All of that was what I thought about as I got ready for bed that night in the hotel bathroom. It had been a long day, and my head was swimming with all the information we’d learned. I was frustrated that no one had turned out to be an obvious murder suspect, but I reminded myself that it had never been likely that we’d talk to someone who would volunteer that they had killed Cheryl. In fact, most of them seemed sad about Cheryl’s death. That was, I supposed, a good thing in the greater scheme of things, but at the moment what I really wanted to find was someone who wasn’t sad about it at all. I wanted to find someone who was happy, and maybe a little proud, that she was dead. And so far, I hadn’t. I’d even asked everyone, just casually, what they’d done on New Year’s Eve in the hopes that I would trip someone up, but it didn’t work. And since most of them were friends, they were almost all at the same parties that basically gave them the same alibis. I had to put my hopes in Chris Miller and Cheryl’s mom. At the very least, I hoped they would give me another lead to follow up on.

  I dabbed my moisturizer on my face, ran a brush through my thick mane of black hair, and left the bathroom. When I’d gone in, Sammy had just gotten on the phone with Ryan, so I’d taken my time to give them some privacy. When I came out, at first I thought they were still on the phone. Sammy was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing away from me with her head down, her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. She didn’t often wear it down, so I was distracted for a few seconds by how long it really was. Then, I noticed that her hair was shaking—and her shoulders underneath it were, too. She was crying.

  “Sammy?” I said quietly, afraid to startle her even though she must have heard the bathroom door open. “Sam, are you okay?” It was a silly question since she clearly wasn’t, but it’s what came out.

  “Fran, I—” She broke off into more vigorous sobs.

  I dropped my toiletry bag on the bed and went over to kneel in front of her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “What happened? Did Ryan say something on the phone, or—?” I didn’t know what else it could be, other than that she was a murder suspect, of course, so I just let my voice trail off.

  Sammy nodded. Her face was in her hands, so it was a whole body movement.

  “What did he say?”

  She tried to take a breath, but it came out as a sob. She tried again, but it was another sob. Finally, she managed to speak. “The police searched my apartment.”

  I sat in confusion for a few seconds. “Didn’t you want them to do that? To see what Cheryl did?” I could, of course, see how it could still be upsetting, but I was hoping that reminder would help calm her, at least a little.

  She nodded her full-body nod again. “But that’s not why they searched it. Ryan said Detective Phillips didn’t believe that wasn’t how I keep the apartment. And—and—he said that Cheryl’s fingerprints being in there didn’t prove that I wasn’t there when she came. He thinks I invited her there. That we were friends or something! And I got jealous! He thinks I faked all those texts somehow and I got jealous of her relationship with Ryan and killed her over it. But what relationship? They didn’t have one anymore. He didn’t even know she was still in town. Fran, he’s made up this whole story to explain how I killed her and why, but none of it’s true. The whole thing’s made up. And I’m going to go to jail because of it.”

  I sat back on my heels. That was not what I had expected would happen when they searched the apartment. It had seemed so obvious when I was there. Because I knew Sammy. Which Phillips didn’t.

  “That’s not even the worst of it,” she said quietly.

  I looked up at her abruptly. Her face was still covered by her hands, but she seemed to have mostly stopped crying.

  “It’s not?” I asked, getting a distinctly nauseated feeling in my stomach.

  She shook her head and I could hear her suck in a long, slow breath.

  “What else did he say?”

  “They’ve been questioning people.”

  “Other suspects? That’s great—“

  “No. My family. My friends. They called Dawn in today. And my mom. My mom, Fran!”

  “Oh wow. Wow.”

  “They put Ryan on leave. They told him not to come back until this case was resolved.”

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “If I go to jail, he’s going to lose his job?”

  “Did he say that?” I asked.

  “He didn’t have to. How are they going to keep a police officer on the force whose girlfriend is in jail for murdering his ex-girlfriend in his backyard?”

  When she put it that way, I could see her point.

  “They’re going to arrest me, Fran.”

  My nurturing streak kicked in. “Now, Sammy, you don’t know that. Maybe Dawn and your mom convinced Phillips that you’re not that kind of person. Maybe there’s some evidence from the search that will show them that you didn’t do it. Maybe—”

  “Phillips told him.”

  “Told who what?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  “Told Ryan that he’s going to arrest me.”

  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “When?” I whispered.

  “Soon. That’s all he said. Soon.” At that, she started to cry again.

  I sat on the floor and put my head in my hands. This was bad. Very bad. I was failing at finding Cheryl’s murderer. I was letting Sammy down. I’d come up to Plymouth in an attempt to find the missing pieces, and what had I found? That Cheryl had ruined a lot of relationships. But I wasn’t any closer to a solution than I’d been that morning. And what was worse was that I may have wasted some of Sammy’s last days of freedom doing it. Days that she could have spent with Ryan, with Dawn, with her mom. Days she could have spent on the beach, feeling the wind in her hair and the sand between her toes. Okay, in early January she probably wouldn’t have been walking barefoot on the beach, at least not for long, but she could have if she’d wanted to—if I hadn’t dragged her to Plymouth with me.

  Of course, I knew that as bad as I felt, Sammy felt worse. After all, it was her life on the line. But it wasn’t over yet. She hadn’t been arrested, tried, or convicted. She was still a free woman, and that meant I still had a chance to redeem myself—and save her. I hoped that Chris Miller or Cheryl’s mother would have the answers I was looking for, but if they didn’t, I would just have to find someone else who did.

  Chapter 18

  Neither of us slept well that night. I tossed and turned and was in and out of bed what felt like a dozen times. I could hear Sammy sniffling off and on in her bed, which just made my anxiety higher. She didn’t deserve this. No one did, but of everyone I knew, Sammy was the one who least deserved the anguish of being falsely accused of murder. And, of course, she was the one who would feel it the most.

  I drifted off once or twice, but was jolted awake every time by nightmares about Sammy being arrested. Then it would take forever for me to calm down and get the images of her being hauled off to jail out of my head. Then I would go to the bathroom. Then I would hear Sammy crying. Then I would start to drift off again, only for some version of the cycle to start all over again. By the time I saw the crack of light reach through the slight gap in our hotel room’s blackout shades, I was thrilled to finally be able to reasonably get up and out of bed.

  I took a long, hot shower and got myself dressed. When I came out of the bathroom, Sammy was sitting on the edge of her bed, just like she had the night before. My heart lurched in my chest as a wave of fear that she’d had more bad news crashed over me.

  “Sammy?” I said quietly.

  “Morning, Fran,” she replied with a yawn and a big stretch. She turned around, rubbing her eyes. “I think I’d just fallen asleep when my alarm went off. Hopefully you got more sleep than I did.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief that she was just having trouble waking up. I wasn’t sure either of us could have handled more bad news. “I guess you didn’t hear me tossing and turning all night.”

  “I was too busy tossing and turning myself.” She yawned again.

  We had apparently switched places for the day—usually I was the one reluctantly dragging myself out of bed at the last possible moment, and she was the early bird, getting to the café at the crack of dawn to open it up and greet the morning regulars I only vaguely knew existed. Of course I would have liked to still be in bed, sleeping peacefully, but since that hadn’t been what I was doing, being up and about would do just fine for the day.

  While Sammy got dressed and ready to go, I called Matt. I tried to hide how stressed I was feeling, but he could hear it in my voice.

  “What’s going on, Franny? What’s wrong?” he asked almost immediately.

  I almost broke down into tears, but managed to fight them back. “If we don’t figure out who really killed Cheryl, Sammy’s going to be arrested,” I said quietly into the phone, trying to keep my voice from carrying into the bathroom.

  “You knew that before you went up there, didn’t you?” asked Matt, ever the logical engineer. “That was the whole reason you started investigating.”

  “Yes, but yesterday Ryan heard the detective say he was going to do it soon. Right before they sent Ryan home on leave.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah, that’s bad.” A distinctive panting noise came from his end of the phone.

  “Is that Latte?” I asked, even though he would have to be cheating on me with another dog for the source of the noise to be anything else.

  “Sure is. You want to talk to him?”

  I did and proceeded to make assorted embarrassing baby talk noises into the phone for a minute or two. But I didn’t care. Because as much as I missed Matt, I may have missed Latte a little more. I would have given almost anything to curl up on the couch and have his warm body pressed against me. With an occasional face lick for good measure. Dogs were so comforting.

  After Latte wandered away to go chew a bone or something, I talked to Matt for a few more minutes until Sammy came out of the bathroom. Then she and I packed up our things and checked out of the hotel. If we weren’t back in Cape Bay tonight, we’d be in Boston, since that’s where Cheryl’s mom apparently was.

  We went to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet Chris Miller for breakfast. I took a risk and ordered a cup of coffee which turned out to be surprisingly good.

  Chris showed up about ten minutes after we arrived—just long enough for me to have gotten anxious that he wasn’t going to come at all. I was actually stewing over that possibility when he walked up.

  “You must be Fran and Sammy,” he said, sliding quickly into the booth, but not so quickly that I missed seeing that he was rather on the short side. “I’m Chris. You guys wanted to talk to me about Cheryl?”

  “We heard from a few of your friends that you had a bad breakup recently that Cheryl was somehow involved in. Would you mind telling us about that?” I asked.

  He eyeballed us warily. “You guys cops?”

  “No,” Sammy and I said together. I hoped it didn’t sound like something we’d rehearsed.

  “The police are actually set on Sammy being the prime suspect, so we’re trying to find out who the actual murderer was so she doesn’t go to jail.”

  Chris laughed. “That’s crazy. Did you ever think that maybe it was just random? People get killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time sometimes, you know.”

  “Not in Cape Bay they don’t,” I replied coldly. It wasn’t a lie. Cape Bay had had more than its fair share of murders over the past few months, but none of them were because someone was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “So you two think you can figure it out when the cops can’t?”

  “The detective on the case is from out of town and hasn’t ever tried to find a suspect other than Sammy. So, yeah, I think that since we’re actually trying, maybe we can find another suspect.”

  Chris scoffed. “And what if the detective’s not wrong? What if Sammy actually killed her?” He looked defiantly across the table at us.

  “I didn’t kill her,” Sammy surprised me by saying. She’d been mostly very quiet when we talked to people. I didn’t mind, because she was really just there to put an innocent face to the false accusations, so people could see the person who was about to take the fall for something she didn’t do. But now her voice was icy cold, and I could hear in it that she’d had enough of Chris’ arguments.

  “That’s exactly what a murderer would say.”

  “Or an innocent person—” I started, but Sammy cut me off.

  “That’s enough! Are you going to talk to us about Cheryl or not? Because if you’re not, I’m leaving!”

  “Blondie’s got some spunk!” Chris grinned.

  Sammy stood up. “Come on, Fran. This is a waste of our time.” She turned and started walking away. I stood to follow her.

  “Wait!” Chris called.

  Sammy stopped walking, but didn’t turn around.

  “How do I know you’re not just trying to pin this on me?”

  Sammy turned around slowly. “Now that’s exactly what a murderer would say. Every single other person we’ve talked to has been more than happy to help us. Because they’re normal people who don’t want to see an innocent person go to jail. You’re the only one who has given us grief, and you know what? That makes you look guilty.” She turned back around. “Come on, Fran.”

  “Okay! I’ll talk to you!”

  I hesitated and looked at Sammy. She looked back at me and shrugged. “It’s up to you. But if he starts this up again, I’m leaving.”

  I looked at Chris.

  “I’ll be cool. I swear.” He held up his hands in surrender.

  “You have one chance,” I said.

  “I got it.”

  I looked at Sammy. She sighed and came back to the table. We sat down. “Okay, talk,” I said.

  “Can’t we order our food first? I’m starving.”

  I started to get up.

  “Okay, okay! What do you want to know?”

  “Tell us about this breakup that Cheryl was involved in.”

  “It was over the summer—” Chris started.

  As if on cue, the waitress walked up. “Sorry about the wait, folks! Are you all ready to order?”

  I clenched my jaw in annoyance. Sammy fidgeted next to me like she was seriously considering getting up. Chris didn’t even seem fazed.

  “Do you guys still have eggnog?” he asked. He drummed on the menu with his fingers, and I noticed that his hands were nearly as small as mine. Small man, small hands. It made sense.

  “Nope, sorry, we’re all out for the season.”

  “That’s too bad. You guys make the best eggnog.” He flinched. “No, my ex made the best eggnog. But yours is a close second.” He stared down at his menu. All his bravado faded. As much as he had annoyed me, I could see the pain on his face and felt sympathetic, so I went ahead and ordered my food so he could have a minute. By the time Sammy had ordered, he seemed to have collected himself and was ready to talk again.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “My ex is just a sensitive subject for me. Everything still reminds me of her.”

  I wondered if he’d been argumentative earlier because he wanted to avoid talking about her. “That’s okay. I understand it’s a painful subject.” Sammy scoffed beside me, clearly not having it. I elbowed her and gave her a look. No matter how annoyed she or I might be with him at the moment, we needed him, and so we needed to be nice.

  “I thought I was going to marry her,” he said, staring at his hands. “We’d talked about it, and I was looking at rings.”

  “Cheryl?”

  Now it was his turn to scoff. “Cheryl? No. Not in a million years. Cheryl wasn’t marriage material.”

  “But you broke up with your ex for her?”

  He nodded. “We’d dated a couple of years back and broke up when she started seeing some other guy. She came back around and started calling me again. We hung out a couple of times, flirted and stuff. She was fun, you know?” He looked up at me for approval, and I nodded sympathetically, even though if Matt tried to pull something like that, I’d be furious. “Bea started to get mad about how much time I was spending with Cheryl. She was acting jealous and I started to think that maybe I didn’t want to get married after all. I mean, would I rather sit around and play house with Bea judging my every move or go out and party with Cheryl? Bea had turned into a downer. Cheryl was fun.” He sighed heavily. “I was hanging out with Cheryl a lot. I missed a date with Bea, and she got really mad. We got in a huge fight about it, and I took off. I ended up at Cheryl’s place.”

  Chris looked at me like he was waiting for my judgement. I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything. Nothing that I could say right now would help us find the person who really killed Cheryl. Besides, I didn’t have to say it. He already knew. He looked back down at the table.

  “Bea called me in the morning to apologize, but I was in the bathroom. Cheryl answered my phone. By the time I got back to our place, all my stuff was out on the front step. Bea wouldn’t even talk to me. Not that I deserved it. I cheated on her. With Cheryl of all people.” He looked at me again, and I could see the pain in his eyes. “The guy Bea dated before me broke up with her for Cheryl too.”

  I tried to keep the shock off my face, but I couldn’t. Chris saw it.

  “Yeah. I’m a jerk. I knew why she was acting that way about Cheryl, but I didn’t care. I was having fun, and I didn’t care who I hurt. I’m a jerk.”

  “Yes, you are,” Sammy said before I could stop her.

  I thought Chris was going to get mad, leave maybe. But he nodded. “Cheryl didn’t even stick around. It lasted maybe a two, three weeks after that, and then she kicked me out for some other guy. I ruined the best relationship I’ve ever had for something that didn’t even last a month.”

  We sat in silence except for a polite “thank you” while the waitress brought our food. Chris stared at his. I poked at mine. Sammy dug in. She was normally so kind, so sympathetic, with a heart as big as her smile, but Chris’ story didn’t even faze her. I knew she thought he deserved everything he got.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17