Page 65 of The Inmate
So I got up and went back to my cubicle. The crowd had dispersed, leaving behind the turtle crime scene. I was the one who had to clean it up. I had to dispose of the plant and all the pieces of my beloved turtle figurines.
But before I cleaned it up, I took a photograph. I’m pasting it below so you can see what that woman is capable of.
Sincerely,
Dawn Schiff
To: Dawn Schiff
From: Mia Hodge
Subject: Re: Greetings
My mouth is hanging open. I can’t believe someone would do that to you. You can’t let her get away with it.
I repeat:
YOU CAN’T LET HER GET AWAY WITH THIS.
ChapterThirty-Seven
PRESENT DAY
NATALIE
When I dragmyself into work the next morning, I can barely keep my eyes open.
As soon as I got home from the beach, I practically ripped my house apart, looking for something else that could incriminate me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. A bloody glove? A woodchipper with a dismembered leg sticking out of it? Whatever it was, I didn’t find it. My house was clean.
But I still couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in bed, intermittently looking at the clock. At three in the morning, I gave up and watched television for a while, then finally fell asleep on the couch. All in all, I got a few hours of sleep, broken up into twenty-minute chunks. I kept waking up in a cold sweat, my whole body trembling.
Needless to say, I didn’t go running first thing in the morning.
On the bright side, Detective Santoro didn’t greet me at my front door this morning. Maybe he’s finally decided I didn’t have anything to do with Dawn’s murder. Maybe he decided to believe my alibi. Except I doubt it.
On my way to my cubicle, I pass Greg Lowsky at the copy machine. Greg comes in once or twice a month to install updates on our computers or troubleshoot any tech issues. He may even know more than Caleb does when it comes to computer stuff. Unlike the rest of us, he usually shows up in jeans and a T-shirt. And there’s usually a math or computer-related joke on his T-shirt—one I almost never get. Today his T-shirt reads, “No, I will not fix your computer.” It strikes me as a strange T-shirt for a person to wear when he is literally here to fix our computers.
Greg is nowhere near as cute as Caleb is. He’s short with a bushy beard and sort of reminds me of one of the creatures fromLord of the Ringsor some other nerdy movie I never saw. And he’s almost as strange as Dawn. He once hinted that he wanted to take me to lunch, and I found a kind way to turn him down. But he still half-heartedly flirts with me whenever he comes in, even though it will never go anywhere.
“Hey, Natalie,” he says. “What’s up?”
I wonder how much Greg knows about all the drama with Dawn. He wasn’t here on the day when Santoro was grilling everyone. And as far as I know, the detective hasn’t been back. Even the Vixed bullying hashtag has died down. People on the internet lose interest quickly.
“Not much,” I say carefully. “I’m sure you heard about Dawn…”
“Oh yeah.” Greg looks down at his hands. “That’s awful. I hope they figure out who did it to her. It’s awful how you can just be in your own house and somebody can come and… well, you know…”
“Yeah…”
“I hope you’re staying safe, Natalie.”
He has no idea. But suddenly, a brilliant thought occurs to me. “Actually, I was wondering if there’s something you could help me with…”
“Of course!” His face lights up. “Anything for you, Natalie.”
I reach for my purse slung on my shoulder and pull out my phone. “Do you know how to figure out who’s been calling from a blocked number?”
“Sure. There’s an app called TrackCall that will reveal any blocked numbers.”
