I return to the coffee table, lean in and peer at the water glass, at the color of the lipstick.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
In part, a sigh of utter relief flooding through me. Grayson did not kill his father.
I could use Grayson’s phone right now and call 911. This would be over. Grayson would be in the clear, and the police would solve this crime within hours.
But the other part of that sigh is regret. Guilt. I set this in motion today with my words to Finley.She’s out for blood. You’re being played for a fool.
They must have met tonight, after I’d wound Finley up. Trinity walked into a tinderbox. Finley may have lit the match, but I provided the gasoline.
I take Grayson’s phone and dial my own number to reach Luke back at my house.
“Good news and bad,” I tell him. “Grayson didn’t do this.”
“Oh, thank God. I knew it. I knew it,” says Luke. “What’s the bad news?”
60
Allison
—8:28 p.m.—
When I hang up with Luke, I return to the kitchen. By now, Grayson’s had time to remove the blood from his hands and fingers. The dirty towels are shoved inside a kitchen-sized garbage bag along with the football jersey he’d been wearing.
The overhead light is too bright, throwing everything into harsh relief. His hair is messy, plastered to his forehead. His skin is blotchy pink, raw in patches where he’s scrubbed too hard; I told him to be thorough, just in case. He looks up at me. His eyes are wide, unblinking. I can only imagine the journey he’s taken tonight, through blood and shock and horror and fear.
“I can’t…I mean, I can’t…”
I rub his back. “I’m so sorry about this, Gray. I’m almost done here, and we’ll get you home. Can you give me twenty, thirty more minutes?”
“What…what are you even doing?”
“Just making sure things turn out okay. I need your phone a little longer. Then we can get you home.”
“But…y’know, if they don’t think I did this, they’ll think you did. I mean, somebodykilledhim, Mom. Aren’t you, like, worried?”
“Nobody will think either of us did it. They’ll figure out who did it.”
“Do…” His face changes. “Do you know who did it?”
I stroke his hair. “I have a pretty good idea, honey. And I promise I’ll help the police catch this person. But it’s better I don’t tell you yet, okay? I promise it’s for the best.”
“Do I…do I know him?”
“No, honey. Now let me get back to it, okay? You’ll be able to leave soon.”
I return to the bedroom, bracing myself first. I don’t even look at Fin as I enter. I reach into his pants pocket and fish out his iPhone, in its Chicago Bears casing.
I type in the passcode that I’ve always known with a moment of panic—if he changed the passcode, if I can’t access his phone, this is going to be much harder—
It works. His phone comes alive.
I walk back into the family room and place both phones down on the glass table, Fin’s and Grayson’s.
With Grayson’s phone, I send a text message to Finley’s phone:Hello? I’m here waiting. What happened to meeting at condo over an hour ago WTF??
A moment later, Finley’s phone buzzes with the receipt.
