A small smile tugs at his lips for the second time this morning, but he firmly presses them together. “We should make you a murder board.” He surprises me, continuing before I can ask why in the world I’d need to put one together. “Starling and Goldie are asking a lot of questions about you. It’d make me feel better knowing you’ve got the upper hand or at least a suspect in line.”
Ignoring the pending anxiety squeezing at my organs, the crime author in me screams that statistically murders are committed by someone the victim knew. Spouses, family, friends.Ex partners.Of course I'm a suspect but they're just doing their jobs.
“Ok, in honour of the murder board. Where were you Friday night and the following morning?”
He tucks his hands away into his pockets. “On Friday—after the party ended, I tried to find my sister but now I assume she’d already left. I had a nightcap in one of the bars, before heading to bed.”
“What time?” I quipped, like I was ticking mental boxes with his answers. An actual damn smile creeps onto his lips and he covers it with the side of his fist.
“I didn’t hear anyone around so it must have been after you headed up.” His smile fades, and I know he's aware of my unwanted guest.
Shaking the feeling of being cornered, I continued. “Where were you Saturday morning?”
“I got up at six and went for a run. I can’t break my morning habits or it’ll throw off my day. I ran down to the lake. Across the shore for a little bit and wound back up into the trees. I don’t think I left the property, but there were more buildings on the opposite side of the woods. After grabbing some breakfast, Merle came downstairs and told me to come with him to your little meeting this morning.” From that point he was around other guests and by how blue Corbin’s body was, I could make an uneducated guess that he’d been hit over the head way before we’d all gotten up that morning. I wished so bad I had my phone to google the stages of decomposition hour by hour after someone dies; probably not the best thing to do if the detectives looked over my search history.
“Ok. Good to know.” I say, trying to mentally store the information so I can write it down later. Was I really going to do this? Try to work out what the hell happened so I could have a rebuttal for when they no doubt started to suspect me. They could form an incorrect narrative against me, but not if I could provide not only proof of my innocence, but a realsuspect. The only problem I could think of was I had no idea where to start, no guest jumped out at me as particularly murdery.
I know I had created both Detective Featherton and the crime solving pensioner from my imagination, but maybe I needed to take a page from their book and grab life by the balls. No way would Thistle let a pair of detectives come into her home and ask her friends damning questions about her whereabouts. She’d stick them the middle finger and solve that crime herself. Featherton on the other hand, well, he’d never be put into a situation like that in the first place. He was the stability of such a firecracker that was Thistle. I’d actually found inspiration for her character when I met Maggie. She could be cleaning down a table and telling a story about how she wrestled a shoplifter in the village post office that same morning. Her stories had stayedwith me the entire time I wrote my debut, so to see her this weekend was comforting despite everything.
Approaching the house, it’s only when we’re close to the patio steps that I even notice Wren’s tall figure stood in the shadow of the conservatory, the bifold doors exposing the house to the elements. Dark curls fall over one eye and he pushes it back with a toned arm, the rest of his muscles defined under his tight black t-shirt. Even his tattooed legs looked great in a pair of shorts and black converse, just another reason I need to not look at him for too long. I understand completely why women and men throw themselves at him, because I’d be drooling right now if I wasn’t trying to stay away.
Whilst I hid out in my hotel room this morning, I came to the conclusion we just wouldn’t work, even if I did give him a chance. Even if I’d pushed into the public eye with my best seller, it could never compare to his fame. Did I want that life? I never had when the media was relentless in my childhood, so why would I now?
Green eyes flutter to meet mine and I feel the magnetic pull of them try to drag me in. He doesn’t stop looking at me as he speaks to someone I can’t see, but I hope it’s Phin. I think I imagine the dark look that flickers across his features.
“Why is he so fucking intense?” Cardinal asks, retreating back into a familiar annoyed tone. I don’t think it’s a facade, but it was nice to break him out of his brooding for even a short amount of time.
I shrug. “Who knows. Global warming does that to you.”
“You’re ridiculous.” He retorts, leaving me to stop at the bottom of the steps.
Chapter fourteen
Wren
Iwas in deep. So very fucking deep that I couldn’t say when I decided that little heart shaped faced writer was going to be mine. I’ve never wanted anyone to be mine before. Watching the way she laughed and her shoulders held no tension, like Cardinal was offering a distraction kills me. I physically feel sick at how enraged it makes me. I’ll be honest, it’s fucking scary. This anger isn’t aimed towards a deadbeat father, bullies trying to bring my best friend down for his sexuality at school or even at Corbin for the fuckery of it all. No. This swelling pit of nausea that’s making me see red, is because I want to be the only distraction for her. I want her laughs, her smiles. I want to give her peace like she’s never known and the only reward I’d need was knowing she was mine. In fact, I don't think this feeling is anger at all; it's jealousy. That sets my world off kilter becauseI don’t get jealous.
Had I not been jealous of all the times Phoenix would spend with Robin though? Before I even knew such a beautiful soul could exist. I’d been a fool to put so much distance between us. It was childish. Now as she walks towards the patio, all I can thinkabout is ways I can convince her to give me a chance. To choose me.
Sliding my sunglasses down my face, I step out into the scolding heat, walking towards the sun loungers as both Willow and Lily slink past my arm. Both in bikinis, carrying what seems to be fluorescent cocktails packed with fruit, they claim the closest loungers which puts me on the end. Fantastic.
Robin and Cardinal step up onto the patio and I watch the way she nervously runs her fingers through her curls, from behind the tinted lenses so she's none the wiser. Yesterday was too much for her and I can see how we got off track. I mean, I stewed over it all night, but today I’m going to rectify everything. My eyes never leave her, watching the close proximity between their bodies and trying to push down the urge to punch him square in the face.
God damn it, I needed to speak to my fucking therapist.
“Romantic stroll?” Willow asked them, moving her own large sunglasses down her nose. Her swimwear is tiny—a little too tiny to be around friends—which doesn’t surprise me because I’ve seen her cry over tan lines before. Something about her mother threatening to cancel a shoot she’d really been looking forward to. Considering her olive skin was flawless, I maybe could have made her feel better by telling her that. I’d never felt compelled though, not like how I want to shower Robin with every compliment I can think of. If I knew other languages, I’d compliment her in those too.
“We were right behind you.” Her eyes flick to me, then to Lily before she seems to harden herself.
“You ran off before we could tell you we found your secret.” Cardinals scowls.
“What was it?” I ask, not really caring but wanting Robin to pay me even a slither of attention. I want her to look at me, but to my shock she looks down at her feet. She stutters a little andwithout thinking I’m out of the sun lounger and stalking towards her. “What was the secret?” I ask again, aching to grab her chin so that she looks at me, but instead I rub my tattoo palm over her bare shoulder.
“If it’s about that guy paying for my trip to France, I paid him back, so no one really got hurt. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t tell me about his girlfriend.” Willow starts speaking behind me, but I zone her out completely as I manage to get those pools of caramel to look at me. I push my sunglasses up with my free hand and let it fall onto her other shoulder.
He watches my hand stroke her shoulder and I have to repress letting out a caveman style snarl, and lifting her over my shoulder.Getting the hint from my glare, he moves towards the spare lounger I had occupied.
“Can you not?” Willow sighs, not hiding the disdain in her tone.
