Elodie pulls out her phone, but I touch her wrist to stop her from dialing Erin’s number. “Wait,” I say. “This feels wrong.”
For a second, I allow myself to entertain the thought that’s always at the back of my mind, which is that my radar is off, my instincts are wrong, and Bertram could be the greatest liar I’ve ever met. Despite his anxious front and his soft, smooth way of speaking, he’s actually hiding a violent side. He killed Annie. He’s figured out that Erin has sent me to investigate him, and he’s killed her, too.
My stomach drops. Shit. What if that’s what happened? I peer at the window, but the interior is well concealed by the curtain inside.
This is why I need Mr. X. He knows everything that happens in this town, and he would be the one to warn me when I’m about to step into danger. Whether or not I listen is on me.
Elodie takes a step back. Despite her nettling curiosity, self-preservation wins out. “Do you think—”
The door creaks open, making both of us jolt. It opens just enough for Erin to peer out at us. Despite the sunny winter sky, the inside of her condo is dark.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, clearing her throat.
I open my mouth to speak but stop short when I get a better look at her. She’s set back, as far as she can stand from the door so that she won’t be spotted by her neighbors.
“Erin.” My voice is hushed. “Is someone in there with you? Are you in danger?”
“No, thank you,” she says, suddenly loud. “I’m not interested in donating to the ASPCA today, but I appreciate you stopping by.”
She tries to slam the door, but I jam it with my foot. She scowls but quickly hides it. Is that bruising on her skin?
“If you’re in danger, blink twice.”
She only shakes her head. “Everything is fine. Please don’t stop by unannounced again. You may call me when you have updates about my brother.” She pushes on the door so hard that I feel my shoe starting to bend, and I withdraw before she crushes my toes.
The door closes and then there’s the click of the lock.
Stunned, Elodie and I make our way back to the car. I direct her to park around the block, at the top of a parking garage that will allow us to see Erin’s complex but keep us out of her view. I suspect that Erin is watching for us.
“What the hell was that?” Elodie rasps. “Do you think Bertram was in there? Do you think he’s going to kill her?”
“He wouldn’t be that stupid,” I say. From up here, Erin’s condo looks like a dilapidated little dollhouse. But it’s identical to all the others in its row, nothing amiss. “He wouldbe seen. And besides, if he attacked her and we intercepted, she would be thrilled to have him arrested. And if he was there to intimidate her, then she would have told us to stop the investigation. None of this adds up.”
“Speaking of things not adding up,” Elodie says, “what did you mean when you said ‘this feels wrong’?”
“You didn’t find all of that suspicious?” I ask.
“Yes, I did. But you said it before Erin opened the door.” Her bubbly demeanor is gone now, replaced by an unsettling soberness. “You know something.”
“I know as much as you.”
“Bullshit.” She kills the engine on the car. “You’ve been spending a lot of time investigating Bertram while I’ve been pursuing other avenues. I’ve told you all my leads. What aren’t you telling me? Why is Mr. X suddenly only communicating through you?”
I knew Elodie was smart. She presents herself as a shallow, self-obsessed PTA mom, but she’s proven her intelligence more than once. It’s my fault for not having good answers to her questions, for not being able to pull up a little white lie that satisfies her.
I’m just so tired. Mr. X’s doctors have been forthright with me, and they’re not optimistic. Collette is starting to pick up on the fact that I’m not all I seem. Waylen—No, don’t think about that, Margaux, there aren’t enough hours in the day and you have enough to do.
My shoulders drop, and it’s as though my whole body is a deflating balloon. “Please, just trust me.”
Elodie wraps an arm around me. She’s taking the sympathetic confidant route. A thinly veiled and yet effective tactic.
“You don’t have friends,” she says.
“Thanks a lot.”
“I mean, you’re likable.Ilike you, but you don’t seem to want friends.”
I look at her.What’s your game, Elodie? What is this?
