Page 21 of My Girl
“Mrs. Line will be here soon,” he says. He grabs his phone and responds to a text. “She’s the one who knew the Halls personally. And my niece?—”
His walkie-talkie beeps.
Sir, there’s a code blue in the food court,a gruff Southern voice crackled through the walkie. The mall cop. How lovely.
“Crap,” Ned mutters, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Let me take care of this. By then, Mrs. Line and Penny should be here.”
“Take your time,” I say.
The office door clicks shut. I run around the desk, quickly looping through the keys. I pull off the new key and get back into the seat.
The door opens, and Ned beams at me. A buzzing sensation burns inside of me. Ned doesn’t know I just stole his key. He doesn’t suspect a thing.
“Never a dull day at the mall,” I say.
“You’re telling me.” He waves toward the door. “Mrs. Line is here. You’re going to love her.”
I join him, and we walk down the employee hallway.
In the food court, the different kitchens whir with activity. Utensils clink against pans. Hot oil pops. Grease hangs in the air. I study Ned. He’s taller than me by a foot, and he’s got width too, plenty of muscle for a middle-aged man.
Crave is taller than me too. I haven’t seen him in direct light, but I can tell he’s strong.
Could someone like NedbeCrave? Serial killers tend to have charming personas to the public eye. Is “Ned” the normal mask Crave puts on for the world to see?
I concentrate, sniffing past the grease and sugar of the food court. Ned smells fresh and slightly masculine, like he just rinsed off at the gym. Ned doesn’t smell like Crave. Crave smells bitter, like charred leather and motor oil. But Crave could wash that scent off with some soap and water.
If NedisCrave, then he’d have access to the house. The padlock could be an act, a way to pretend like he’s preparing for potential danger. And using bolt cutters to cut open the lock could be a way to trickmeinto thinking Ned and Crave are separate people.
Perhaps there’s a bigger reasonwhyNed doesn’t want anyone in that house. He wants that space, that privacy, to kill his victims. It would make sense.
Could Ned actually kill someone?
A woman with wavy gray hair sits at a table still glimmering with cleaning fluids. Her skin is loose. The wrinkles around her eyes are warm. She spots Ned and lights up.
“You must be Ned’s new girlfriend,” she says.
“Oh, come on, Mrs. Line,” Ned says. His cheeks redden. I laugh, but neither confirm nor deny the girlfriend title. I offer Mrs. Line my hand.
“I’m Rae Sinclair. I’m doing a podcast on the Hall murder-suicide.” I sit across from her. “Ned tells me you lived here during that time?”
Ned pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you ladies later.”
Mrs. Line smiles at Ned’s back as he walks away. Once he’s out of earshot, she leans forward and grabs my hands.
“He’s a bit older than you, but he’d make a very good husband,” she says. “He’d always take care of you, just like my husband took care of me.”
I force a smile. Ned is undeniably nice, and Mrs. Line is probably right about him. Aboutus.I’m not interested in dating though, especially if there’s a possibility that Ned is Crave.
“Mrs. Line,” I ask, focusing back on our main purpose. “Is it okay if I record our conversation today?”
“Ned told me you would.”
I take that as a yes and pull out my phone. A young woman with dirty blonde hair tucked into a low ponytail zooms over to our table, taking one of the empty seats.
“Hi,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“Ned said you were investigating the murders in the Galloway House,” she says. “I’m your best resource on it.”
