You Owe Me a Murder(23)

“Okay.” The image of Connor’s body flashed across my brain in neon colors.

“Do you want to come home?” Mom asked. I could imagine her in her purple Ralph Lauren floral nightie, her hair sticking up as she held the phone from the guest room.

I tried to answer, but my throat had squeezed shut. I wanted her to want me to come home, to meet me at the airport and fold me into her arms and tell me everything would be okay. I wanted her to make the decision for me.

“It’s fine if you do,” Dad said, filling the silence. “I know this must be very hard. Your mom and I know you really cared for Connor despite everything.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, pushing the words out.

My mom sighed. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I think the best thing you can do is move forward and finish the trip.”

“What happened is a tragedy,” Dad said. “And it’s going to be extra difficult on you because of your history with him.” I nodded even though my dad couldn’t see me. History. That’s what it was—?past tense. “Hopefully they’ll have some answers for his parents soon. It sounds like they don’t know the whole story.”

“With what the program costs, you’d think they would have kept a better eye on all of you,” Mom chimed in.

I didn’t bother pointing out we were old enough to not be tied together like a set of kids from a preschool. Tasha had been paying attention, but she couldn’t be everywhere.

It had to have been an accident. He’d been at the edge of the platform. Connor was usually pretty coordinated, but he’d been off ever since we got here. Maybe he wanted to get a closer look at a poster and his foot slipped. Or maybe he hadn’t heard the train; if he had his cochlear implants turned down for some reason, he might not have realized he was leaning too far forward until it was too late. It would have taken only a second.

Part of me wanted to tell my parents about the fight I’d had with Connor just before he died. I felt guilty that the last time I’d spoken to him had been so nasty. All of it had been horrid. I’d wished him dead for weeks and now I wanted to take it back. I felt sick that I’d ever been that spiteful, even in my head. What if I had put that negative energy out into the universe in some way? I’d wanted karma to take him out.

Then a thought exploded in my head, zapping away the fog that had filled my head since the night before.

It hadn’t been karma. I sat down hard on the bed.

“I should let you go—?it’s really late,” I said, cutting off my mom and whatever she had been saying.

“If you need us, you just call,” Dad said before I clicked off the phone. I dropped it on the floor, not trusting myself to say anything else. My brain raced in circles.

It wasn’t just that I’d wished Connor would die after what he’d done to me. I’d talked to Nicki about killing him. But it had been nothing but a joke.

Right?





Ten


August 19


12 Days Remaining


It was ridiculous to think Nicki had murdered Connor. We hadn’t been serious; it was just a drunk conversation where we blew off some steam. It was the kind of thing that people say all the time. I could just kill that guy.

Even thinking about Nicki as a possible suspect in a homicide was stupid. It was taking one piece of information and embroidering it into a full-blown fantasy. It was the kind of overly dramatic thing I’d expect Miriam to do. Sure, Nicki was a bit wild, but it’s a huge leap from stealing some booze to committing a murder.

It had been a mind game, thinking of a perfect crime. Something to keep us occupied on a long flight. Nicki didn’t have any reason to kill Connor. People don’t push someone in front of a train because someone else they had met once didn’t like him. Why would anyone risk life in prison for a stranger? It was illogical.

But crimes weren’t about logic. What did they say? Crime of passion. It was all emotion.

I paced back and forth between the door and the window, making tight circles in the small space, looking out at Harrington Road. It was raining and people streamed down the sidewalks, their umbrellas bobbing along like black oily bubbles. I was obsessing because my dad had put his finger on something that I hadn’t been able to face—?how I felt about Connor’s death.

I felt guilty.

Guilty that I’d ever slept with him.

Guilty that I’d let myself fall for the idea of him.

Guilty that I’d spent significant amounts of time imagining bad things happening to him. I wasn’t that kind of person, or at least I didn’t want to be.

Guilty that I’d said so many mean things about Connor to anyone who would listen, including a total stranger I met in an airport.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I wished I had some way to get in contact with Nicki. It would be a bizarre conversation, but I would feel better if I could call and just check. You didn’t do anything, did you? I kicked myself for not thinking to get her phone number before the plane landed.

Another thought zapped through my brain and I grabbed ahold of it as if it were a lifeline. Nicki hadn’t gotten my number either. She wouldn’t even know how to find me, or Connor!

My mouth went dry. Unless she’d followed me somehow? How much had I told her that night on the flight? I’d thought I’d seen her at the Tower of London, and that was the same day Connor had almost fallen down the stairs. He’d told everyone it was an accident, but he could have been tripped on purpose. Maybe he wasn’t suddenly clumsy on this trip—?maybe someone had done something to him. My heart thundered in my chest.