You Owe Me a Murder(42)

I recognized the detective’s voice right away.

“Make it two of the chocolate,” the detective said to the clerk. “My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said. I held my tote tightly as if I thought she were going to yank it away from me.

“No problem. I thought we might go back to Metford and have a chat.”

“I’m supposed to meet up with friends in just a bit,” I tried, knowing even as the words left my mouth that she wasn’t going to let me go that easily.

“This won’t take long.”

“They’re supposed to meet me here. I don’t really have time.”

She sighed. “Okay, we’ll talk here, then. Have a sit.” She motioned to two stools along the bar by the window.

The barista called out my name and passed me my latte, the heat of the paper cup searing into my hand. I wanted to run for the door, but instead I trudged over to where the detective was waiting. My feet felt as though they were encased in lead boots. Dead girl walking.

The rest of our group piled in, laughing. I hadn’t been lying, unfortunately. Kendra nudged Jazmin and everyone glanced over. Alex took a step toward me, but I shook my head. I had to handle this on my own.

They all acted as if they had a keen interest in ordering their coffee and considering the contents of the bakery case, but they leaned toward us, trying to hear what we were saying. I shot a glance at the lot of them, willing them to leave, but they didn’t. I bit back annoyance that they were finding my drama their entertainment.

“I’m Detective Sharma, by the way, in case you forgot.” She broke off a corner of her pastry and popped it into her mouth. Her hair was pulled back so tight it looked painted on, as though she were a doll. We were still in the chummy stage of the discussion.

I sipped my latte. “Tasha told you about Connor,” I said as quietly as I could. She nodded. “And you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you I dated him.”

“Nah. I got some theories on that.”

My hand jolted, causing me to slop a bit of my latte on the wood counter. Her comment was unexpected. “Oh.”

“It made perfect sense to me why you didn’t say anything.” Detective Sharma nudged the plate with my croissant closer to me. “You’d broken up, this horrible thing happens, the last thing you want is to volunteer any connection. Now, I happen to love the police department, but that’s not a feeling shared by everyone. Most people avoid us if they can.” She smiled and tiny slivers of croissant stuck to her lips, like flaking skin. “That’s human nature. I looked through my notes and checked with DI Fogg. You never lied to us. You didn’t say you dated him, but we didn’t directly ask.”

Air filled my lungs. “That’s right, I didn’t lie.” I repeated that loudly so the crowd at the register couldn’t miss it. Alex nodded encouragingly.

“Sounded like the bloke broke your heart.”

I shrugged. “It was pretty bad, but you know, things happen, you gotta move on . . .” I trailed off. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. She waited for me to voice something else, but I stared down at the counter, counting the rings in the polished wood.

“They say young love is some of the strongest.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “It was never really love. Tasha told you about the newspaper clipping.”

“You don’t have it anymore?”

“No. I threw it away.”

Detective Sharma nodded. “And it didn’t come with any kind of note, or return address or anything?”

“No.”

“There’s not really anything we can check on. But I wanted you to know we looked into your history with Connor.” She smiled again, licking her lips free of crumbs, and I suddenly had the sense that she’d been leading me somewhere, the real reason she’d come to find me.

I made a noncommittal noise. I was starting to wish I had agreed to go back to Metford so we could have had this discussion in private.

“I also talked to your parents.”

I closed my eyes. Uh-oh. The espresso machine screamed, blowing steam into the air.

“Your mom was very keen to make sure we knew what a great kid you are.” Detective Sharma took a long sip of her drink. “She didn’t think much of Connor.”

I bet she’d had plenty to say. One thing you could say about my mom was that she wasn’t someone who had a hard time sharing her feelings.

“Now, it’s not that unusual for parents to not be that fond of someone their kid is dating. You know what they say, No one is good enough for my little girl. But do you know what I found most interesting about what she said?”

My throat was tight and I had to push out the “no,” so quiet that Detective Sharma leaned in to hear me.

“What was interesting is that she said you never dated Connor O’Reilly.”

I heard Alex gasp behind me just before his cup of coffee hit the floor.



* * *





My mom always went on and on about being a writer, as if she were the female blogging equivalent of Hemingway. The Jane Austen of the Internet. Most of the time Mom stuck to blogging, but every few months she’d cycle through a phase where she decided she was meant to write a novel. She would either start a new one or pick up one of the projects she’d been dragging around for years.