Page 42 of Nothing Ever Happens Here

“Trophy?” Evan asks.

“Serial killers keep trophies after they kill people.”

“She’s not dead, Millie! She’s sitting right here,” Herb yells, gesturing to me. “So how can it be a trophy?”

“Anyway, we called Evan this morning to see if he could bring the recordings in from last night so we didn’t waste any time,” Mort says.

“How about calling me?” I say, holding up my phone with a curled lip and “what the hell” look on my face.

“Well, you don’t know how to sync the audio, do you?” Mort asks, and I sigh. I can see from the computer screen behind him that these sneaks have already recorded a whole podcast episode about it this morning.

“What if someone turned this phone in? Found it somewhere and turned it into the police, and Riley is not, in fact, a murderer?” I ask.

“I did think of that,” Mort says.

“Yeah, but then why didn’t he return it to you?” Herb asks.

“I had it locked down when I called the phone company. Maybe he gets a turned-in phone that’s shut down and it’s not a priority to find the owner because he has a psychopath on the loose? I don’t know!” I say and I’m raising my voice now, so I take a breath and try to keep it together.

“So Riley takes home lost and found items from the department and sticks them down his couch cushions?” Florence asks.

“Did you ask him why he has it?” I retort.

“Oh, God no,” Herb says. “We’re not crazy. This is evidence now. He would just deny it—say he doesn’t know how it got there. We need to get to the bottom of it.”

“So,” I continue. “This phone is the most boring phone on earth. Pictures of the kids, calls to school, and Pizza Central. Maybe some Pinterest and Amazon. No porn, no scandal, no unknown numbers, no blackmail. What in the world would Riley want it for? What wouldanyonewant with this?”

“Maybe he’s still in love with you and was hoping for some nudies,” Millie says, and Florence spits out her sip of tea. Evan blushes, and Heather finally speaks up.

“Or…what if it’s his wife?” she asks. Everyone turns to look at her.

“Belinda?” Millie sits up and looks around to see if anyone else thinks this is preposterous.

“Well, think about it. Everyone knows Belinda hates Shelby, and she bought that bait shop with her brother out of spite. The stories of Clay throwing up on the Riley’s car and Belinda retaliating by telling everyone at Cut & Curl that Shelby has an STD? I mean, she’d do anything to throw Shelby under the bus,” she says. And everyonedoesknow these rumors, but I am surprised Heather pays attention to anything besides her false eyelashes and hair extensions,not to mention absorbing these sorts of details.

“That still doesn’t make her a murderer,” Mort says.

“Just sayin’.” She shrugs. “Women are cunning.”

“You know, she’s not totally off track,” Evan says, picking up a steaming mug of coffee from the computer table he’s sitting in front of. Heather beams.

“I don’t know about Belinda, but…what if we’re all going down the wrong track and it is a woman?”

“Women don’t murder people, men do. Come on!” Millie says, exasperated.

“I mean, have you seenSnapped? If there are enough women murdering people to create a whole multiseason show about it, then it’s not totally out of the question,” he says. “It’s something to consider. Does anyone know Belinda, like actually know herwell?”

“We all do,” Millie argues.

“Outside of church, kids’ ball games, PTA, and fundraisers, has anyone spent one-on-one time with her? Enough to know if she’s a psychopath?” Florence asks. “Because I know that we all know everyone, but besides knowing that the woman has bad taste in haircuts and brings mint chip cookies to the potluck every year, I can’t tell you I know much about her at all, really.

“So she goes on our list,” Florence says, scribbling something onto a legal pad. I take it from her.

“What list? You have a list? Of suspects?” I look at it and all that’s written is “Riley” with a question mark that’s scratched out, and now “Belinda.” I shake my head and hand it back to her, mumbling “Jesus” under my breath.

“Okay, I’m gonna go catch up on some paperwork,” I say, but before I can go, Florence shocks me when she blurts out “Or Mack!”

I stare at her from the door frame and take a few steps back in. “I’m sorry?”

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