Page 22 of Heartless

“And you were home alone, right? Your mom is out of town?” God, it’s creepy that he just knows that without referencing anything.

“Yeah. She does it a lot.”

“So you’re alone a lot.”

For a moment, I don’t reply. I don’t understand what he’s getting at, but I remind myself I have nothing to hide. “I’m alone a lot,” I agree at last, my skin prickling with anxiety.

“And where were you the night before? When Lacey Clarke was killed? I’ve heard you were at the crime scene that morning. Did you know about it beforehand somehow? You don’t live in that area.”

I’m already shaking my head before he’s done talking. “I was babysitting my nephew,” I say slowly, like he’s an idiot and I’mtrying to explain things in simple terms. “Scott. His mother is my half sister, Louisa. I babysit for her all the time.”

“So it was just you and your nephew?” His eyes never leave mine, but he isn’t taking notes.

“Yes—wait. No.” I grimace apologetically. “My friend showed up and stayed the night, too. She was there when my sister got home as well.” I expect him to ask why, or something equally probing. “My friend’s name is Reagan Darcelle.” Maybe she can be my alibi, and I can be hers. Just in case Officer Trudeau has a grudge against babysitters.

“All right.” He gets up unexpectedly, levering himself up with his hands. With a sigh, he heads for the door, and I sidestep it so he can rest his hand on the knob. “Just one more question.” He turns to look at me, blocking the door and holding it shut.

My lungs seem to constrict in my chest, and I have to remind myself this isn’t the same situation as when my dad trapped me in his office.

If I scream, someone will hear me.

If I scream, the people around me won’t ignore me and hope that things work themselves out.

“You were the girl in the house when Cassian Byers killed his sister, right?” Officer Trudeau asks quietly without looking away for even a moment.

I blink and meet his eyes, unflinching. “Does it matter?” I ask finally, my words slow and hesitant. “Does it have something to do with what’s going on now?”

Suddenly Officer Trudeau smiles, and his hand twists the knob until he can push the door open. “Probably not.” He chuckles, slipping his mirrored sunglasses back on. “Probably just a coincidence, you know?”

“What’s a coincidence? That someone died in Hayden Fields and I wasbreathinga few houses down the street?” I can’t help the derision in my tone, or how much I want him to leave.

His grin widens and he shakes his head in a way that makes it seem like he’s watching a child playing at being an adult. “No need to be so defensive, Winnifred.” I will never not hate how he says my name. “Just thinking out loud. You have a good day, all right?” He nods his head and brushes past Martha, who stands by the cubbies with a napkin twisted to shreds in her fingers. The officer nods to her as well and disappears into the front of the restaurant, and even when he’s gone I stare after him, considering.

“Winnie?” Martha steps closer to me, pulling my attention to her. “Is everything okay?”

“Is Edith really dead?” I ask instead of answering. “Was he telling the truth about it not being…an accident?”

Martha’s face twists, but she forces herself to nod. “They said she was stabbed. The same way that girl, Lacey Clarke, was stabbed. It was just like…” but she trails off when she looks at me, and I don’t need her to finish to know what she was going to say.

It was just like what happened before with Cassian.

Chapter

Eleven

Iexpect another murder, and it’s my opinion that the rest of the town does as well. With two murders in two days in our small town outside of Akron, we’ve unfortunately gotten famous in the news.

It’s all anyone can talk about in the diner. In whispers or in loud voices, our regulars and those just here to try out the ‘famous’ pancakes can’t seem to talk about anything else. At first, I find it interesting. Informative, even, since I don’t watch the news a lot.

But then, when the talk inevitably turns to everything else that’s happened in Hayden Fields, my amusement and interest in the talk runs dry. One day becomes two, and by the fourth day of no murder, I’m sick of hearing Cassian’s name.

The only silver lining is that they don’t know I’m the kid in the story who ran screaming for help.

It’s Thursday by the time I’ve had enough. I can’t help it, I put in a request for the weekend off, giving me four days instead of two so I can lay in bed and do my best imitation of a dead body starting tomorrow.

“You just have to make it through today,” I murmur, looking up at the ring of the bell hanging on the door of the diner. “Welc—” My words come to a stuttering stop when I see the two people walking in, but I can’t believe this is happening.

Not when Cassian’s blue eyes meet mine and his mouth hitches up in a half grin. The man beside him cranes forward, eyeing me from under raised brows. He’s taller than Cassian, and maybe a couple of years older, with messy black hair and dark eyes full of amusement.

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