“I just assumed,” I rush to say, my voice breathy. “If there’s an investigation, there must be new evidence.”
Trystan folds his arms over his chest. “How do you know about the investigation?”
“I told her,” Braden says. “But I didn’t tell her there was new evidence.”
They’re both looking at me in a suspicious way that’s making my stomach knot and my palms clammy.
“You acted like you didn’t know what was going on,” Trystan says. “Why’d you pretend not to know when Braden had already told you?”
“I wasn’t sure if it was a secret. And I didn’t know what you were about to tell me. It could’ve been about something else.”
Trystan and Braden look at each other, and I get even more nervous. They may be my cousins, but I don’t trust either one of them. I want to believe they’re innocent, but there’s a part of me that wouldn’t be surprised if either one of them was involved in a murder.
Braden comes up to me, his eyes dark and threatening. “If you’re lying to us, if you’re involved in this, if you’re hiding information or working against us, I swear to God I’ll—”
“Braden.” Brock comes racing in. “I got here as fast as I could.” He stops next to Braden, noticing how close he’s standing to me. “What’s going on here?”
Braden takes a step back, his eyes still on mine. “We were just talking.”
Brock looks at all three of us, then back at me. “Rumor, go to your room.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“This is a family matter.”
“I’m not family?” I ask, sounding offended.
“Rumor, please,” Brock says. “Go to your room.”
As I walk off, I hear them talking in hushed voices. I go to my room, leaving the door open a crack, but all I hear is silence. They probably went in Brock’s office to talk.
Brock’s office.Shit! I forgot to put his money back!
My phone rings, startling me. I shut the door and grab my phone from my bed.
“Hello?”
“Rum . . . your . . . tell.”
It sounds like a man’s voice, but I don’t know what he’s saying. The words keep cutting out.
“Who is this? I can’t hear you.” I check my phone to see who’s calling, but the screen says unknown.
“Meet . . . can’t . . .”
“What?” I hold the phone closer to my ear. “I think you have the wrong number.”
The person doesn’t answer, and when I check my phone, I see the call was disconnected.
I’m sure it was a wrong number, and yet I have this strong urge to call back. I’m not sure why. It’s just a feeling.
I call the number and wait as it rings several times. It finally stops, and I hear a man’s voice again.
“Rumor . . . going and . . . need to . . .”
“Need what? Who is this?”
Something’s going on here. This isn’t a wrong number. The man said my name. He knows me. But how? And why isn’t his phone working?
