Page 61 of The Inmate
“Your boss wouldn’t tell me how much you make. I’m just wondering.”
I hug myself tighter, now actually feeling the cold. I do sort of wish we could do this inside, but I don’t dare. “Detective, what does this have to do with Dawn?”
“I was just thinking…” He scratches at the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “Dawn was the accountant at your company. So if any shenanigans were going on with the payroll, maybe she found out about it. And that would give you a pretty damn good reason for wanting to get rid of her.”
My throat is suddenly dry. “What?”
“It’s just a thought…” He blinks innocently. “Did Dawn ever come to you about any concerns like that?”
“No.”
“Huh.” He raises his eyebrows. “So you were saying you didn’t meet with Dawn on Monday night about the money she found missing from the Vixed account?”
“Oh my God,no!” I have to grab onto the door frame to keep my legs from collapsing beneath me. “Why would you think that?”
“She sent you an email on Monday afternoon, didn’t she? Asking to meet with you?”
I can’t deny that. I already told him about Dawn’s email, plus I’m sure there’s a record of it if they were able to get into her computer. “Yes…”
“So what did you discuss when you met?”
“Nothing!” My hands are shaking so badly, I have to clutch them to my chest. I’m surprised my legs are even able to hold me up anymore. “I never met with her.”
One of his thick eyebrows arches up. “No?”
“No! I didn’t!” I have to struggle to keep my composure. “I didn’t steal money from my company, Detective. And I certainly never had a conversation with Dawn about it on Monday night! I was with my boyfriend the entire night.”
“Yeah, so you say…”
“It’s thetruth. You spoke to Caleb. He told you we were together.”
“Yes, that’s what he told me…”
“Do you really think the two of us plotted to kill her together?”
“No. I don’t really think that.”
My left eyelid twitches. “So why the hell are you bothering me then?”
Detective Santoro looks like he’s considering my question. He purses his lips, thinking it over. “Here’s the thing, Miss Farrell,’’ he finally says. “In my line of work, people tell me a lot of things. And a lot of those things aren’t true. So I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing when someone is blowing smoke up my ass.”
I just stand there, staring at him.
“If you got your boyfriend to lie to me,” he says, “I’ll figure it out eventually. It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I do.” He pauses. “So it’ll be easier on you if you tell me the truth.”
The truth? I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that I have no alibi for most of the night Dawn was killed. I can’t tell him that I pressured my boyfriend into lying for me. And I sure as hell can’t tell him about that bloody turtle in my laundry hamper. The only way I’m not walking out of here in handcuffs is if I keep my fool mouth shut.
“I’ve told you the truth,” I say. “I didn’t steal from my company. And I didn’t see Dawn on Monday night.”
He stands on my front porch for about ten more seconds, but it feels like ten hours. The whole time, his black eyes bore into me. A lesser person might have cracked. But I keep my mouth shut.
“Have it your way, Miss Farrell,” he says.
I watch him walk over to his car, get inside and drive away. As his tail lights fade into the distance, I release a breath. I’ve been spared. For now. He’s got nothing on me.
As long as I get rid of that turtle in my laundry hamper.
ChapterThirty-Five
