Page 149 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Our place.”

Once we came up for air the day after my brush with death and Hugo’s brush with a police body cam, he placed one phone call. Twelve hours later, my new condo was sublet to a friend of Pell’s who’s “in town on business,” all of my worldly goods were stashed in my former garage, and Hugo was pulling up schematics to convert a duplex into a single-family house. I even persuaded him to ditch the khakis in favor of slim-fit sweaters and jeans that mold to his ass and thighs when he doesn’t need to be Dr. Mohr.

It was a really good week.

“Friends!” Felicity claps her hands to call us to order. “We’re here today to plan the murder of Lester Timms for killing his ex-wife’s boyfriend, framing her for the murder, and harassing my beloved twin.”

“Not in that order,” Hugo mutters, and I squeeze his hand.

Felicity pulls up a PowerPoint on her laptop and turns it to face the room. “Sorry I don’t have a projector,” she says before jumping in and making me love her even more than I already did. “First, the prosecutor who took over Angie Timms’s case from the late Greg Whitfield plans to reopen the investigation. Thank you, Rue, for that.”

“What can I say?” I raise my hands with a flourish as the woman’s face and LinkedIn bio appear on Fi’s screen. “I’m a jobs creator.” At Quinn’s confused look, I tell her, “I killed Greg. He deserved it.”

“He more than deserved it.” Hugo’s expression turns murderous.

“So it’s good news for Angie,” Quinn says.

“Eh.” Felicity rolls the sleeves of her oversized yellow sweatshirt. “It’s good for Angie, obviously, but it means the person who actually killed Paul Franklin will have an incentive to keep her quiet.”

She flips to the next slide showing Lester Timms’s official police photo alongside his Philosopher Kings username and avatar: Guardian_of_the_Republic and a nude Greek torso statue.

“Since the person who actually killed Paul is protected by his police union and way too many of the people who’d be investigating him…” I let the thought trail off as my gaze falls on the next image in Felicity’s PowerPoint, a still from a recent local news segment showing Angie leaving a hearing in her powder blue jumpsuit from the county jail, where she’s being held without bond. Her face is drawn and pale, and her black hair’s been cut short.

“He’ll kill her to keep her from testifying,” Quinn says flatly. “Got it.”

I swallow hard thinking about Lester Timms’s big hands, tatted knuckles, and overt threats. “Last week, he strongly implied that he’ll give investigators my name as a suspect in Greg’s disappearance if I don’t say yes to drinks,” I say with a full-body shudder.

Hugo’s the one squeezing my hand now.

“Hey, y’all. We havin’ a meeting?”

All heads turn to see Pell loping into the room, dressed in black, his backward baseball cap holding down his hair.

“We are meeting,” Quinn says flatly, folding her arms over her faded Diet Coke logo T-shirt. “You are not meeting.”

“And yet.” Pell leans against the wall, putting the big farmhouse table between him and his chemist, who responds by turning her back to bang a pot onto the stove.

“Hey, Fi-Fi,” Pell says. “Barn’s all fixed up.”

“Hi, Peloton. How’d you get past my securit—you know what?” She holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

“Wouldn’t tell ya even if ya did.” His gaze falls on me and Hugo sitting side by side. “Howdy, neighbor girl. I assume this is about that cop who’s been sniffing around you on account of your ex-boyfriend disappearing?”

“Stop calling me that,” I say as Hugo turns to stare at me.

“Pell knows?”

I glare at Pell, who’s watching Hugo with an amused twist of his mouth, then squeeze my boyfriend’s solid biceps. “I asked him to keep his ears open.”

“You asked him to keep his ears open,” he repeats in a dangerously even voice.

“You and I weren’t on speaking terms!” I say, but he’s already stalking to the wall.

“You set up the barn, right?” Despite only having an inch or so on him, Hugo manages to look down at our friendly neighborhood fixer as he bumps him with his shoulder.

“Sure did.” Pell’s unruffled as he bumps him right back.

I glance around to see if anyone else is seeing this, but Fi and Quinn are rummaging around the pantry, maybe talking about Timms or maybe talking about the best placement for Fi’s colanders.