Page 40 of Without a Clue

“I do wonder, Miss Dupont . . . if you seem to have it all figured out, maybe you can help me with one thing.”

“What?”

“If it wasn’t you, who do you think did it?”

I swallow.

Pictures of The Seven (now Six) fly through my mind. I suppose I could come up with some crackpot ideas and incentives if I had to, but I won’t do it.

I’d never do that to them.

I shake my head. “It’s more likely that you are the murderer, Officer Carragan, than any one of them.”

“Unwilling to rat anyone out, are we?” Carragan replies, without surprise. “Never mind. I’ve figured out who did it anyway, and I intend to bring justice to light in the morning.”

“You knew it wasn’t me all this time, did you? Then why’d you keep me so long?”

He smiles a little. “A detective always does his due diligence. Good night, Miss Dupont.”

“Good night.”

He turns to go. I bite my lower lip, hesitating to ask. If you are so sure of who it is, who is it?

“And Dupont?”

I look up. Realize he’s turned around. “Hmm?”

“I got a daughter about your age, and I can’t help saying it one more time. Keep your door locked tonight. And for your parents’ sake, I wouldn’t open it for a soul.”

Chapter 9

It’s just past 2 a.m. when there’s a rap on my door.

I jolt out of the anxious, needling sleep that’s been mocking me the past few hours, slip out of bed, and slink silently toward the door.

Somewhere along the way I’ve unconsciously picked up a little table mirror and now hold it in front of me like a weapon, poised.

Oh, good grief.

I should’ve read Crystal’s article.

I’m holding my breath, I realize.

A part of me has been holding my breath since Mr. Carragan left with that eerie message hours ago. I mean, what sort of person tells a young lady with roughly zero self-defense skills that a killer may be lurking outside the door, but “don’t worry, rest well, and just do your best to keep the bolt locked”?

A bolt is a two-inch-long piece of metal.

Do I look like a person who has the ability to stay calm and trust a two-inch piece of metal?

Somebody raps a second time, this time louder.

My stomach starts punching me internally and urgently, urging me to get down.

I hesitate, then peek through the peephole.

Well, that cinches it.

I really and truly am the kind of girl who would walk toward the sound in the basement and get herself killed.