You Owe Me a Murder(82)

Four Mississippi.

Then she wasn’t screaming anymore.

I stood there, shaking. I crept forward and peered over the edge. The train was still going by, its brakes squealing as it tried to stop. There wasn’t a single sign of her. It was as if she’d never existed.

Had she wanted to jump because she knew she’d been bested? Or had the idea of me helping her been that repugnant? Or maybe she thought I would feel guilty forever and that she’d win for all eternity.

I bent down and picked up the crumpled list. If she’d thought the guilt would crush me, she’d been wrong.





Thirty-Six


August 31


Home


The plane bounced down the runway as we landed in Vancouver. I peered out the window to catch a glimpse of the North Shore Mountains as we taxied toward the gate. They marched along the horizon, thick and green.

Home. The sun was even shining.

My bag was one of the first to drop down the luggage chute. Once I turned in my customs form, I headed for the hall. I could see the crowd waiting in the arrivals lounge. Some were carrying flowers, and there was a big sign held by a toddler that declared WELCOME HOME, MOMMY! I searched the faces and spotted my parents standing toward the back.

I waved. My throat was tight with emotion and I hustled toward them. My mom took pictures as I walked up, then hugged me stiffly. My dad waited until she was done, which didn’t take long, and then pulled me toward him. His hug smelled like fresh-cut wood and burned leaves. He must have been working in the yard before coming to pick me up.

“Good to have you back with us,” he whispered in my hair. Then he held me at arm’s length. “Look at you. I think you grew while you were gone. Doesn’t she look older?”

My mom nodded. She took the handle of the suitcase from my hands. “Are you tired? Hungry? We thought we might get a bite to eat on the way. Then once we’re home you can take a shower and go to bed early.”

“I could eat,” I said. “Listen, about the past couple of days . . .” I began.

“Let’s not have an argument in the airport,” Mom said, her voice tight.

Dad put his arm around me and tugged me close. “We can talk about it tomorrow. We were worried about you, and we were upset that you took off and caused trouble for the program, and there will be consequences, but most of all we’re glad you’ve made it home safe and sound.”

Mom nodded, but her lips were pressed into a thin line that let me know she had a lot more to say on the subject.

I followed them out to the short-term parking garage, past the totem poles and the smell of hot dogs from the Japadog food cart. My mom kept up a nonstop patter about the weather and what school supplies she’d already picked up at Staples for me. I tuned her out. It wasn’t as if she wanted a response.

It had all gone smoother than I could have hoped. The detectives had been waiting for me when I got back to Metford. For a second I wondered if they were there because of what had just happened, but then I realized Tasha had called them. I thought of telling them everything, but in the end, I kept my story simple. Told them what they expected to hear: The death of Connor had thrown me. Then Alex’s allergic attack. I’d freaked out and I was so far from home. I had acted out. I let a few well-timed tears fall while telling my story, as if even I was disappointed in my reckless behavior. I’d just needed to be by myself. I knew I shouldn’t have run off, but I had been upset. When the detectives pressed me for where I’d been all that time, I told them I didn’t really know. I’d walked a lot.

At one point, I realized I really was crying. Detective Sharma watched me as if trying to read between each of my words. She seemed to know something was off about my story, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. With luck, she’d never connect me to the home invasion across town. Or the body on the tracks. There was a chance the police might even recognize Nicki from the video of Connor’s death. They might assume she killed herself because of the guilt of having killed him. But they wouldn’t think of me—?as far as they knew, there was no connection between the two of us. Nicki had been right about some things—?without a motive, no one would suspect me. We were strangers. It made for a perfect crime.

Telling the police the whole truth would have only complicated things now. My mom believed in destiny. Maybe this time karma took its own justice.

The whole time I talked and apologized to the detectives, Tasha had stood there with her hands on her hips and steam coming out of her ears. She was probably biting back a sea of curse words. But that’s all she eventually gave me: a lecture. How people had been worried. How it was a waste of police time. It didn’t matter—?I was home now. I’d be in trouble with my parents. Grounded, if I had to guess. But home.

I followed my parents through the parking garage while they bickered about where they’d left the car. I turned my phone on, letting it find the local network. I sent a message to Alex before I could think too long about it.



Back home. Would like to take you out to say sorry in person.





A second later he responded.



Sorry for what, exactly?



Everything.



World hunger? Wars? The declining number of bumblebees?





I smiled and my fingers flew over the keyboard. I do feel bad about the bees. Lunch Friday?