Page 15 of Collect the Pieces

“You’re not bothered by the morality of me committing murder?”

“What?” He snorts. “Fuck no. Not the pieces of filth you’re talking about.Yoursafety concerns me, though.”

“I’m very careful.” I glance down at my hands. “As much as I’d love to chop them into pieces, I’m cognizant of the fact that I don’t have the physical strength or size to overpower them.” I flick my wicked gaze at him again. “I have to be more thoughtful. Deliberate. Plan ahead. Use the element of surprise.”

Jigsaw

“You work so many hours. How do you have time for all this planning?” I ask, trying to get a better handle on Margot’s safety precautions.

“It’s not like I have a long list. There’ve only been four targets.” Margot rolls her shoulders, like a bird ruffling her feathers. “I’m not a psycho.”

I cock my head and pinch my thumb and index finger a millimeter apart. “You’re alittlepsycho.”

Her mouth turns down. Are her feelings hurt? She admitted to murder. Multiple murders. She’s smart enough to know that’s not exactly normal behavior. “You’remylittle psycho,” I add. “Tell me more. Are they always connected to people who’ve come through the funeral home?”

“Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve seen?”

That’s not an answer to my question.“You grew up here. I’m guessing a lot.”

“Accidents, natural causes, weird stuff, and lots of normal, mundane deaths.” She pauses, swallowing hard and looking away. “The worst, though? The cruelty people inflict on others. On the most vulnerable. Children. Babies. Pregnant women. Those bother me the most.”

Her voice wobbles as she tips her chin up, and the sadness in her eyes punches me right in the chest. “Do you know murder is the leading cause of death for pregnant women and new mothers?”

My stomach clenches. “No.”

“It is.”

“I believe you.”

“Do you know how many children are molested—usually by someone they know—and never get justice?”

Unfortunately, I’ve known more people who survived horrible shit at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect them than I care to think about. “Too many.”

“So you’re not unaware.”

“Margot, I didn’t kill my own father just because he beat me when I was a kid.” No, if I wanted a pound of flesh, I would’ve whipped him raw and left him bleeding the way he did to me so many times. I hesitate, the words crawling up my throat like splinters. “It was the things he did to Jezzie, and the other children on the farm after I left, that made me slit his throat.”

My entire body feels like it’s balanced on the tip of a knife as I wait for her to deflect the conversation away from her and ask me for more details.

She studies my face but doesn’t say a word.

I blow out a relieved breath.

“It’s not justwhathe did to Hoyt,” she continues, breaking the silence. “If I thought he’d been rehabilitated when he was released, Imighthave left him alone. Maybe.”

I don’t think even she believes that.

“But once I saw him casually strolling by the elementary school, checking out the kids…” Her voice shakes with disgust. “I knew he hadn’t changed one bit.”

I let out a disgusted snort. “Pedophiles rarely do.”

“I couldn’t stand it if another kid had their life forever altered because of him. Ruining a child’s life and future is unforgivable. I don’t care what the Bible or anyone else says. There’s no justification for it. Ever.”

“Agree.” I run my hand over my chest, considering how to phrase my next question. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But who did youtake care ofwhile I was away?”

How long had she been planning that one? The whole time we were having our “lessons,” she was plotting to kill a man? Shouldn’t my dark, barren soul have sensed her murderous intentions?

Her eyes gloss over with tears, and she ducks her head. “I told you babies are the hardest. Sometimes, it’s natural causes and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Or accidents—they’re sad, but normal. Other times…” She swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “Do you remember the night you came over and I was too upset for ‘lessons,’ so you took me out to dinner instead?”

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