OCDaniel (22 page)

“Have you found a weapon?”

I frowned. “Maybe.”

“Motive?”

“I think so.”

She nodded. “But you clearly don't have a body.”

“How do you know to ask all this?” I asked, scowling.

“CSI.”

“Mom told you to stop watching
CSI
.”

She shrugged. “Well, if you don't have a body, you need a confession. Or you need the culprit to lead you to the body. You have circumstantial evidence, and that just won't do.”

I stared at her, rubbing my forehead in exasperation. “You watch too much TV.”

“And you should have recruited me from the beginning,” she said sullenly. “What are you doing today anyway?”

I pushed my bowl away and leaned back. “Probably trying to get a confession.”

  •  •  •  

Before I went to meet Sara, I decided to write a little more. I was freaked out about going back to John's, and I thought writing might calm me down a little. Besides, I figured authors wrote even when they didn't really want to, including days when they had to go solve a murder. I guess. I didn't really know any authors.

I did know that I was very close to having a panic attack, which I had learned about from the book. It should have made me feel better to know about the real thing, but it didn't. Writing did, though. Normal Daniel still lived in there.

I had written a few more chapters since the gas station . . . mostly short ones. It was going to be a short novel, I guess. Maybe a novella at best. But I could always add more later.

I had just reached the part when they got to the New York apartment building. It was getting exciting. They were almost to the switch.

Sara and Dan crept up the stairs, the silence heavy in the twenty-story concrete staircase. It hadn't been easy narrowing it down to this Charles Oliver, and it had nearly cost them their lives visiting the last two apartments. But this time they were almost sure: even his home voice mail had said, “Charles Oliver . . . if this is an emergency, call me directly. If you can't . . . then you better come up and fix it.”

They could have used the elevator, but Sara said if it opened and there was a monster in front of them, they were in serious trouble. She preferred the stairs.

And so they climbed one silent step after another, and the bat trembled in Daniel's hands. He was afraid, but he was eager to finally get there. He could almost fix his mistake.

They reached the ninth floor and stepped out into the hallway. It was eerily quiet.

They looked both ways. Nothing. Sara nodded at Dan and started down the hallway, moving like a prowling cat. Dan followed, feeling his skin crawl. It was too quiet.

They were almost to the apartment when he looked back and saw it.

They weren't alone.

A creature was watching them from the other end of the hall, stretching its fingers out like it was getting ready to feast. Daniel turned to Sara.

“Run!”

They sprinted down the hall and skidded to a halt in front of 912. Sara knocked.

“Remember how everyone is gone?” Dan asked.

The creature was walking toward them, its claws extended.

“Right,” she said. “So, what are we going to do?”

He looked at her. “I thought you had a plan?”

“No.”

The creature was almost to them. He could see the light reflecting off its claws. Sara turned to the doorknob. “Apartments usually have a door lock and a dead bolt.”

Daniel's eyes widened as the creature locked its eyes on him. “Do it!”

Sara swung her croquet mallet around and aimed it at the handle. There was a flash of blue, and the knob went rolling across the floor. She kicked the door opened and they raced inside. They closed it just in time. There was a thump on the other side, and they both pressed their backs to the door as Sara fumbled with the dead bolt and locked it.

I sat back and looked at the time. Sara was waiting. It was time to go solve this murder once and for all.

We met at the corner of John's street. It was a brisk, clear November day; just cold enough to bite at the tips of my nose and fingers and send a chill into my toes. Sara was waiting patiently, tucked into a clump of hedges on the corner in case John drove by.

I peaked at his house, where his black truck was parked in the driveway.

“I know,” I said. “I'm late.”

She shrugged. “A few minutes. No big deal.”

I looked at her suspiciously. “What did you do?”

She smiled. “I took this.” She fished a cell phone out of her pocket; a black iPhone that definitely wasn't hers. She unlocked it, and a picture of her smiling mother appeared on the screen.

“Where is your mom?”

“Away with my grandma. They took a shopping trip to the city. Out of touch all day. She already called from my grandma's phone to ask if she forgot her cell. She didn't; I took it from her purse earlier.”

I frowned. “And the plan is . . .”

“To become my mother,” she said. “My phone is in the back of John's truck. With the theft protection app on.”

“You're tracking him.”

“Right. Step into my office.”

Sighing, I followed her into the hedge, out of sight of the road. We sat down there in the dirt. I really hoped the homeowners didn't find us perched in their shrubbery. It would be tough to explain.

Sara opened the cell phone. “We may have to move quickly. Are you ready?”

“I guess.”

She nodded and started to type.
Sara is asking me questions. I think she knows.

We waited for a minute in silence. And then the phone went off.

How? What kind of questions?

We met eyes. She typed again.
About why we did it. About you. She wants to see your house, and I think she is getting suspicious about where he is.

What are you going to do?

Sara smiled.
Just make sure the house is clear. It's better if we let her see it. There's nothing there, right?

Pause.
Just the letter you sent me. I can get rid of it. And if she sees my gun . . . I'll hide it.

Good. I'll bring her by later when I'm back.

Okay.

I felt my heart thumping against my chest. It was real. All of it. I looked at her, and she went in for the kill.

If she finds anything . . . Can you make sure the spot is okay? She could find it. She's too smart.

“You just had to add that part?” I said dryly. She shrugged.

Okay. I'll go now.

Sara and I looked at each other.

“Whoa,” I murmured.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

Her hands were shaking now. I understood why. Her father really was dead. Her mother had helped her boyfriend kill him. I knew Sara had always hoped she was wrong. But she wasn't. Her dad was dead, and she was about to destroy her last remaining family.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “There's no time for this. Stay out of sight.”

It was a few minutes before an engine roared to life. We stayed low as the black truck went speeding down the road and whipped around the corner. We listened to it fade away in the distance.

“You have it?” I asked.

Sara opened her iCloud, and we saw a little blue dot driving away. “Got it.” She looked at me. “There's a letter from my mom in there. We need it. We need all the evidence we can get, to be sure.”

I sighed. “I'll go. Keep an eye on the GPS.”

She squeezed my hand, pressing the key into my grip. “Thank you. Be quick.”

I took off out of the hedge and hurried down the street, trying to look inconspicuous as two people walked by with their dog on the other side of the street. When they were past, I half-walked, half-jogged up to the porch, looked both ways, and opened the door. The familiar scent of sweat and beer hung in the air; dusty light filtered in through closed curtains. I needed to search for the letter—fast.

I checked the garbage in the kitchen first, in case he'd thrown it out. There was nothing but rotting food and wrappers. I doubted he'd taken the time to bury it in there. I continued on to the bathroom. Nothing.

He must not have thrown it out yet. I was just starting for the bedroom when I noticed the gun sitting on the hallway table. It was the one from the dresser drawer. Obviously he had taken that out to hide it and was going to make sure the body was concealed first. I felt my stomach flop. Was her father buried somewhere in the woods? Was John hiding it with brush right now? Would he do the same thing to Sara and me if he found us? Of course he would. I had to hurry.

I headed into his room, scanning the filthy space for somewhere I hadn't searched yet.

I didn't need to look far. It was obvious that John had started the process before the warning about the body. There was a letter sitting on the bed—crumpled up and written in messy pen. I slowly crossed the room, my whole body tingling, and picked up the note. The ink was stained with blotchy tears.

Dear John,

I know I shouldn't ask this of you. We've only been together for a few months, and it's been wonderful, but you don't owe me anything. But I have to ask. Things have gotten bad. Really bad. I know I haven't been a good wife or a good person and I deserve what I get. But he's always angry. Yelling when Sara is not around. He keeps drinking more and more and taking pills, and I'm afraid something is going to happen. I can't have him there anymore. Sara is starting to hear things. It's not healthy for her. She can't know about this.

I need your help. I need him out of my life. I want to start new with you, to move past this. I can't do it alone. I'm not strong enough. You don't owe me anything, but if you do this, we can finally start our lives together. So I need your help and I need you to write a note . . . a letter . . . explaining that he's gone. From him. I need something to give my darling. She still loves her father. She doesn't see him for what he has become.

I wanted to give you a letter because I can't say any of this without crying. I feel like a failed mother and wife and everything else. I'm sorry to bring you into this. Call me later if you'll help me.

Love,

Michelle

I read the letter slowly. It was a murder—plain and simple. We had the evidence now.

And now I had to get out of there. Fast.

I turned to go, my hands shaking on the lined sheet of paper so much that it was crackling. I think I saw the shadow before I saw the man. He was looming in the doorway, his head and broad shoulders touching the sides like a perfectly sized portrait. He was holding a gun in his right hand. The gun.

He looked at me, almost reluctantly, his eyes darker than the room.

“This is very unfortunate,” he said quietly.

I was completely frozen to the spot. The funny thing is, it felt like a Zap. My heart was beating and my breathing wasn't right and my arms were tingling. I was thinking that I was going to die, and that was the same too. The only difference was I couldn't fix it. I couldn't do anything at all except stare at the man who was about to kill me. I just had to surrender, I guess.

John held my eyes as his arm moved. And then he laid the gun on the dresser.

I looked at it, confused. He sat down on the bed, looking exhausted. He put his face in his hands.

“I didn't want to get involved in this,” he said.

He wasn't even asking why I was in his house. I guess he already knew.

“She asked me, and I love her. But I always liked Sara. I know she doesn't talk and she has her . . . issues, but I didn't mind that she was quiet. She seemed like a good kid. Her mom showed me her grades even . . . straight As. Bright girl. I thought she deserved the truth, but I trusted her mom.”

I heard footsteps, and then Sara appeared in the doorway. She looked at me, confused.

“I tried to warn you,” she said. “Your phone is off.”

I picked up my cell phone and checked it. “Oh.”

John met her eyes, and I was surprised to see that his eyes were watery. “I figured out it was you. I wasn't thinking. Your mom is gone today. And she doesn't even use caps or anything. Doesn't text much, I guess. She would have called. I was halfway there when I realized.”

“Why did you do it?” Sara asked. Her eyes were glassy now too. She had her hands on the phone, ready to dial 911. Her finger was hovering over the call button. She was prepared to turn him in.

He shook his head. “She asked me to. I wasn't comfortable with it, but she said it was the best. With his condition. And when the news came in, she knew it would be too much for you. It was only a day or two later. In the hotel. She went to the police and had them hush it up. Everything was low-key. We decided to run with it.”

Sara and I exchanged a confused look.

“She went to the police?”

John frowned. “Of course. She didn't want it in the paper or anything. And she knew you might go into the police station and she asked them not to say anything.”

Sara leaned against the doorframe, and I thought the cell phone was about to fall out of her limp fingers. It was too much for her. I could see her trembling and her eyes fogging over, and I knew the Great Space was coming. But she needed answers.

“Why would the police cover it up?” she whispered, like she was very far away.

“They agreed it was for the best. And your mom asked, Sara. She has a right, I guess. But me . . . I had issues with my old man. Lots. I thought you deserved the truth. You deserved to mourn him.”

“Mourn him?” she asked, anger flashing in her eyes now. “You killed him, and you want me to mourn him?”

John looked at her. Now he was the one who looked confused. I kept my eyes on the gun. If it went bad, I had to get there before John could. I didn't know what I would do with it, but I had to be first.