Big Summer(104)

I unlocked my front door and jogged up the stairs, my head full of a life that could have been. I was halfway down the hall with my keys in my hand when I heard Bingo’s whimper. I looked up to see that someone was, indeed, waiting for me, just as I’d imagined. But it wasn’t the police.

“Don’t scream,” said Leela Thakoon as she drew a neat little gun out of her crossbody bag and pointed it at my heart.

I felt the breath leave my body, felt my knees turn to liquid.

“Open the door. Get inside, and give me your phone.” I did what she told me, handing her my phone, and stepped inside. From the bathroom, I could hear water running in the tub. When Bingo came charging toward us, snorting and wriggling with delight, Leela gave her a swift, sharp kick that sent her tumbling head over bottom. Bingo yelped, her expression betrayed. She hid behind my legs, cringing.

“If that animal comes near me again, I’ll shoot it. Put it in the closet.”

“She won’t stay.” I was shaking all over, my knees and wrists and even my lips, every strand of hair on my head trembling.

“Do it.”

I whispered “Be a good girl” into Bingo’s ear, dropped her onto the coat closet floor, and closed the door. Immediately, Bingo started whining and scratching, butting at the door with her head. Leela ignored her.

“Sit,” she said, waving the gun toward the living room. I practically fell into the armchair in the corner. “Pleasedon’tkillme,” I said, the words coming in a rushed exhalation.

Leela sighed. “I don’t want to. Really, I don’t.” She had the nerve to give me her twinkling, dimpled smile as she wagged a scolding finger. “But you! You couldn’t let it rest!”

“I…” I said. I stopped. Swallowed. Licked my dry lips with a tongue that felt like a lump of felted wool, and tried to play it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, c’mon. Let’s not lie. It’s just us chickens!” She flashed her dimples at me again and, with her free hand, pushed her silvery-lilac hair behind her ears, before lifting one finger. “First of all, you posted something from New Haven, where Aditya Acharya lives. And Aditya was friends with Drue. Friends with benefits. At least, that’s according to the people I paid to keep eyes on her.” One of my scheduled posts, I thought. It must have gone up while we were in Connecticut, and I must have forgotten to turn off my geo-tagging, which let the whole world know where I was, and now my partnership with the yoga mat company was going to get me killed. “I told myself that it could have been a coincidence. Maybe you’ve got friends in Connecticut, right?” Another finger went up. “However, I also have my website set up to alert me when I get visitors with IP addresses from the Outer Cape. Which I did, about an hour ago. The cops, I assume.” She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “Unless someone in the Truro Police Department was looking for the perfect cotton-Lycra jumpsuit.”

I swallowed hard. “Darshi’s going to be home any minute.”

“Darshi has office hours,” Leela corrected, her voice still cheery. “She’s going to be on campus until ten o’clock. I called to make sure.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Leela said. Before hope could take hold, she said, “You’re going to kill yourself. See, you’re distraught. Overcome with grief about murdering your BFF on her wedding day.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a prescription bottle full of white oval-shaped pills. “I got these for myself, in case things went bad.” When she gave the bottle a shake, the pills rattled like bones. “You’ll just write out a note, slip into a warm bath, swallow a bunch of these with some vodka, pull a bag over your head, and goodbye, cruel world.” I was shaking, shuddering all over, my feet bouncing and jittering on the floor. Leela saw, and looked sad. “I’m sorry. I know Drue hurt you, too. But I am not going to jail for that bitch.”

“You…” I licked my lips. Flatter her, I thought. Keep her talking. “I have to give you credit. It was a brilliant plan. Who gave Drue the poison?”

“Some guy,” she said, shrugging. “Some guy who needed twenty thousand dollars and could get himself hired by the catering company. All he had to do was pour a vial into Drue’s cocktail. I never met him. I don’t know his name. And, of course, he doesn’t know mine.”

I’d read enough mysteries to know how I was supposed to feel—my palms sweating and my mouth dry, trembling, or frozen with terror. Even though I was still trembling, terror had left me blessedly cool and clear-eyed. I could see everything, from the pile of vintage children’s books on my craft table to the flick of black liner Leela had applied at the outer corners of her lashes. I recognized the piece of clothing she was wearing: the Anna dress, with its Empire waist and midi-length skirt, in a shade she called Damson Plum. The perfect outfit for a murder.

“And the poison? Where did you get it?”

“Stop stalling.” She jerked the gun toward the hall.

“Just tell me,” I said, and made myself feign interest. “Come on. Think about it. You’re never going to be able to explain it all to anyone else, right? I’ll take your story to the grave.”

“You will, won’t you?” Leela said, looking pleased at the thought. “I got it from the dark web!” Her voice was smug. “Turns out, there are websites that are basically Amazon for controlled substances. I found the pills, and the poison, and the hit man, all on the same website!” She giggled merrily. “One-stop shopping!”