You Owe Me a Murder(75)

The rushing in my ears increased. How the hell had I lost so much time? I was left with a bigger question. I’d been so exhausted, walking around in a fog. What did I not remember?

Down the block was the hum and swish of a street sweeper as it grew closer, like a giant swaying elephant lumbering along. A couple of guys in orange safety vests kept pace with the truck. They unlocked the trash cans on either side of the street and then hefted bags of garbage into the back of the truck. I glanced up and down until I saw the closest can and jogged over. I reached into my bag and, using my body as a shield from any security cameras, pulled out the knife, wiping it off before shoving it deep under a layer of fast-food cups and trash. Now at least if the cop came back, the knife wouldn’t be on my person.

I walked away but stayed close by until I saw the can get picked up. I watched it carefully to make sure nothing fell out. The trash was tossed in with everything else. No one was going to find that knife. I felt a bit better, but I still didn’t know what to do next. My brain was spinning, jerking from one thought to another like an out-of-control carnival ride. I couldn’t focus. Nothing made sense, but as soon as I tried to break down the problem, my brain would fly off in another direction. I was tired and shaking. I had to sleep before I collapsed. I stumbled back to Metford.

I couldn’t run the risk of meeting up with the security guard. Thankfully, the window to the laundry room was still unlatched. I lay down on the cold cement and swung my legs in, dropping down to the table with a thunk. It was completely dark inside, and for the first time in hours I felt safe.

I couldn’t go back to my room. I suspected Tasha would be waiting for me. Even if she wasn’t, the idea of climbing the stairs seemed impossible. I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was missing something, that some uncomfortable truth was hiding in the back of my brain. Someone’s laundry had been dumped on top of the table, so I wadded it up to make a pillow and lay down. All I wanted to do was sleep and forget any of this had happened. I closed my eyes and was gone.



* * *





Sounds in the hall woke me up with a start. I sat up, instantly awake with my heart racing. I held my bag clutched to my chest, but whoever it was walked past the laundry room without coming in.

I turned on my phone. I had turned it to airplane mode at some point the night before. I blinked when I saw the time. It was still early, just before seven. My notifications went ballistic, tons of missed calls and texts. Most were from Tasha, but the real shocker was one that came through from Alex.



You okay? Your parents called, said you’re AWOL. Text me.





I read it over and over as if there might have been a secret message contained within. The text showed he cared, right? He was worried. There were no protestations of love, or regret that things had ended the way they had, but he hadn’t had to send a message at all.

Unless my parents had made him.

They’d called. Seven messages.

beep Kim, it’s your mother. Please give me a call.

beep I don’t care what time it is there—?please call as soon as you get this message.

beep We trusted you to behave on this trip. If you don’t call back, you can consider yourself grounded the instant you get home.

beep Honey, I’m worried about you. Please call.

beep Kimberly, Tasha is considering calling the police. I know you don’t want that, so you need to call.

beep Kim, I’m not mad. Forget what I said about being grounded. I just want to know you’re okay.

beep Kimber-bear? This is your dad. Give us a call, sweetie. You can come home tomorrow and then we can figure out together what’s going on.

I stared down at the phone. My dad had called. Shit must be serious. He usually left all these parenting things up to my mom, who, if not an expert, played one online. She’d get plenty of blog posts out of this one. What to Do When Your Daughter Cracks Up. Or Mental Health Problems: It’s Not All in Her Head.

My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. It seemed that with everything going on, my appetite should have shut down, but it was still there, reminding me that at least the biological part of my life was continuing as normal. I mentally did the math. It was unlikely anyone in our group would be in the cafeteria this early.

I crept up the stairs. The lobby was empty. The kitchen staff had just opened the doors, so I ducked in, grabbing an apple, a couple slices of bread, and an individual packet of peanut butter before slipping back out.

“Hey, Kim!” I froze, the apple in my mouth. I turned around slowly. One of the desk clerks stood there smiling. “You know Tasha’s looking for you.”

I nodded. “Oh, yeah. I found her,” I lied.

“You got some mail.” She leaned over the desk, waving a white envelope in my direction like a surrender flag.

Bile rushed up my throat. I forced myself to reach for the envelope. As soon as I touched it, I relaxed. The paper wasn’t like what Nicki had sent before, not thick or fancy; it was a plain business envelope from an office supply store. It was pretty battered and adorned with Emily’s handwriting across the front, along with the goofy cartoon characters she always scribbled on things.

“Thanks. I better go put my stuff in the dryer.” I paused as if waiting for the clerk to call me on my lie, but she’d already started reading her book. I took my haul back down to the laundry room and plopped myself back onto the table. I spread a thick layer of peanut butter on the cold bread and inhaled it in three bites. Once the demon in my stomach was slightly mollified, I opened the letter from Emily.