Page 93 of The Inmate
“Are you hungry?” he asks. It’s nearly lunchtime. “We can grab some food.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I just want to go home.”
“You got it.”
While he’s driving, I check the messages on my phone. There are about five billion messages and voicemails. I don’t have the energy to deal with all of these. Not now.
Then I notice a text from Caleb. He sent it on Saturday evening.
Checked out the motel. Nothing there. Seems like a dead end.
I stare down at the text message. A few days ago, I would have felt grateful to him for driving all the way down to Rhode Island for me. But now I’m not sure what to think.
I thought Santoro bullied Caleb into ratting me out. But it turns out it was the opposite. Caleb went to the police himself. He voluntarily told them my alibi was a lie. And he said a lot of other things.
“Was Caleb at work today?” I ask.
Seth shakes his head. “Didn’t see him. But I’m sure he’ll come over and see you. If that’s what you want.”
It’s not what I want though. I don’t trust Caleb anymore. He turned on me, and I’m not sure why.
“What do you think of Caleb?” I blurt out.
“Well, I think you could do better. Obviously.”
“Seriously, Seth.”
“I don’t know.” He pushes his palm down on his horn as a Subaru cuts him off. “Selfishly, I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s been very supportive of you through this whole thing. But he seems like a nice enough person. I guess. And I’m sure he’s just worried about Dawn.”
“Why would he be so worried about Dawn? He hardly knows her.”
Seth glances at me. “What are you talking about? They know each other. She was the one who recommended him to me for the website job.”
“What?”
My world has suddenly gone on tilt. Dawn was the one who recommended Caleb? How could that be? They never spoke to each other, except for a polite hello. A few times, Caleb even got her name wrong, which now seems increasingly suspicious.
“Oh yeah,” he confirms. “She went on and on about him. You know how she does that. Gets stuck on some topic and won’t shut up about it.”
Holy crap.
It suddenly occurs to me that Caleb had easy access to my house—more than practically anyone else. Could he have planted that turtle in my laundry hamper? And he could easily have gotten into my trunk. Since he was at the office, he could have put those turtles on my desk every day. And how many times have I drunk from wine glasses in his apartment, then left them behind with my fingerprints on them?
It hits me that when Caleb took away my alibi, he also eliminated his own. He has no alibi for the night Dawn was killed. Moreover, he was the one who told me he was tired and wanted to head out early. I was trying to get him to stay.
Is it possible that Caleb murdered Dawn and is trying to pin it on me? It seems really wild, but in a strange way, it makes sense. It’s theonlything that makes sense.
Butwhy?
That motel. I’ve got to get over there.
ChapterFifty-Five
During the restof the drive home, I explain the situation to Seth. Whatever else I can say about Seth, I trust him. He’ll give me sound advice.
“I just need to take a shower and change.” I’m still stuck in the clothes I wore to the race on Saturday morning. I can’t wait to peel them off my body. “Then I’m going to head out to the motel.”
“I’m coming with you.”
