Cristina nods in understanding. “Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.”
“I hope so.” I nibble my bottom lip in thought. “In the meantime, I’ll watch Stone—and don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Her gaze flicks to the street. “Famous last words.”
“Hey,” Stone calls from the house.
I cock my head. “Yes?”
“You two found that tape yet? The ladies are getting impatient. For some reason, they really want me to be this dead body. I’m not sure if I should be scared or excited.”
Cristina laughs. “Maybe both.”
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“We’ll be right in,” I tell him.
“He’s certainly different,” she mumbles as we make our way inside.
He sure is.
What initially began as a group chat to gossip about old men—a chat Cristina started because the ladies couldn’t figure out how to create one themselves—eventually became a book club that I somehow got roped into.
Every month we pick a different novel. Many of them areveryspicy. These ladies love their steamy sex scenes. But every once in a while, we hit a mystery for variety—and because the ladies like to reenact the actual murder as if this is some sort of private murder-mystery party.
Which is what’s happening now.
“Walk in like Blake did,” Clarice directs Stone. “Act like a real jerk, and then Coco will stab you in the back.”
Stone enters the room, hunching over like a villain in a kids’ cartoon. He rubs his hands together and says in a thick European accent, a mixture of German and Count Chocula, “I am so evil. Look at how evil I am.”
“He was Canadian,” Betty, another local, corrects.
“Eh, I’m so bad, eh,” Stone says, which makes everyone laugh. I grab my sides to keep from falling over in a fit.
“Now, Coco,” Clarice directs.
I step behind Stone and say in a fiendish voice, “This is for all the people you’ve hurt,” then mime knifing him in the back.
Stone whispers over his shoulder at me, “Did you do it?”
“She did it!” Clarice shouts.
He doubles over. “I’ve been stabbed. Someone got revenge on me for being evil. I’m dying! I’m dying!”
He gives one last croak and collapses on the floor. Hercules trots over and licks his face.
Clarice hands me the police tape. “About time someone killed that evil Blake. Let’s clear the crime scene.”
Quickly as I can, I press the tape around Stone. He opens one eye. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“How long would you like to?” I ask, smoothing a line of tape next to his arm.
“If I stay here, will they stop asking if I have a girlfriend?”
I frown. “They’ve asked that?”
“About twenty times.” His gaze flicks to me, softer now. “I think they want me to say it’s you.”
