You Owe Me a Murder(64)

“But he’s going to be okay?” Sophie hugged herself.

“He stopped breathing, but the doctors don’t think it was for long. The paramedics were there pretty quickly. They’re keeping him overnight for observation because he had to be revived, but he was conscious when I left.” I’d wanted to speak to him but neither the doctors nor Tasha would let me. Instead I’d had to make do with peeking into his room to get a glimpse. I needed to ask him if he’d seen “Erin” around before it happened. “They said he wasn’t up for talking yet.”

“It’s like this trip is cursed,” Kendra said.

Jazmin punched her in the shoulder. “Cut it out with that crap. No one needs your voodoo hex on this shit.”

“I’m just saying it’s weird. Connor ends up dead and then this.”

A ripple of unease ran through my chest. Hours in the sterile waiting room with outdated magazines, bad coffee, and hushed conversations had given me a lot of time to think.

What were the odds that Alex would have been exposed to shrimp hours after I’d failed to do what Nicki wanted?

My math teacher was always on me to understand that correlation doesn’t mean causation. Just because your dog barked when you ate a banana doesn’t mean that the banana caused your dog to bark. They just happened at the same time. It’s sloppy science to confuse the two. But this nightmare had Nicki’s name all over it.

“So, what happens now?” Sophie asked.

“Tasha talked to Alex’s parents. They’re flying over. They were hoping to get a flight as soon as possible.” I didn’t share how Tasha had looked when she’d made the call, as if she’d rather peel her own skin from her bones than tell them. “The hospital will keep Alex until tomorrow to make sure his bloodwork and everything comes back looking like it should.”

“And the rest of us?” Jazmin asked.

“There’re only a couple days left,” Jamal said. “I suspect they’ll just have us finish. It would take us almost that long to make other arrangements.”

“I guess. It just seems weird to be doing touristy stuff with . . .” Jazmin looked over at me. “You know.”

“I’m going to bed,” I said.

Sophie touched my arm lightly. “You need anything?”

I shook my head and trudged up the stairs, each of my legs feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds. I’d go back to the hospital in the morning and I wouldn’t take no for an answer about seeing Alex.

I shut my door behind me and leaned against it. I was debating if I should bother washing my face. All I wanted to do was strip off my clothes. They smelled like the hospital, a mix of pine cleanser and rot. I glanced around. It seemed impossible that we had woken up here together just this morning.

That’s when I noticed my bed was made. And not just made—?arranged with military precision. The covers were pulled up tight, the corners folded, the pillow vertical against the wall. I didn’t make my bed like that. I rarely made my bed at all, and if I did, I settled for yanking the blankets up rather haphazardly.

There was something tucked in, half of it under the covers and half on the pillow. I jerked the covers back with a swoosh as though doing a magic trick. A small jar, like one for baby food, tumbled down the mattress. I picked it up.

Most of the writing was in Japanese, but there was some English, too. Just enough.

SHRIMP POWDER





Twenty-Nine


August 29


2 Days Remaining


I sat on one of the Kensington Gardens park benches that lined the walkways. I’d taken a photo of the statue of Peter Pan and posted it to Instagram so Nicki would know where to find me. I didn’t bother with any kind of message. She was clever. She would know where I was and why I wanted to see her. Then I waited.

There weren’t many people out this early. A few joggers and moms pushing baby carriages. I clenched my hands into fists and released them, my fingernails leaving dark red crescent moons in my palms.

“There you are!” Nicki called out. She was already swinging her leg off her bike as she coasted up. The bike wheels crunched through the gravel like the sound of cereal in milk. She wore a flowery dress with a full skirt. She looked as if she belonged on the cover of a romance novel.

I hurled the tiny jar at her and it hit her chest with a thump before falling to the base of the statue and shattering in a firework burst of glass and powder.

Nicki dropped her bike and rubbed her breastbone. “Hey, that hurt—?”

She didn’t finish because I’d flown through the distance between us and punched her in the face, my knuckles connecting with her jaw with a meaty whack. Her head jerked back.

She stumbled over her bike, going down on one knee before quickly popping up and scrambling three steps back.

“Hey, you girls, what are you up to?” an elderly man yelled over, his accent thick and almost unintelligible.

I backed up. I panted with rage. The bones in my fist felt as if they’d exploded on impact. I shook my hand, trying to get the stinging to stop. I’d never hit anyone before in my life. Adrenaline pumped through my body; it felt as though every muscle was throbbing with energy. I wanted to hit her again. If that guy hadn’t been around, I might have done it.

“We’re fine,” Nicki said. The man walked away but kept shooting glances at us over his shoulder, hitching up his baggy sweatpants, until he was out of sight. “Let me see your phone.”