A wave of relief pushed out the adrenaline. She saw their faces; Reyes, Kurt Kent. Even her father who had lied to her about the handwriting analysis. Then she saw Roger Booth.
“He’s the only one—Roger. The only one who hasn’t lied to me.”
Watkins drained what was left of his coffee in one giant swallow.
“Go home, Nicole. The hotel can send your things. I’ll check up on that house. Find out who takes care of the property. See if utilities are running. I’ll go there myself if I have to. And our friendly bartender—don’t you worry. I’m gonna find out what he has cooking with that waitress.”
“And Reyes?” Nic asked.
Watkins shook his head from side to side. “That’s a tougher one. Can’t see that he’s done anything wrong here. Don’t know about that invoice. Or Daisy. Let me think on it. He’s been a good cop. Kind of took him under my wing, you know? I don’t want to accuse him if he’s done nothing wrong.”
Nic thought about the messages on her phone and his car parked outside the casino. She hadn’t told Watkins about any of that, and she didn’t want to. What did it matter? She’d brought that on herself. It was humiliating.
Watkins said goodbye. He got in his truck and drove away.
Nic checked her phone. Her father had called three more times.
She couldn’t sit here, do nothing. They all wanted her to leave, to go home. Then what? All she had were Watkins’s promises.
No, she thought. No way.
She sent one last text before heading back to Hastings. Another lie to her father.I’ll be home tonight.
45
Day seventeen
Coffee is bitter. On this morning it was bittersweet.
I hear him call out from the kitchen.
“Alice!”
She looks at me with a new face. I don’t give it a name. It is a face of terror.
She knew what I was doing. She helped me do it. Now it is real.
“Alice!”
I nod at her. I motion for her to go to him and she obeys me.
Yes, that’s right, I think. She obeys me.
He cries out now, in pain. In agony. And even as I try to feel joy that his cells are suffocating, the sound of human suffering is difficult to take. My heart pounds against the walls of my chest. My vision blurs for just a second as my body adjusts to the fear that his cries provoke.
She comes back to me now, feet pounding the floor, voice calling out.
“He’s sick! He’s lying on the floor! He’s throwing up!”
I picture the vomit, his body trying to rid itself of the poison.
I try to calm her down. I lie. “He’s going to be all right. It will be a few hours, but he will be fine. You can bring him some towels and some water. Turn him on his back.”
The water will make more vomit. If he’s on his back, maybe he’ll choke on the vomit. Maybe that will be what kills him.
“But he didn’t have the muffin! He didn’t eat it!” she cries out, and I can see that part of her was relieved when he didn’t eat it. She is ambivalent about my plan. She is ambivalent about him.
Which is why I didn’t waste the seeds on the muffin. I couldn’t trust Alice to give it to him.
