Page 60 of The Inmate
ChapterThirty-Four
PRESENT DAY
NATALIE
No no no no…The police cannotbe at my front door…
I freeze about five paces from the front door. I don’t know what to do. I can’t answer the door for a police officer when I have a murder weapon in my laundry hamper. What if they ask to look around? I’ll be so screwed.
But they can’t just come in without asking. I can always say no. Unless they have a warrant…
No. They can’t possibly have a warrant. I haven’t even done anything wrong!
While I am working myself into a panic at the door, the doorbell rings a third time. At this point, I have to answer. Whoever is at the front door probably heard my footsteps. I’m making things worse by not answering.
My hands are shaking so badly, it takes a few tries for me to turn the locks. I throw open the front door and there he is. Detective Santoro. My new freaking best friend.
I wonder if it’s time to get a lawyer. It seems like such a guilty move, and I can’t afford it, but I don’t want to be one of those stupid people who didn’t lawyer up at the right time and then regrets it.
“Miss Farrell.” His face bears that grim smile I’ve come to hate. “Can I have a moment of your time?”
“I’m sort of busy,” I say tightly. “Haven’t we already talked twice now? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I just have a few more questions, Miss Farrell. It won’t take long.”
I hug my chest so he can’t see how much my hands are trembling. “I’d rather not. I have nothing else to say.”
“We could talk down at the station if you’d prefer.”
Oh God, no. That’s much worse. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“Can I come in?”
Am I going to invite a police officer into my house when I have what is almost certainly a murder weapon hidden in my laundry hamper? I think not. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“It’s just…” He glances over his shoulder. “It’s cold out. I’m letting all the heat out of your house. And also, you look cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
He’s not wrong. But the reason I’m shaking has nothing to do with the cold. And I’m worried he might know that. “What are your questions, Detective?”
But he doesn’t ask them right away. Instead, he looks past me, into my house. He’s craning his neck to see inside. “Is it just you living here?”
“Just me.”
“Wow,” he says. “That’s a big place. Must be expensive.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Oh, yeah? I was trying to get a place in Dorchester, but everything was so pricey. Ended up renting the second floor of a house in Weymouth.”
I take a peek at Santoro’s left hand. No ring. Married to his job, probably. “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough.”
“So what kind of money do you make at Vixed?”
“Excuse me?”
