Page 15 of Blood and Buttercups

Ethan

I’m so freaked out I almost throw the box across the room. How the heck did he get my address? Gingerly, I take the phone from the package, holding it like it’s diseased. Did he really get into my contact info?

Feeling like my privacy’s been violated, I open my contact list, scanning for his name. I don’t have to look long—it’s right there toward the top.

Ethan B.

He didn’t include his last name, email, or address, but his phone number is here.

I’m tempted to delete it, but I might need it for evidence later. That restraining order is looking like a sure thing.

I place the note back in the box and set it on the top shelf of the coat closet.

When I return to the kitchen counter, I stare at the phone. What else did Ethan get into? Did he go through all my pictures? My emails and messages?

As I’m contemplating it with growing dread, my doorbell rings again.

“What the heck is up with today?” I mutter to myself.

Once again worried it’s the wannabe-vampire stalker, I slink to the door, avoiding all the windows while cursing myself for opening them up yesterday morning. I should just leave the house dark and moody.

The last person I expect to see on my front step is a police officer, but lo and behold, there he stands, looking all official.

Mortified, I swing the door open. “My brother called you, didn’t he? I swear I’m fine?—”

“Are you Piper Edwards?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Are you Kevin Nelson’s girlfriend?”

The question startles me, as it has nothing to do with Ethan or our horrifying date. “We broke up.”

“When?”

“Uh…” I shift, suddenly very,verynervous. “Friday. What’s this about?”

“I need you to come down to the station.”

“Why?” I demand.

“This morning, your boyfriend was found dead in his residence.”

I blink at him, unable to process the words. “He…what?”

Looking terribly suspicious, the policeman watches me, his face hard and expressionless, as if he thinks my horror is anact. “According to his phone records, you’re the last person with whom he had contact.”

My stomach rolls again, and I sink to the floor, as close to hyperventilating as I’ve ever been.

Kevin’s dead.

No, it’s not possible.

“What happened?” I press my head into my hands, trying to breathe.

“According to the suicide note, the deceased claims he was so upset by his actions that led to your breakup, he strangled the woman he was with and then shot himself.”

“What?” I exclaim, looking up. “Kevin wouldneverdo that.”

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