Page 40 of The Obsession

“Did he tell you what he was working on before the accident?” asked Mendez.

Silence. I could only assume Delilah either nodded or shook her head in answer.

“You were here the day he was killed, right?” Mendez pressed.

“I—yes. I was upstairs. I’ve told the cops everything—”

I closed my eyes. Come on, Dee. She was too rattled, too defensive. I could see the hole she was digging for herself. It was a deep one.

“Do you recognize this?” Mendez said, taking out a photograph from her back pocket. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell what it was, but Delilah’s face paled visibly. “I found it in Brandon’s car,” Mendez said. “It matches one of the drugs we traced back to Draycott.”

“I—I don’t do drugs, you can ask—” Delilah squeaked.

“I know, Dee, you’re a good kid,” Mendez said. “Tell me, what do you know about what Brandon was looking into before he died? I think you know something.”

Delilah opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Let’s go over the day of the accident again. Did you see or hear anything before you came down to the garage? Anything out of the ordinary?”

I didn’t think twice before stepping out from the kitchen. “Hey, do you have any oregan—oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Delilah glared at me like a caged tiger, frightened and angry. Probably wondering what the hell I was doing, why I was out here. Probably thought I’d make things worse. I ignored her and walked up to Detective Mendez and shook her hand.

“I’m Logan. I’m Delilah’s boyfriend.” Delilah’s boyfriend. The title slipped out as easily as an eel wriggling out of a fisherman’s grip. So natural, the way it rolled off my tongue, as though I’d always been her boyfriend.

“I didn’t know you were dating somebody,” Detective Mendez said to Delilah.

Delilah schooled her expression into a smile. Good girl.

“We’re keeping our relationship on the down low,” I said. “Nobody else knows we’ve been dating for months. Detective Jackson—was—kinda protective, so…”

“Gotcha,” Detective Mendez said. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Logan. Would you mind giving me a minute with Delilah?”

“Sure.” I turned around then stopped. “Actually, I sorta overheard your last question and, uh, we didn’t wanna get in trouble with our parents, but…” I glanced at Delilah. “I think we should tell her, Dee.” Sincere, that was what I was going for. Sincerity, tinged by the slightest bit of hesitation, the way any teen would feel.

“Tell me what?” Mendez said.

I ignored Delilah’s frantic, confused face and said, “The day Detective Jackson died, I was upstairs with Delilah. She’d let me in the night before, and we were, uh, you know, um, messing around—”

Understanding dawned on Delilah’s face the same time it did on Detective Mendez’s. Mendez turned to Delilah and said, “Is this true?”

Delilah nodded. “I was scared, I didn’t want to tell anyone because I’d get in so much trouble, and with Mom going through so much already, I didn’t want to tell her I was upstairs with a guy. I kept thinking, Brandon would have a fit. I mean, I know that makes zero sense because he’s, you know, gone, but still.” She lowered her head. “I’m really sorry about lying.”

Detective Mendez gave us both a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like to be young and in love.”

To her credit, Delilah managed not to look revolted at the L word. She merely simpered at the detective and took my hand in hers.

Joy pounded through my veins. We were holding hands because she wanted to, and now it was no longer her against the cop, it was Us against the cop.

“This means you were here at the house during the time of the accident,” Detective Mendez said, and now her attention was completely on me.

It was unnerving, to be under that stare. Detective Mendez wasn’t the type to pluck her brows into delicate arches; they sat atop her eyes like two fat, angry caterpillars.

“Yeah,” I said, after a half beat.

“When did you leave?” she asked, and suddenly her notebook was out of her pocket. Then came her pen, shining like a little sword.

I shuffled through my memory of that day, when I’d hid in my usual spot, deep in the backyard, my camera aimed through the gaping back door of the garage. When would have been a good time to leave?

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