Page 125 of Without a Clue

I’m deathly afraid . . . to pursue a reality where it’s not Crystal. It’s not Neena. It’s not Ricky. It’s not Jackie. No, it’s Nash who’s the perfect suspect.

What remarkable timing that after four years, he suddenly decides now, after a double murder, to tell me of his undying love for me.

What a remarkable instance that Carragan’s body was found in our room in the middle of the night. And Nash? He was two minutes behind me in the hallway, wasn’t he? How could a body get in our room like that so quickly? Unless . . . unless it was under the bed already. Next to Nash . . . as he waited for the perfect moment to dispose of it . . .

Maybe he’d planned to throw it overboard.

Maybe my waking him up, wanting to drag him down the hallway, was the perfect setup.

Easier to just roll it out a few feet in a matter of seconds.

Easier to look innocent with a sudden alibi when questioned.

No, Officer, I was with Pip when we discovered the body in our room. Right, Pip?

Right, poor, gullible, love-dazed Pip?

Yes. For all but those two minutes.

Is everybody else terribly suspicious?

Yes.

But deep, deep down, it’s Nash who fits the bill. You can plant a weapon on someone. Maybe the knife made it to his bag. But Hugh didn’t leave a note telling me to look into Nash for nothing. I need to dig deeper. Tonight, in the silence, I need to look up everything I can about Nash’s life.

“If you were writing a book about all of this, who do you think would be the murderer? How would you have masterminded this plot?”

It’s such a bizarre question, I find I have no prepared answer. “I’m not sure. I’d have to think about it.”

“You wanted to write, did you not?”

“I . . . yes . . . for a time.”

“And what’s stopping you?”

I start to drop my hand from the Pac-Man game and he gives a sharp look. I start playing again.

“If you’re going to insist on trying to solve it yourself, at least take yourself out of it,” Gordon says. “Think like a narrator. I always liked the omniscient POV myself.”

“I . . . Gordon . . .” I’m so confused by all this, but the reality is, he’s taking over the interview. He’s taking control of the whole thing, and I need to grab the conversation back by the reins. “Is it true you are the sole recipient in Hugh’s will?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“You are.”

To my amazement, he seems completely unfazed. “Sounds about right.”

“Do you know how much you’re set to gain by Hugh’s untimely death?”

“Millions, I suspect.”

“Millions,” I echo at the same time.

I wait in silence for him to respond.

He doesn’t.

Just keeps playing his game.