His eyes close briefly, as if my words are too much to bear. “I missyou more,” he breathes. “But you should go. God forbid that jackal lawyer or one of his spies sees us together.”
He’s right, and even though it feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I slowly, reluctantly pull away from him.
“Rafael,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I saw something, and I know Vanessa is a good fit for these murders, but…”
“What did you see?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Remember the camera you got me for Sherlock?”
He nods.
“Well, he was home the day after Rob’s murder, and the camera caught Quentin tripping over the gnome in Mrs. Prattle’s yard.”
His chin jerks back. “Quentin?”
“Yeah. And I thought, maybe we just assumed it was the killer who did it, while it was actually Quentin who accidentally broke the gnome. But—”
“But why wouldn’t Quentin have said something? Why would he have been at the crime scene?”
“Exactly.”
He sighs, gaze lost in the distance. “He’s been at two crime scenes the same night the murders took place, and… hedidlie about our encounter.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, relieved I’m not the only one seeing it. “The only thing I can’t put together yet is why. Why would Quentin do it?”
Rafael thinks for a long moment, then clicks his tongue. “To be honest with you, I doubt he’s ever read a book outside of the classroom.” He tilts his head. “Or inside.”
No kidding—he’s always been baffled by my love for reading. “Movies are so much better” and whatnot. And what would be hismotive? He might not be pleased with me, but he certainly doesn’t hate me enough to frame me for murder.
“I don’t see it, honestly. But if you think—”
“Nah.” I wave the thought away. “I actually agree with you for once.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
I watch the hint of a smirk playing on his lips and smile back, though it feels nothing like happiness. “Rafael Gray, always flirting.”
“Only with you.”
His finger lingers on my cheek, as if he can’t quite let go, either, but then he drops it, and the loss of his touch feels like a physical blow. “Remember what you said in the letter, okay?”
“No romance ends without a happily ever after?”
He shakes his head. “Impossible.”
Impossible.
“Bye, Gray,” I whisper.
“Bye, Freckles,” he says back.
I turn and walk away, each step heavier than the last, until I’m out of his sight. I don’t look back, because I know if I do, I’ll run to him, and this time I might not have the strength to leave.
He’s right.
This is not the end.
the red herring[trope]
