Page 73 of Little Bitter Truths
As I headed upstairs and changed for bed, my mind drifted back to Jeremy, to the panic in his eyes, the desperation in his voice, and the way he’d looked at Mia when she walked out.
Maybe it had all been an act.
Maybe none of what I’d witnessed was real.
If that was true, Jeremy was one hell of a liar.
29
The smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee woke me the following morning, but I remained in bed, tucked beneath the blankets with my eyes closed, considering the day ahead of me.I was running out of suspects to question, and the thought of circling back to those I’d already talked to seemed counterproductive unless I was given a good reason to do so.
As I contemplated that thought, there was a soft thump on the side of the bed.I opened my eyes and peeked over the side to find Luka staring up at me.He tilted his head as if wondering why I was still lying there when bacon was on the menu.
“All right,” I said, reaching down and giving him a pat.“I’ll get up.”
I stood, wrapping a vintage ’30s-era black silk kimono around myself, and then I followed Luka to the kitchen.Giovanni was standing in front of the stove, humming to a jazz song as he flipped eggs in the pan.
He smiled when he saw me and said, “Good morning.”
“Morning.Is Mia up yet?”
“I passed by her room earlier and heard her moving around, so I made her a cup of coffee and brought it to her.She said she was going to take a shower and then join us.”
A few minutes later, Mia entered the room wearing black leggings and an oversized sweater.Her dog was by her side, and the moment Coco spotted Luka and the bacon sprinkled over the dog food in his bowl, she headed straight over to him.
Mia pressed a hand to her forehead, her head shaking as she said, “I’m sorry I drank so much last night.Do you have any ibuprofen?”
I grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet and handed it to her.“There’s no need to apologize.You’re going through a lot right now.How much do you remember?”
“Bits and pieces.You showed up at my house, and I was drinking wine and something else, I think.”
“Tequila.”
She rolled her eyes, burying her face in her hands.“That explains the hangover.I never want to touch a drink again.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
She shuffled toward the counter, sliding onto a barstool, and I offered her a second cup of coffee, which she accepted.
“Before we talk about anything else, how bad was I last night?”she asked.“And before you tell me we don’t need to talk about it, I’d feel a lot better if we did.”
She was right.
I didn’t want to talk about it.
I wanted to move on.
But she seemed insistent.
“How much do you want to know?”I asked.
“Everything.”
Everything didn’t seem necessary.The last thing I wanted was to make her feel worse than she already did, so I chose my words with caution.“You shed a few tears, which is normal, given the circumstances.”
“I’ve been a lot more emotional these past several weeks.What made you ask me to stay the night?I don’t remember much about how I ended up here.”
“You made a comment about standing on your front lawn and inviting your sister’s killer to come and get you too.”
