Page 25 of Thicker Than Water
“Ooo-kaaay,” Sienna says, stretching out the syllables. “Well, your answer’s in the question. He wrote down Gavin’s addressbecausehe had his phone. Like I said before, he probably saw that Gavin left his phone at the conference. So maybe he got his address so he could return it to him that night.”
“Except he didn’t,” I say.
“Didn’t what?”
“Return it to him. Jason had it in his car.”
“Okay, so maybe hetriedbut Gavin didn’t answer the door.”
“So he took it with him instead of leaving it for him? On his front porch or something?”
“Yeah! Phones are expensive. Jason wouldn’t just leave it there for any old neighbor to take. And—ooh!” She perks up, bouncing on her feet. “If Jason did try to return it to Gavin, then that explains where he went after the conference!”
I rest my forehead on the heels of my hands. “The scene of the murder, you mean?” Even with my eyes fixed on the table, I see Sienna deflate.
“Oh. Right. Well, obviously he wouldn’t have been thereduringthe murder, but…” She trails off, and I can practically hear her mind paddling through ideas, trying to keep her theory afloat, despite the holes I’m poking in it.
“And Gavin lived in Hillstead,” I remind her. “I mapped it out, he’s twenty minutes from us, thirteen from the Marriott. So even if Jason did go there after the conference to drop off the phone, and even if he did leave without giving it to him, he should have been home within an hour. Not three.”
“Ooo-kaaay,” Sienna says, and again, she tugs on each syllable until it’s taut. “So, what are you saying, Jules?”
I shake my head, grinding deeper against my palms, targeting the ache that’s threatening to throb. “I’m not saying anything. I just have questions.” I lean back in my chair, sip my coffee, and avoid Sienna’s piercing gaze. “Have you talked to Wyatt at all?”
“What?” Sienna’s spine goes rigid. “Why would I talk to Wyatt?” She crosses her arms, as if she can armor herself against her ex’s name.
I do hate to mention him, especially as the usual flush creeps into her cheeks. But I still believe her connection to him could be an asset for us.
“Maybe he could tell us what’s going on behind the scenes. Info that even Lou can’t access. Something that could put our minds at ease, or… or even just help us prepare in case—”
“No. I’m not—youknowI don’t talk to him. You think I’d do that?If I were to talk to him, Jules, or even… even voluntarily see him, what kind of message would that send? That he gets to betray me and still be in my life?” She forces a laugh, sputtery and high-pitched. “That would be, like, completely unhinged of me.”
I’m surprised by the shine in Sienna’s eyes. Not tears, but—shame, maybe? As if she, too, wants to reach out to Wyatt, but has to extinguish that urge, smother any embers of love that still smolder in her. No matter what she promises or how hard she bristles at his name, I know she hasn’t stopped loving him. Even the night after they broke up, when we ate our weight in chocolate pretzels and made a list of all his faults—leaves the toilet seat up, points out plot holes in movies, drags her on monthly brewery tours, even though, according to Sienna, “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all”—I knew it wouldn’t be so easy, wrenching her heart from his.
Sienna’s previous boyfriends had always seemed so seasonal, like coats she’d wear for only a few months before switching to another. But with Wyatt, it felt different from the start. She looked nervous as she introduced us to him, watching Jason and Wyatt shake hands as if searching for chemistry in their grip. And at that first cookout together as the four of us, Sienna pulled me aside while Jason and Wyatt fussed over the grill.He’s perfect, right?she asked, her palm a little sweaty against mine.Like, if we forget the whole cop thing, he’s just so… good, you know? Just a completely good man.
Right away, I wanted to caution her:Don’t set yourself up for failure.Don’t think of him as someone incapable of disappointing you.I was thinking of my mother, of course, how her cynicism had been softened by Bob Sullivan, to the point where she refused to believe me when I darkened her vision of him. But the advice felt too familiar, toonever trust a man, so I nodded at Sienna instead, let her keep building the pedestal for Wyatt that I knew he’d have no choice but to fall from.
Not that his betrayal was Sienna’s fault, or she was wrong to breakup with him. But over this past year, I’ve seen her work so hard to pretend she only hates him, and I can’t help but wonder, if she hadn’t thought of him in terms so absolute—completely good, perfect, the same way she thinks of Jason—would she be better equipped to admit to herself that it’s possible to love someone who did something bad?
“Okay,” I say now, “we won’t go to Wyatt. I’m sorry for suggesting it.”
“It’s fine,” she says, waving a hand. “Already forgot—”
The doorbell rings, slicing through her sentence. Our eyes jolt toward each other.
“It’s a murderer,” she whispers, an old joke of ours that’s only half in jest, a side effect of bingeing too many crime shows.I don’t think murderers are usually so polite, Jason once said to us, when Sienna and I shrank lower on the couch at the sound of the bell.That’s exactly what they want you to think!Sienna hissed.
But now there’s nothing funny about it, not when one murder in particular is hogging so much of our headspace, not when high school kids are whispering about a Triple S Killer. And there’s something about it—this early visitor when it’s only eight a.m.—that sends me hurrying for the door, Sienna on my heels. Before I open it, I picture a nurse on the other side, or Jason’s doctor; I imagine that something’s gone so wrong with his care that they felt it warranted a house call. As I turn the knob, I brace myself.
It’s Detective Beck on our porch. Relief surges inside me, but it quickly curdles into fear. He’s flanked by two other officers, and there’s a strange but subtle smile on his face, one he tries to cover by scratching at the gray hair near his temples.
“Good morning, Mrs. Larkin.” His voice booms as he holds up a piece of paper. “We’re here with a warrant.”
Chapter EightSIENNA
Beck’s smile bleeds into a smirk.
Julia gapes at him, and I don’t measure her silence, don’t count to three, don’t waste a second waiting for her response. “A warrant forwhat?” I demand.
