Page 19 of Without a Clue

Warnings in mysteries, for that matter, never make sense. If you wanted to kill someone, go on and do it.

“Someone must’ve found out I know their secret.”

“What secret?”

“I never should’ve allowed myself to get caught . . .”

“What secret?” I say with more urgency.

“I need you to do something for me,” he says, grabbing me by the elbow. In his hype he’s not listening. “Promise me, Pip, whatever happens, should anything happen, you’ll get the note from my desk the second you get back to New York. Get to it. Hide it. It’ll be little evidence, but there just might be something there for the investigators to go by.”

“Stop it, Hugh. If this is some kind of twisted joke . . .” I say, winding my arm out from his.

“And no matter what, don’t tell a soul. Pretend you know nothing. Keep yourself away from trouble. Not a soul, you hear me? That’ll give you time to deliver it to the police without putting yourself in harm’s way. But no matter what, don’t put yourself in harm’s way. I would never be able to forgive myself if I put you in a dangerous place because of my actions.”

He rubs his lips.

His eyes dart back and forth, like he’s reading through an invisible manuscript and watching this all play out. And he doesn’t like the ending.

Hugh leans himself back suddenly. “You know what? Never mind. This is all too dangerous for you as it is.”

He stands.

“Hugh. C’mon.” Now it’s my turn to grab his elbow.

“You heard nothing,” he says. “Stay out of whatever comes.”

I purse my lips. “Well, now I obviously can’t, Hugh. This is all insane.” I stand too.

“Never mind, Pip. Just let it go.” He pauses, his milky blue eyes roving round the room. “Just the ramblings of an old man.”

I tilt my head as I look at him.

When did this transformation happen? How long has he been this pale and I haven’t noticed?

Wasn’t he laughing this afternoon?

There’s a piercing look in his ice-blue eyes as I weigh the question.

The clock strikes nine on the wall, and he jolts his head up. “Ah,” he says and pulls out his medicine from his chest pocket. The medicine he is specifically supposed to be taking at 9 a.m. every morning. He pops one into his hand and I grab it.

“These are for a.m.,” I say. “Take one in the morning.”

“Ah. Right.” He grabs the pill back.

“Oookay then,” I say with an exhale. My blood pressure is starting to drop. The black spots in my vision begin to clear. “Fine. Fine, Hugh. Should you mysteriously disappear by one of your lifelong best friends in a freak incident of the world flipping upside down, I promise I won’t tell a soul. Happy?”

He swallows the pill dry.

There’s a terrible dry gulp as it goes down and he opens the door.

Motions for me to go through.

“Tremendously.”

Chapter 3

It’s 2 a.m.