need to lie down.” I wait quietly while they slip back out the door. Then I flip the lock behind them and race up the stairs to my bedroom, bringing the Cheater Check bags with me.





6

If you want to spot a liar, just remember that concealing the truth is like swallowing a slow-acting poison. It might take a while, but it will get them in the end.





—VICTOR FLEMMING


I check the time and wonder how long I have before Rachel will be home. I can’t risk her catching me with the box, so I usually restrict my time with it to when she’s working a night shift or after she’s gone to sleep.

In a true example of Rachel’s love for all things police-related, she’s the supervisor of our 911 emergency call center. Her usual hours are 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. But if someone calls in sick she has to cover their shift. Today she said she would only be there a few hours.

I send her a quick text. I THOUGHT YOU’D BE HOME FOR LUNCH.