Page 44 of Rest In Peace

"Anything you remember could be crucial," Michael coaxed, guiding Mary to a secluded corner. "Think."

"Guests, so many faces," Mary murmured, her gaze distant. "Laughter, dancing, drinks… nothing strange. Until…."

"Until?" Michael prompted, his hand a reassuring presence on Mary’s arm.

"Until I found him," Mary finished, the reality settling like lead in her stomach. "Upstairs, alone."

"Okay, we'll start there." Michael’s assurance was a lifeline in the storm of Mary's thoughts. "The police will sort this out. You're safe with me until they get here."

"Safe…" Mary echoed, but the word felt foreign on her lips. She leaned on Michael's unwavering strength, finding solace in her friend's resolve as the party's gleeful ignorance continued.

Blue and red lights soon bled through the curtains, casting a surreal glow over the throngs of unsuspecting partygoers. A heavy knock resonated above the music, the sound sobering.

They were here.

Chapter 40

Istared at the empty coffee mug, tracing a finger around its rim, the ceramic cool against my skin. Detective Ryan's words from our last meeting played on a loop in my mind—curt, dismissive, a barricade of finality in his tone when he said, "Case closed." But cases don't close with questions still clawing for answers, and Nicki's case had too many to be silenced by a simple suicide verdict.

My phone buzzed against the tabletop, an abrupt snarl of vibration that made me jolt. "Ryan" flashed across the screen; the name was a challenge I couldn't ignore.

"Detective," I answered, voice steady despite the pulse quickening at my throat.

"Listen, I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to back off," Ryan's gruff voice cut through the line like a blade, no pleasantries to blunt its edge.

"Back off?" I echoed, feigning ignorance.

"Adam Andersson. He's been through enough without you showing up at his doorstep, asking questions, and stirring things up. You've got some nerve."

The accusation hung between us, a heavy cloud waiting to burst. It was clear; the lines were drawn, and I was on the outside looking in. But the truth had a way of blurring boundaries, and I wasn't about to let it slip through the cracks.

I squared my shoulders, pressing the phone closer. “I thought I was helping."

"Helping?" His scoff crackled over the line. "By chasing ghosts?"

"Nicki wouldn't?—"

"Stop." The word was a command, sharp and absolute. "I've got the autopsy report right here. It's suicide. End of story."

"Reports can be wrong," I countered, thumb tracing the rim of my coffee mug, feeling the rough edge where a chip was missing.

"Are you a pathologist now? You think you know better than the professionals?”

"Then help me understand because it doesn't add up."

Silence threaded through the line, taut and suffocating. Then, a sigh.

"Listen, you're out of your depth. It's not what you want to hear, but it's what the evidence says. Let it go."

The words “let it go” hung between us, a mantra of futility. But acquiescence was a language I never learned to speak.

"Adam Andersson," I breathed into the receiver, my voice steady despite the storm brewing on the other end. "He's the link, Ryan. Steven's death wasn't an isolated incident. Steven and Nicki had an affair."

A crackle of static answered me before Detective Ryan's anger filled the space. "You have no right?—"

"Two deaths, same circle. It's more than coincidence." I stared out the window, watching the palm trees sway in the warm wind.

"Christ, you're relentless," he snapped. "And you're crossing lines. Adam is a grieving man, and you're pointing fingers with nothing to back it up!"

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