Page 40 of Murder Notes

“Damn it, cuz! You didn’t even tell me why you’re in town. When you’re leaving. When—”

A thought hits me and I stop abruptly, turning around to face him. “Is there anything I need to know about my family before dinner tonight?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Anything you think I should know?”

“I don’t, but I’ve been out of the loop. I’m back and forth between here and Manhattan. I don’t look for gossip and therefore, I don’t find it.”

“Right. I like that about you.” I turn and start walking again.

“And yet I’m an arrogant ass,” he calls out.

I pause at the door leading to the kitchen and glance over my shoulder. “Just arrogant. Not an ass.”

I exit the house and keep walking. Like the day I left this town. And like the day I’ll do it again.

I stop at the local IGA grocery store on the way home, despite the fact that they offer delivery and I really hate shopping. But letting strangers into my private space right now seems like a fairly stupid invitation to make, though if they brought pizza . . . I might be willing to wear that badge of shame. I make the stop fast, stocking up on the essentials: several varieties of chocolate, several containers of strawberries, coffee, diet Sprite, and toilet paper. And Cheetos. I almost forgot the Cheetos. Armed with everything I need to trap myself in Purgatory when the time is right, I exit the store and half expect to have a note waiting on me outside, and while my windshield is dirty, it’s bare.

Returning home, paranoia wins and I do a sweep of the house, ensuring I’m as alone as I intend. Once I’m certain I am, I unload the vehicle, stock my groceries, and tuck my pie away in the fridge, with one intention: solace for the soul after my family dinner. I’m going to binge on that damn pie. It’s now three o’clock and time is getting away from me. Especially since I assume dinner will be at seven, as is my father’s customary mealtime, and I fully intend to arrive early and confront him. I mean, chat with him. And since technology and I get along but don’t consider ourselves friendly, I start unpacking the security equipment I’ve set on the counter.

Almost two hours later, I’ve driven Lucas as crazy as he has me, but I have cameras and they’re live. Or so we hope. I head upstairs to Purgatory, set up my computer, and with Lucas on the phone, a tub of strawberries on the desk next to me, I dial in to the cameras. “Bingo,” I say as I bring the back patio into view.

“Check all views,” he orders.

I shove a huge bite of a strawberry into my mouth and punch a few more keys. “We’re good. All views are live.”

“Are you eating in my ear?” he asks incredulously.

“How do you even know that? It’s a strawberry. It doesn’t crunch.”

“I have a date. I’m hanging up.” And that’s exactly what he does.

I sigh and reach for my diet Sprite when my phone buzzes with a text from Andrew. Dinner at seven. Don’t make me come and get you. Confirm or I’ll come and get you anyway.

I reply with: Yes, asshole. I’ll be there.

His reply: Love you, too, Lilah.

I roll my eyes and am shoving another strawberry into my mouth when my phone buzzes again. “Oh great,” I murmur when Tic Tac’s number shows up. “Hello,” I manage, trying to chew as fast as I can.

“Are you eating?” he demands.

“Yes. Hold on.” Damn it. I manage to swallow without choking. “All right. Go. Talk to me.”

“I won’t ask.”

“I didn’t want to miss your call,” I snap. “Go. Talk.”

“I can’t find any proof Woods was dating your new victim. At all. Nothing.”

“Did you look at banks? Schools? Churches?”

“Give me some damn credit,” he snaps. “There’s nothing that connects last night’s victim and Woods, at least, not electronically.”

I change directions. “That director that brought Woods into this circle.”

“I’m looking into ways he connects dots. I’m cross-checking Woods’s client lists. I’m on this.”