Page 13 of The Inmate
From: Mia Hodge
Subject: Re: Greetings
Yay for new friends! Speaking of turtles, I’ve got a present I’m sending you! It sounds like you’re totally fitting in though. I knew you would!
XXO
Mia
ChapterSeven
PRESENT DAY
NATALIE
I screamed for about a minute.
That’s my estimate. Based on about how long it felt, and also how much my throat feels scratchy right now. I screamed for a full minute, then I managed to get it together enough to dial 911 with shaking hands.
Needless to say, I got the hell out of that house.
Now the police are here. They are swarming around the house, dusting for fingerprints or whatever else policemen do at a crime scene. I don’t want to know. I’ve been sitting in my car since they got here. I’m not supposed to leave, but I don’t want to go anywhere near that house again.
I called Seth to let him know what was going on and that I wouldn’t be back at work. He sounded rattled, but that’s nothing compared to how I feel. I usually tell Kim everything, but I didn’t want to tell her about this. She’d just treat it like interesting gossip, which would be disrespectful. So instead, I text Caleb. He’ll say the right thing—I know it.
Sure enough, I get a text back right away:
Holy crap! Are you okay?
Not really.
I’ll be reliving what I saw in that living room until the day I die. All that blood…
Do you want me to come over there?
I’ve been trying so hard not to be a clingy girlfriend. Nothing is a bigger turnoff. But Caleb doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who obsesses over something like that. And heoffered. Plus, I want to see him. I want to bury my face in his chest. So I reply:
Yes please.
Just as I’m texting him the address, I am interrupted by the sound of tapping at the window of my car—there’s a man at the driver’s side window. He’s wearing a dark gray suit and tie, and I remember him briefly introducing himself as a detective before I went to hide in the car. I roll down the window.
“Miss Farrell?” he says.
“Yes…”
“I gotta talk to you. Can you get out of the car please?”
One of the uniformed police officers asked me a few questions before I ran out here. I suppose the detective has a bunch more questions. And maybe some answers, I’m hoping. Anyway, I don’t have much of a choice, so I climb out of my car.
The detective is in his forties, tall and attractive in a craggy sort of way, with dark hair receding just enough to be noticeable. “Detective Santoro,” he says.
I nod wordlessly.
“Sorry I gotta do this, Miss Farrell,” he says.
The detective has a heavy Boston accent. As somebody who grew up in Massachusetts, it’s a comfort to hear it. When he told me to get out of the car, he said “caah.” And if we were eating lobster for some reason, it would be “lobstah.” I don’t have much of an accent myself, although Caleb claims he hears it. He says it’s cute.
“It’s okay,” I manage. “Is Dawn… did you… find her?”
