Page 29 of The Art of Obsession
I’ve been watching the door all day. Hyperalert. Listening for every sound, but it’s only been my neighbors moving back and forth to or from work, etc.
Acheron wouldn’t ring the doorbell.
No, the bastard’s probably got his own damn key and would just stroll right in.
A fist pounds a couple of times, and a deep tenor says, “Miss Lennox, it’s the police. If you’re home, please open the door.”
What. The. Fuck?
Hmm, police handcuffs. You should suggest that when Acheron comes back. Cherry does a little twirl.
Throwing on my cardigan to hide the outline of my boobs—and the bite marks—, I hurry to grab my iced mocha drink on the table. Not that it will help much.
I open the door, just a small gap. A hard knot grows in my throat as I eye the two officers and one man who is clearly a detective.
The officers are young, one with a fresh buzz cut and a sharp jawline. The other sports a mustache that looks like it’s trying too hard to be impressive. Both have that stiff, no-nonsense posture that screams “rookie trying to look tough.”
The detective, on the other hand, is older, with graying temples and deep lines carved into his face like a roadmap of jaded exhaustion. Wrinkled, cheap suit and a trench coat draped over his shoulders. He’s seen a lot but shows up anyway. His sharp eyes take me in, making the knot in my throat tighten.
“Miss Lennox,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “We need to ask you a few questions regarding the incident at the nightclub.”
My stomach twists. I hesitate, gripping the edge of the door. “Full disclosure, I’m not entirely sober,” I say, forcing a small smile. “So… this might get interesting. Bear with me please.”
The detective raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “We’re looking into the death of a young man named Jacob Howe. Were you at the club that night?”
I nod, my stomach twisting. “Yeah, I was there.”
“Did you know him?”
“No,” I say quickly.
The detective pulls out an evidence bag containing a phone. “Then why does he have your number? And a text from you that says, ‘This is my number’?”
My shoulders sag, and I glance down at the iced mocha in my hand, wishing it were something stronger. “I met him that night. So I didn’t reallyknowhim. We danced, had a drink, and exchanged numbers. That was it.”
The detective’s eyes narrow slightly. “Witnesses saw you with the victim going to the third level of the club.”
“He worked there,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Said he knew a quiet spot. We kissed, I texted him to set up a date later, and… that was the last time I saw him.”
My shoulders sag, and I lower my head, letting guilt settle over me. I know they’ll interpret it as sadness, but I can’t help it. And it’ll work in my favor.
The detective’s tone hardens. “We have reason to believe Mr. Howe didn’t hang himself. He was strangled. And the cameras show you standing in the middle of the club, watching the victim while the rest of the crowd was running.”
“I wasn’t exactly sober that night either,” I slur, lifting a finger. “And I was shocked. I mean, I was looking forward to ourdate. I couldn’t believe what happened. Ididrun, though. Right outside to my car.”
The detective nods. “Yes, we have footage of you at the doorway. Not the parking lot. Can you think of any reason someone would want to kill Mr. Howe?”
Cherry’s voice whispers in my head.Tell them the truth, and they’ll lock you in a psych ward faster than you can blink. Then Acheron will find you and turn it into some twisted doctor-patient roleplay.
I suppress a shudder and shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. He seemed like a really nice guy.”
The detective studies me for a moment. “Are you having any problems, Miss Lennox? A jealous boyfriend who might’ve targeted him?”
I laugh bitterly. “No. I travel a lot for work. I don’t have time for a boyfriend. And I lost my fiancé a few years ago.”
The detective’s expression softens. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. Listen, last night shook me up pretty good, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my drinking alone and watching horror movies on a Saturday night.”
