DIGGING, DIGGING, ANDmore digging. That’s all I’ve been doing this morning. Plunging my shovel into the earth and scooping out spongy soil. Sweat streams down my back as I tear into the ground, digging deep troughs for a stand of fig trees I’ll buy later this afternoon at the local nursery.
I had to find something to do to keep my hands and mind busy so I don’t go insane. It’s like I’m pitching a tent, claiming space, and saying, “Here is my little plot of sanity.” It’s the only way I can function, the only way I won’t crack in front of Graham or, worse, in front of Jack.
It’s nearly eleven o’clock and the sun is perched overhead, set to broil. I need to call it a day. I can feel my skin beginning to redden, and I need to go inside and refill my water glass. But instead, I plant my foot on the edge of the shovel and keep carving away at the trench. As the blade of my shovel strikes against a stubborn root, I hear the clapping of a car door.
I stand and circle to the side of the house and see Detective Flynn striding toward the front door. Fuck.
“Hi, Mike. I’m out here,” I call to him, motioning to the backyard.
He climbs the hill, and when he reaches me, he flicks a line of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
“Sophie,” he says, dipping his head in deference. “Hard at work, are we?”
“Yep, but I need a break. What’s up?”
We’re standing in the shade of the house, but it’s still too sweltering, so I invite him in. He takes a seat at the dining table and I bring us each a glass of ice water.
Flynn takes a sip and cools his hands on the sides of the sweating glass.
“Let’s try this again,” he says. “Are yousureyou’ve told me everything?”
Sunlight dances off his water glass, sending sparkles across the wooden table. My eyes trail the scattered light as it hits notches and grooves on the scarred surface.
What does he know? What has he found out?
He’s probably gotten all of Brad’s texts by now; he’s probably seen the text from Margot. He could know about Jamie and the fact that I’ve lied to him about it just being Margot and me out at the lake house that Friday night, but who knows?
“Look, this is your last chance to tell me everything. Your last chance with just me around. I want to help you, but you need to tell me exactly what went on Friday night and you need to tell me now.”
I study the backs of my hands, which are stained with dirt, despite my elbow-length gardening gloves. My mind is racing. I should’ve gotten a lawyer by now, but how would I have explained that to Graham? I have no idea how to answer Flynn, so I decide to call his bluff.
“I have nothing new to offer you,” I say as I keep staring at the backs of my hands.
He edges his water glass away from him, props an elbow on the table. “I was really hoping to break through here with you, Sophie, I really was. I like you. But I’m afraid we’re going to have to do this differently now. I’m going to have to ask you to come downtown to the station with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
Flynn drums his thumbs on the table, fidgets again with the water glassbefore finally saying, “We got an anonymous tip late last night.” He trains his gaze on the water glass as if peering into a Magic 8 Ball.
“And?”
“And the murder weapon, a shotgun, was discovered in the woods on Margot’s land. Not far from where Abby’s body was.” He looks up and fixes those sky-blue eyes on me expectantly.
Confusion clouds my brain. If they found the weapon, then why does he need to bringmeinto the station? I guess because he knows I know more than I’ve told him, and now it’s glaringly clear that I have to fess up. This is horrible. But maybe there is a way I can still keep it all from Graham.
“I just need to change into something fresh and I’ll head that way,” I say, standing up and gulping down the rest of my water.
“You’re free to change but you’re going to have to come with me.” Flynn rises also, scraping his chair against the floor as he stands.
“Why?”
“Sophie, please,” he says with thinly masked exasperation. “When they pulled the shotgun from the woods, they were able to recover fingerprints.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded.
He jangles his keys in his pocket, cocks his head to one side while he delivers the rest. “And the prints on the gun are an exact match toyours.”
49
