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  Tears streamed down my face as I blurted it all out, telling him everything, yelling that Destiny needed help.

  "I'll send an ambulance out to the drive-in and radio the sheriff," he said. "Caleb's patrolling that area right now. But I’m going to need to know exactly what happened out there and why in the hell you were meeting your dead ex-husband’s widow at a deserted drive-in.”

  Chapter 25

  And Then There Was One

  The news was full of Destiny's murder the next day. I knew I was to blame for it. Even though that woman had tried to kill Jackson and may have succeeded about a week later, this was something I would carry around with me for the rest of my life. I was responsible for taking someone's life. My dumb plan. My dumb lie. And I'd almost gotten myself killed over it too.

  I pulled my blanket around my shoulders as I watched the news, and my hand accidentally brushed against my neck. A pain shot all along my neck bones, reminding me just how fragile life was.

  Caleb was in the middle of another one of his press conferences, scratching at his beard dye, his beady eyes twitching as he talked into the mic. I wondered if he smelled like pepper spray too. He pointed to a reporter in the crowd.

  The reporter shouted, "Is this a copy cat murder or is this the same killer?"

  Caleb shuffled back and forth in front of the podium, his father by his side. He looked over at the mayor before he spoke. "At this point, we can't know either way. But it does have all the earmarks of a copy cat crime, certainly. It might not be related.” He pointed to another reporter.

  "Was she strangled like the other women?"

  "Yes. This death has similarities to the other women, but it also has many differences, and we'll be examining all angles here in the coming weeks."

  Jackson appeared on the couch next to me. I didn't jump even though I was surprised to see him so soon after our channeling. He didn't say a word, just looked at my neck, which had turned an even brighter shade of purplish blue since I'd checked it in the bathroom at the police station last night, bruise streaks across my throat in the shape of a rope or something. Jackson swept my hair away from my face like he used to do when we were married, except now it was like a cold brush of air. He never said a word, never blamed me for Destiny's death, even though I wanted him to.

  "What happened?" he finally asked after a couple of minutes.

  I told him everything I remembered about the channeling and the forged diary, the alley and the old drive-in, then waited for him to let me have it. I wanted him to let me have it, tell me how dumb I'd been, blame me for all of this.

  Caleb was still babbling away, now about a couple "persons of interest" in the case. I knew one of them was me.

  I was actually surprised they'd let me go home last night at the police department, to be honest. I'm not sure I would have let someone as suspicious as me go — dead strippers found in her yard after her ex-husband cheated on her with a stripper, then the woman her ex-husband cheated on her with turns up dead too, with a suspicious set-up note in her car. Yep, I would've convicted me.

  We were down to one person being alive from the champagne room that night, and it was the only person Jackson was too drugged to see.

  I could barely focus as I shuffled to the closet to find my puffer jacket, even though it was way too hot for it. It was the only thing I owned that zipped past my neck. My eyes fogged into tears thinking about how things had gone, how they were going. How I'd risked my life for people who were already dead, and who had, for the most part, been terrible to me to begin with.

  And through it all, there was one good friend who'd needed a friend the most, and I'd pretty much ignored her. Because I couldn't handle my own guilt. I didn't have my GPS anymore because I didn't have my phone. But I remembered it was a 20-minute drive into Freemont, a town about the size of a mouse turd, and almost as pleasant.

  "Where are you going?" Jackson asked when he saw me grabbing the jacket.

  "Out."

  "Someone just tried to kill you, and you decide it's a good time to go out for no reason?"

  I zipped up my jacket, my armpits already sweating under its insulated fabric. "I'm pretty sure, at this point, I have a police tail."

  Twenty minutes later, I found myself driving up and down streets, looking for the boarding house. I remembered from my GPS it was called Safe Home and that it was on Garmont Street. I didn’t know the exact address, but I guessed it was the only brick house on the block without rusty bikes propped up against weed-infested flower boxes. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

  The woman in the yellow teddy-bear scrubs was anything but sweet. She pursed her lips from behind the counter, staring at my neck, or so I felt. It might’ve been the puffer jacket I was wearing in July. ”Visiting hours are between 7:30 pm and 9:30 pm only," she said.

  Rats. I hadn't thought to call first. "Look, I came a really long way. Okay, twenty minutes, but still. I'm an old friend of Tina Carmichael's..."

  The woman interrupted me with a wag of a finger and a tsking noise. "A patient's right to privacy is very important to us at Safe Home. Please refrain from using last names. Although I'm sure Tina C would be delighted to see you, visiting hours are restricted for a reason. Most patients hold jobs during the day or are in various therapies." She went back to her computer.

  Security around here was oddly reminiscent of the strip place, and I didn't have a ten. "Can I write her a note, leave my number so she can call me?"

  "You can write a note, but calling you back would be up to the patient."

  I stared at her a second. "Do you have some paper?"

  After a long sigh and a few more tsks, she stood up and went into the back room. As soon as she left, I quickly thumbed through the visitor's log that was sitting on the counter in front of me just to see who had come to visit Tina lately. Every once in a while I glanced up to check if scrubs-lady was back again. The walls were a stark, bright white with odd abstract splatter paintings adorning them. It was so clean, so bland…

  Every part of me wanted to take off through the door of the stupid lobby and yank Tina C out of whatever therapy she was involved with right now. Take her away from this sterile place, back to our dorm room with the mountain of crumpled tissues and soda cans strewn all over the place and our "Wall-O-Future" (mostly magazine cut-outs of European castles and tropical islands that we taped photos of ourselves into), and escape so she could be Tina Carmichael again. So we could be us again.

  Checking the pages of the spiral notebook, I noticed Mrs Carmichael wasn't the only one who'd come by to see Tina. Rosalie had come two months ago and so had Shelby and Bobby (probably with Mrs. Carmichael), Brock a few months back, and even Justin. Justin? Was I the only one who never came? I felt even guiltier when I noticed not nearly as many people came to see Tina C as her roommate Tracey M.

  Scrubs-lady strutted back through the door, her smile-scowl returning when she saw me thumbing through the pages of the notebook. She quickly snatched it from me, bringing it through the opening in the plexiglass partition so it was on her side now. Apparently, visitors had a right to privacy too. She handed me a piece of printer paper.

  Her eyes seemed glued to my neck as she spoke, stuttering over her words. "I'll see that Tina C gets this, b-but like I said before, whether or not she calls you back is completely up to her."

  As soon as I left, I pulled off my jacket and let myself enjoy the instant relief of not being smothered by a wearable sauna. Then I rummaged through my purse for my cell phone. Maybe Mrs. Carmichael could help me talk to Tina because I seriously doubted this place was going to give her any messages from the woman in the winter coat with the strangle bruises. After searching under my wallet and through my forged diary pages, I remembered I no longer had a cell phone and I didn't have any extra money to get it replaced either.

  I walked out past my car and the small parking lot, searching for the vehicle I hoped would be there. It was. And it was easy to spot in this town. Justin
had a thing for clean, shiny, not-even-one-piece-of-bird-poop vehicles. Clearly, he didn't know you shouldn't stand out when you're tailing someone.

  He reached across the seat and popped the passenger-side door for me as soon as I got to his pickup.

  "Just so you know," he said as I climbed into the seat next to him. "I'm following you around for your protection. I don't think you did anything."

  His large brown eyes were sincere. Still, I didn't believe a word. "Great," I replied. "Then, you probably won't mind if I use your cellphone."

  Chapter 26

  Unstable

  Mrs. Carmichael's voice always rattled a little when she talked like she was holding in a smoker's cough even when she wasn't. But today, it was particularly hard to hear her over the clanks and clatters of the many patrons eating lunch at Spoony’s after church. Sundays were bratwurst.

  I dug my toe into the soft grass along the curb in front of me, walking the sidewalk around Justin's truck, watching him be bored sitting in his truck without a cellphone. Every once in a while our eyes would catch and one of us would look away. It was always going to be awkward like this between us now.

  ”I gotta make this quick, Carly Mae," Mrs. Carmichael said after telling me how sorry she was about Destiny and everything. "I can't help you. They should've told you Tina's not accepting visitors right now. She's going through another rough patch. Honestly, I think it's her roommate. She's got a new one now and the girl’s one of those Gordons from Landover. You know the ones who own the Volvo shop? I feel for the girl, but the whole family’s loud and bossy. It’s setting Tina off.”

  A gentle breeze blew through my curls, but it was still not enough to cool me down. Sweat dripped along my hairline and I wasn’t even wearing the jacket anymore.

  She continued. "The old roommate, I told you about her, Tracey M. She was quiet as a little bird." She paused like she might be thinking that through. “Probably because she’s sick all the time. Hypochondria runs in her family, poor thing. You know Mrs. Moorehead, the woman at the pottery shop..."

  I looked over at Justin, who was still staring at me. I gave him the one-minute sign. For a woman who had to make this quick, Mrs. Carmichael sure liked to talk.

  That’s when it hit me. Did she just say Moorehead? I no longer heard a word Mrs. Carmichael was saying. Moorehead ended in ehead. As in ehead um ide. The rest of the bottle from that night could easily have been Tracey Moorehead Potassium Chloride. It was a long shot but it might explain a lot.

  "Did Tina's old roommate receive potassium injections?" I asked, practically shouting into the phone.

  "Now how in the world do you think I'd know something like that? And why do you..."

  I didn't let her finish. "Please, Mrs. Carmichael, please see if you can have Tina call me back as soon as possible. This is important."

  "I suppose I could tell the center it's an emergency."

  "Yes. Tell them that," I said. I lowered my voice as I walked back toward Justin's truck. "It's definitely an emergency."

  He rolled his window down as soon I got back and I handed him his phone. He stared at my neck a second, squinting his eyes at me, like he was searching my bruises for some sort of long forgotten truth, probably hoping I'd offer up a confession.

  I just let the awkward silence hang between us. I knew it was there for more reasons than the fact my answers had been purposely vague at the police station last night.

  I knew there were also so many unspoken things between us in general.

  Justin motioned for me to get in. "Since you're here, you wanna answer a few more questions about last night?"

  "Nope, but thanks for the offer. I'm tired and my neck hurts. You gonna follow me home?"

  He slowly nodded. A man of few words.

  "Race you there," I said, walking away. I turned around. He was still staring at me. Maybe it was stupid. Maybe the pressing need to tell someone everything was laying heavier on my conscience than I thought. Or maybe I just trusted silent people way too much, even ones I’d slept with.

  I turned back around and opened his passenger door again. "I confronted Destiny last night. I told her I thought she killed Jackson."

  "Come on, Carly Mae," he said as I slid in. "Think of a better lie than that. Jackson died of a heart attack."

  "That's not what he thinks." I bit my lip. I could hardly believe I was about to tell this guy all of this. "Rosalie and I had a seance."

  He looked down at his perfectly polished black steering wheel. "If you're not going to be serious..."

  "If you don't want to hear the truth, then don't." It wasn't exactly the truth, but I wasn't under oath, and exactly-the-truth was exactly too crazy.

  "All right," he said. The slowness in his voice made it seem like hearing me out was probably going to be the most painful thing he had to go through today, worse than the bird poop I saw on the top of his truck. "Is this going to be a confession? Because I have to record it if it is."

  "No. I didn't do anything." I slammed his truck door and leaned across his console. "I lied to Destiny, though. I took down notes from that seance and I pretended they were Jackson's diary. They incriminate her in poisoning Jackson a couple weeks before he actually died. She was going to inject him with potassium chloride."

  "Going to," he said so I'd know that part was important. "But she didn't."

  "She was sure scared last night when I read her an excerpt of the diary, though."

  "I'm sure she was."

  "She was," I said. "She practically begged me to meet her at the Starlight. Then, when I did, Bobby handed me that letter. Talk to Bobby. He told me Destiny gave him that letter to give to me. He set us up. I told you that last night."

  "You and Bobby have conflicting stories."

  "I bet. Because he's a liar."

  I thought I saw him holding in a smile. "Anything else weird happen?"

  "Yes. Bobby took off down the alley after he gave me the letter, looking up at the moon like it was chasing him. I think I heard him growling. I know that sounds crazy."

  Justin looked out the window at the sky like he expected the moon might already be visible even though it was just afternoon. "You don't think he's a shapeshifter, do you?" he finally said in such a tone I knew he teasing me a little.

  I opened the truck door again. I was done here. "But one more thing. Bobby was very interested in contacting the strippers during our seance. And,” I paused for emphasis. “He told me if Shelby ever talked about working at the Starlight, he'd have issues. But he punched his fist into his hand when he said it."

  Justin raised his eyebrows. "That really happen?"

  "Yes. Everything I just told you really happened."

  "You still have those diary pages? I'd like to see them if you do," he said.

  I pulled them out of my purse and laid them on the seat. I could tell by the way he scanned my crumpled copied papers, this person-of-interest had passed her interrogation. It was likely Bobby's turn.

  Chapter 27

  No Ambiguity

  It was already late by the time I started my long drive up Gate Hill, a drive that was not getting easier despite my practice. But somewhere around the second gate, it dawned on me exactly why I was making bad decisions in life, and risky plans. Exactly why I worked retail and was helping my ghost of an ex husband solve a murder that might not have happened.

  I couldn’t soar into my future because I was clinging too hard to my past. I needed to let things go, especially the annoying, snotty things that wanted me to solve their murders.

  Jackson was in a bad mood that night when I got home. Or maybe I was. Much like when we were married, I couldn't tell the difference.

  "How's our little investigation going," he said in a tone that was locked and loaded. "Find my killer yet?"

  I threw my keys down on the counter, and shoved Rex's food in the microwave to heat it up.

  "I'm too exhausted," I said. "We'll talk later, maybe." I thought about the sage in the drawer, and
how quickly I could move away from this part of my past.

  His voice was strong and his color good, hardly any fading at all. He'd probably spent all day resting, like a bored 50-year-old without a job. He was always going to be here. I gasped a little in my head. Was that how my mother felt when I was living in her basement?

  I rubbed my neck. I couldn't go back. That was my past too.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Go away." I ran upstairs and slammed the door to our old bedroom as he floated after me down the hall. "I said I'll talk to you tomorrow,” I yelled.

  As soon as I shut the door, he appeared, cross-legged on his favorite chair, staring at fingernails that didn't really exist. "Go to sleep then. I'll wait."

  "Look," I said. "I know you think you're my Watson, and that we're somehow a team, investigating your murder case together, but you're not my Watson."

  "Of course not. I would be the Sherlock. Just like I'm the Nancy. You're the Drew. I'm that curly haired British magician. You're my spunky sidekick I spend the first season pretending not to adore."

  He hovered over the bed where I was sitting. He knew I had a thing for Jonathan Creek. And he was a far cry from that cutie.

  He continued. "I'm actually surprised to see you. I thought you'd be out with what's-his-face. Your new friend called a bunch of times inviting you out."

  "Brock," I said. "My gorgeous new friend has a name, Nancy. You know that."

  "He should've called your cell."

  "I don't have a cell anymore…”

  The phone rang and I bolted down two sets of stairs to get it. The answering machine was just picking up and I raised my hand over the receiver but didn't grab it. What if it was Tina? I should have prepared something to say.