You Owe Me a Murder(80)

I barked a bitter laugh. “Your research is some great purpose. Now you’re like a twisted Dr. Freud.”

Nicki screwed her mouth to the side. “I picture myself more like B. F. Skinner. Operant conditioning, behaviorism, that kind of thing. I was never into Freud. I don’t really care about penis envy or how your childhood impacted you, although I have to say, for the record, you have some major mother issues.”

“You’re fucked up,” I said.

Nicki tucked her hair behind her ears. “That’s rich. An hour ago, you thought I was just a voice in your head. I’m not sure you should be chucking rocks from inside your glass house about other people’s mental health status, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll go to the police. Even if you didn’t try to kill Alex, you murdered Connor.”

“Maybe. I haven’t admitted to anything.” She waved off what I was about to say. “It might have been an accident. Maybe he died and I decided to see how I could use his death.” She glanced up. “Or maybe not. Let’s say, for the purposes of the argument, that I did kill him. What makes you think the cops would believe you?”

“They will.”

She shrugged and I felt the tension in my chest tighten another notch. “Maybe. But I still have this.” Nicki reached into her pocket and dangled the list I’d written about Connor in my face and then pulled the paper back. “Keep in mind that even you thought you might be responsible. And given how good I am at shaping people’s reality, imagine what I might do with the authorities.” She winked.

“You don’t shape people; you manipulate them,” I spat out.

“Call it what you like, but even you won’t argue with the facts.” She leaned against the wall. “I’m simply giving you the advice that you might want to think about it before you go to the police.”

“What if I taped all of this?” I opened my arms wide. “You forgot to search me this time.”

Her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched in. She wasn’t used to being caught out. Her eyelid twitched and then a smile broke across her face. “You’re lying. You didn’t record this.” She tapped me on the nose. “I know you. Don’t be mad. You can’t think of everything all the time. I’m not even going to hold it against you that you lied.”

“How kind of you,” I said, my voice flat.

“Don’t be snotty. I’m just pointing out that I could be angry. Technically, in addition to the lie, you still owe me a body.”

I closed my eyes, trying to shut her out. I opened them again. “You still want me to kill someone?”

“Perhaps. That will be the fun of it, won’t it? Wondering what type of favor I’ll call in, and when.” She smiled, her expression softening. “I’m going to miss you when you leave tomorrow.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” I said.

She laughed. “Fair enough. Hopefully over time our relationship will at least include respect.” Nicki held out her hand. “Despite the hard feelings, I owe you sincere thanks. You’re my first real research subject, and the past few weeks have been fascinating. I haven’t had this much fun in years. I know you’re mad at me, but honestly, I adore you.”

I stared at her outstretched hand. She was never going to go away. She was right about something: she would pop up when I least expected her, screwing up my life. But I suspected I knew something. Something she hadn’t anticipated I’d put together. I took her hand and smiled as we shook.

My smile unnerved her. I could see it in her face.

“My friend reminded me of something today.”

“What’s that?”

“Everything happens for a reason.” I could feel her wanting to pull her hand away from me but not wanting to struggle.

Nicki giggled. “You’re starting to sound like your mom. Are you telling me this is all destiny?”

“No. It’s logic. You didn’t choose that woman at random. You knew her house. You’d been there before.” I let go of her and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Maybe.” Nicki gave an elaborate shrug. “I like to go exploring sometimes—?you’d be surprised how many people don’t lock up carefully.”

“It’s not that. You act like you’re some kind of scientist, that this is all about the pursuit of knowledge, but it’s much sleazier than that, isn’t it? You’re not special or some type of above-the-rest-of-us kind of person. Your real motivation is much more banal. You slept with her husband.”

There it was, a tiny twitch just above her eyebrow. A crack in her veneer. I’d been right. She said nothing. “This was never about a research project,” I continued. “Or at least that wasn’t the whole reason. It was about revenge. You were their babysitter, you slept with her husband, and when it all came out, you expected him to choose you, but he didn’t, did he? He went back to his wife. And then when they got divorced, he still didn’t want you—?he moved away. That’s what you really couldn’t stand. That he didn’t want you.”

I locked eyes with her, enjoying the rage in her gaze. This wasn’t the way this research project was supposed to turn out.

Research animals weren’t supposed to bite back.