I stare at the drive. My hand shakes as I pick it up.
Ben was killed because of this. The murder weapon planted in my room because of this.
So many people are searching for this.
And I’ve had it for weeks.
Frank’s eyes are big as saucers.
“I’ll explain everything later but I don’t know how long I have until he gets here and I want to see what’s on this thing before he does. My laptop…broke. Do you have one I can use?” I ask him.
He nods. “Uh, yeah. Let me go get it.”
I examine the jewelry box again while I wait for Frank to come back incase there’s something else I’m missing. Probably need to give the other items Paul sent me a good look-through too.
It doesn’t take Frank long to get back. He puts his laptop on the table next to me and I hand him the drive. He examines it a second. “Shit, this is a USB. Mac only has a USB-C port. I need a converter to load it. Hold on, let me go get it from my bag.”
He turns toward the door and heads back to Serenity’s unit.
It feels like my whole body is vibrating from nerves. Am I about to see how my parents died?
I don’t know if I can handle that.
But I also feel like I’ve waited so long for the truth that I have to watch it.
Deacon comes in the back door a few minutes later, a white bag in his hands. “Hope you’re hungry!” Then he looks at me. “What’s wrong?”
I hold up the jewelry box. “Hank went to Angola to talk to Paul. Paul told him there was a secret compartment in the bottom so I pried it open and there was a USB drive inside.”
He looks around the table. “Where is it? I can grab my laptop.”
Shaking my head, I say, “No, Frank’s got his. Went to get a converter so he could load it.”
Deacon turns to the window over the sink. “Frank left. Passed him when I was turning onto our street.”
“What!”
I run past him, out the door into the yard. Frank’s truck is gone.
And so is the USB drive.
Chapter 37
Camille
AFTER THE ALIBI
Sunday, October 18
I’m eyeing the clock, counting down until the moment Hank gets here to pick me up. I’ve got all my things packed and ready, because when I leave, I’m not coming back. This week has been hard enough on its own, but being back in my parents’ house is sucking the very life out of me.
It’s as if the distance I’ve managed to create over the last ten years has evaporated completely. Dad insisted we all go to church together, sitting in the same pew we’ve all but owned since I was a baby. Then family lunch after at home.
Mom has carried the conversation throughout the meal with meaningless small talk. “We’ll probably just do leftovers for dinner,” she says. “Hate for all this food to go to waste.”
Everyone is picking at their food because no one really wants to be here except my parents. Dad is reveling in having everyone home togetherlike my husband’s murder isn’t what brought me here. Their mourning period is over.
“I have other plans for dinner,” I say.
