“Camille?”
She turned around, her smile disappearing when she saw me. She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away from the view of her colleagues, closing the door of a nearby office.
“How did you get in here?”
“You have a rather big conference going on today, reception is inundated with guests to deal with.”
She sighed, her hands fidgety as if she had a secret to tell.
“I have some rough news to give you, you may want to take a seat.”
“What is it?”
“We’ve discovered the body of Claude Delaponte in Fairview Cemetery this morning,” I said. “I understand he’s a relative.”
She scoffed, looking anywhere but at me. “Hardly. He was my father for a while until my mom divorced him.”
“You don’t seem sad he’s gone.”
“Why should I?”
“He wasn’t a good man, was he?” I asked her. She finally sat down at the desk, and let out the anguish she’d been holding in.
“No,” she sobbed. “He wasn’t.”
“I see,” I told her. “I’m just concerned. The death was violent, and careless. Maurelle left fingerprints at the scene. She’s never done that before.”
Camille’s eyes widened, and she looked down at the floor. Her breathing changed as she tried to stave off the panic.
“They won’t be hers, will they?” I queried, realizing the death felt off because it was. Maurelle hadn’t done it. Camille had.
“What happened?”
“You want me to confess?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“There has to be a reason you did it,” I said, sitting down next to her. “This is not on the record.”
Her sobs were silent, but I could see her losing her shit. I wasn’t going to like what I was about to be told and I knew it, but I needed to know.
“Have you looked into him?” she asked. “His record, I mean.”
“No, I came right here.”
“He’s a registered sex offender now,” she told me. “Luckily, I didn’t have it as bad as my adoptive sister, but he tried.”
Jesus. I already knew it was going to be bad, but to hear it from her trembling lips was making me want to reach out and hold her as she sobbed.
“Why now?”
“He came back,” she replied, wiping her eyes. “He wasn’t meant to be here, not in this town, he promised us so we didn’t turn his ass in, but he came to my house last night.”
“I’m sorry, Camille, for what you went through.”
“But murder is wrong, right?” she replied quickly.
“Well, yes, it is,” I said. “But I have a feeling he got what was coming to him.”
“You aren’t really a cop, are you?” she chuckled.
