Tori furrows her brow. “Is something not sitting right with you about the investigation?”
“No, no, just curious. I’ve been trying to make sense of things in my mind. For my sanity’s sake.”
“That’s understandable.” She takes a sip of her own drink, then hesitates before speaking again. “Though does it really help to relive it?”
“Maybe not, but my brain hasn’t let me stop. Before Jamie left, he mentioned to me that he’d been talking to you—about a birthday gift for his uncle.”
“Yes, more or less.”
“What’s the more part?” I ask.
“We chatted about a gift, but I think he mostly just wanted to connect.”
“Was something worrying him?” I ask, trying to establish eye contact, but she thins her lips and looks away.
“Please, Tori. It would help for me to know.”
She finally locks eyes with me. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
My heart has started to pound. “Yes, whatever it is, please tell me.”
“Jamie was far more upset than he’d expected to be by your presence at the party. I could tell it was extremely painful for him, and I think he needed some moral support, especially after Sam left.”
“Gee, that’s not the impression I got,” I say, trying not to show how flustered I am.
She shrugs. “Well, you know Jamie. The master of keeping up a good front. He was like that when his father was killed, even though he was falling apart inside.”
I take another sip of cappuccino, trying not to betray my distress.
“Oh dear, that’s why I hesitated before saying anything,” Tori says, clearly reading my face. “But you said you were trying to make sense of things.”
I run my hands through my hair, undoing my ponytail and then securing it back into the scrunchie.
“Thank you, Tori, I’m glad you told me,” I say, not sure if I’m lying. “But you know, I should get going soon. I have some work I need to get to.”
“Understood. When are you planning to go back to the city?”
“Um, I’m not sure yet.”
The next moments are incredibly uncomfortable. After we rise and offer each other awkward hugs, Tori’s paper cup tips over, emptying the remains of her cappuccino onto the table.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she says, as I dab clumsily at the spill with my napkin.
I give her a quick wave and take off, hurrying to the parking lot, and in my haste to leave, I nearly ram the rear of my car into a dumpster.
By the time I reach Ash Street, I’m still rattled by Tori’s revelation. Chances are she shared her impressions with the cops when they interviewed her, and it could easily be part of the reason they seem invested in the suicide theory. But I tell myself not to let it throw me off course. Jamie might not have liked me being at the party, but that’s not why he’s dead. Someone killed him, and I need to focus on making the police take action.
I enter a house that’s hot and airless. I quickly hoist open a few windows and then hurry to the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of sparkling water and drink it leaning against the counter. Though I was desperate to leave the inn, I wasn’t lying when I told Tori I had work to do—and I also need to google the addresses on Jamie’s list. But first, I decide to change out of my top. It’s damp and sweaty from the long car ride, as well as the tense conversation I’ve just had.
I push off from the counter and trudge upstairs. The door to my bedroom is completely closed, something I must have done without thinking, because it will mean it’s especially stifling in there. I twist the handle, step inside, and jerk to a stop.
The room isn’t hot, it’s ice cold, as if I’ve stepped into a walk-in freezer.
14
IGLANCE BEHIND ME, NOT SURE WHAT I’M EXPECTING TO SEE,and then look back at the bedroom. It seems as if the AC had been running all morning, except that can’t be the case. I’ve run the floor machine only once, and briefly, on my first day here.
I step inside and look beneath the back window, where the AC unit is sitting in its usual spot, totally silent. Good, so I haven’t lost my mind. But why does the room feel like a freezer?
