Page 67 of Without a Clue

“Right.” I take a step backward, because for the first time I see something in Jackie’s expression that leaves me truly unsettled. It’s a moment when you think you know everything about a person, and then they take you by surprise.

Her eyes flashed at the word murdered.

Flashed.

Gleefully.

I cast a glance down the empty carpeted hallway and the bizarre thought I can outrun this woman, right? enters my mind. But surely I could, right, in a worst-case scenario?

I know I’m not exactly the most athletic person, but surely a twenty-seven-year-old can outrun a sixty-six-year-old woman in a pinch—even if she’s an award-winning ambulator?

“Let’s finish with that interview of yours,” she snaps. “That’s what you’re after, isn’t it? You didn’t have to hunt me down. You’d think you wouldn’t be so impatient as to cut off my walk. We’ll do it here.”

“No,” I say quickly. The last thing I want right now is to be alone with her.

Pairs. Forget pairs.

We need to be in groups of four or more.

Why did I leave Neena again?

Look at me.

Am I not a walking case of secondary character bound to get herself killed?

I left the safety net of the passel of people. I raced after what I believed was a cry for help. And now I’m standing with a suspect with a knife, in the dark, away from the public eye.

Just. Perfect.

“You can finish your walk,” I say, taking two quick steps backward.

“Too late now. You’ve ruined the mood.”

The mood for the walk. Sure. One must have a mood. Just a minute ago it was all “we must have ambulatory walks for our health in the middle of interviews, rain or shine,” but now, apparently, one also needs to be in the mood.

“We’ll finish it up outside then,” I say quickly. “Healthy sea air and all that.”

The silence stretches a mile long between us.

“Fine,” she says at last.

My eyes can’t help it. I’m drawn to staring at the gleaming white handle and sleek silver body of the knife. Perfectly clean. Perfectly ready.

She looks from me to it.

“Well, if you’re going to obsess . . .” Jackie says.

Then she does the unthinkable.

She drops the knife on the floor. Casually. Tip of the blade face down. Like it’s of no more significance than a tissue.

It rests on the dark red carpet like in a pool of blood.

Who is this woman?!

I’m gaping at her when she starts after me, and when she makes that first step, I call out, “Terrific. I’ll meet you there” and dash for the door.

The door resists my attempts to open it because of the wind but, with a frenetic yank with both hands, finally releases.