Page 88 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Oh, the college days. It’s all coming back to me.”

Diem gave me a look.

“Oh, come off it. Don’t tell me you never smoked pot.”

No response.

Diem moved to the cluttered desk by a tall bookcase, grunting and pointing at the door. He was back in mime mode.

I arched a brow. “I assume those caveman noises mean you want me to keep a lookout?”

He glared. I glared back, and Diem added a husky, “Please.”

“One of these days, Guns. There’s got to be a YouTube channel you can browse. ‘How to Communicate with your Partner.’ Or maybe ‘Speaking Without Grunting. The New You.’” I waved a hand in the air as though it was displayed on a sign.

Diem narrowed his eyes. The hint of mirth was back. “We aren’t partners.”

“So you keep saying. Butyoushowed up atmyhouse, remember? All on your own. You didn’t lock me out like I thought you might. It means something, D.” I patted my chest over my heart. “I think you like me a little.”

“Watch the fucking door.”

I chuckled and poked my head out to ensure we were still alone.

Diem scoured the debris-littered desk, rifling through papers, scanning and tossing them aside.

Minutes ticked by, and he mostly made guttural noises in his throat.

“What are you expecting to find? A confession?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“What do you think they found in his car?”

“We don’t know that it had anything to do with his car. Those students aren’t exactly in the know.”

“News flash. Neither are we. It explains why he takes the bus all the time.”

No response.

“Maybe Shore injected something into Beth to kill her. Do you think he killed her? That’s why they arrested him, right? I mean, we don’t know that for sure either. How do you think they connected him to Beth? I mean,weconnected the two because—”

“Stop talking. I’m trying to think. You’re the worst partner ever.”

“I thought I wasn’t your partner.”

The bear in his chest awoke, and I smirked, resuming my surveillance duties.

The hallway was still empty, so I moved to the desk to help Diem look. For what? I didn’t know. David was a slob, and because there was so much crap, we would need far more than five minutes to go through it.

“No laptop,” Diem said.

“Probably keeps it on him… Or the police took it with his car. Planner?”

Diem grunted in the negative.

We dug in silence, both skimming, both searching. Near the bottom of a pile, a business card caught my eye. I tugged it free, read the name on the front, almost dismissed it, and flinched.

Bill Tudor.

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