Page 47 of Carbon

“Hang on, I need to call Angie. She was worried sick when I got home late the last night we spent together. What time is it?”

“Always the good sister.” He pressed the button that made his watch light up and held it for me to look at. One thirty.

I’d dropped my small shoulder bag over by the door, and I fished my phone out while Ben slid an arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his side. Possessive, and I loved it.

The phone rang, and as it did so, I didn’t just hear the tone in my ear but the faint sound of Sister Sledge’s “We are Family” from somewhere nearby.

“Can you hear that?” I asked Ben.

“The music?”

“It’s Angie’s phone.”

“Sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.”

“She must have dropped it there. I should fetch it for her.”

“What was she doing in your father’s den?”

“She was with some guy earlier, so probably what I was just doing down here with you.”

Ben kept hold of my hand as I climbed the narrow staircase into the darkness above.Honestly, Angie, you could have picked somewhere else. Screwing on Father’s furniture was just...icky.

At the top of the stairs, I flicked the light on and looked around. The desk, the golf trophies, the photos of my father clay pigeon shooting. The cigar humidor, the decanter of scotch, Angie’s broken body lying on the leather sofa.

Somebody started screaming, and it must have been me, but my mind disconnected itself from the scene. That couldn’t be my sister with blood dripping down her pale green dress, eyes glazed as she stared at nothing.

It couldn’t be.

Hands pushed me into a chair, and Ben rushed forwards, fingers on Angie’s neck as he felt for a pulse. But it was pointless. She’d been here the whole time we were downstairs, while we screwed each other silly and poured our hearts out. The thought of that brought up everything I’d eaten earlier.

“Fuck!” Ben bit out, clutching at his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I stumbled forward and grabbed at his arm to hold myself up. “She’s dead. Angie’s dead.”

“Gus, it’s worse.”

How? My sister was lying dead in front of me. How could it possibly be worse? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s my knife in her side.”

“You did this? You killed my sister?”

Now somebody was shrieking. Me. I was shrieking.

“Of course I didn’t, but somebody wanted to make it look that way.”

He stepped forward again and picked up the limp wrist nearest to us, and as he uncurled Angie’s fingers, a bunch of keys dropped onto the floor.

“Don’t tell me, those are yours too?”

“I lost them a couple of months back, but Dorothy lent me her spare set so I wouldn’t get into trouble.”

Nothing made sense in my head. Thoughts jumbled around and I snatched at one, grasped onto it. “Someone’s trying to frame you?”

“Yes. Fuck, Gus, I never should have come here and brought this shit into your life. I thought it was safe, I swear. I’d never have come otherwise.”

“What do you mean? What shit?”

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