Page 151 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

Quinn whacks her spoon against the big pot on the stove and stomps to the empty chair between Hugo and Pell.

“Paprikás krumpli will be ready in thirty,” she announces. “Can we please nail down this murder before then?”

Pell pockets the baseball and pulls out a package of pistachios. “Appetizer?”

We all decline; he shrugs and cracks a shell.

“The way I see it, now’s the time,” Felicity says. “Timms is rattled, but he’s not cornered yet.”

Pell pops a pistachio into his mouth. “And you oughta shake a leg, what with him ready to squeal on blondie.” He tilts his head. “Both blondies, probably. Won’t take much to connect the dots.”

He’s no more interested in that outcome than in tomorrow’s weather report, and when I glance at Fi, she’s staring at him with coldness I’ve never seen on her face before. We’ve always joked/not-joked that working with Pell is like stepping into a cage with a tiger, but for the first time I see a little bit of tiger in my sister, too.

“Right.” I push past my unease all the way around. “Well, I’m the holiday on-call for the ME’s office starting Tuesday, so I’ll be the one processing any death scenes. Now’s the time.”

Quinn shrugs. “Okay. I’ve got a million ways to…” She pantomimes plunging an injection into an invisible Timms and pressing the plunger.

“Won’t work,” says Fi, who’s been monitoring the Philosopher Kings forum. “Unless you want a martyr and a million conspiracy theories.”

We all deflate. Straight-up murder is so much easier.

Pell selects a pistachio from the bag, sets it on the table, and flicks it at Hugo, who catches it midair without turning his head.

“So where does that leave us?” I ask. “Because I’ve gotta be honest, I’ve done a lot of murders recently. A bitch is tired.”

“Babe.” Hugo’s not in his glasses today since it’s just us, which means I can see every millimeter of the crease that appears between his brows.

I smile as his thumb travels gently over my bruised neck. “You’re so handsome when you’re worried.”

“Gag,” Quinn mutters. Pell flicks another pistachio that Hugo catches and sets in front of him.

We all fall silent until Hugo raps his knuckles lightly on the table.

“So before we kill him, we get him to confess.”

There’s another beat of silence, but this one’s broken by snorts of laughter from my sister and me.

“Sure,” Fi says, wiping away pretend tears of laughter. “Easy peasy.”

“Yep, no problem.” I clutch my side like I’ve laughed myself sick.

Quinn stands. “Look at his face. He’s got a plan.” She points at Hugo, then walks to the stove and lifts the lid on the pot, releasing a warm, sweetly spicy smell that makes my mouth water and pulls a little whimper from Pell.

“Timms is a big fan of Ancient Greek philosophy,” Hugo says, catching another flying pistachio. “Or at least he thinks he is.”

“You guys should see his living room.” I curl my lip at my memory of Timms’s faux-intellectual shrine to old dead Greek guys. “Fake marble busts and like six different copies of The Republic.”

“Exactly,” Hugo says. “And men like him don’t confess under pressure. They confess to an audience.”

“Oh, he has an audience,” Fi says. “The forum’s frothing at the mouth, talking about other ways to frame Angie. Some sub-pockets are even starting to turn on him. Apparently he’s too much of a cuck, and that’s why he can’t control his bitch.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Hugo mutters in disgust, running his hands down his face. “We can work with that, but… Jesus.”

“Right?” Fi says mournfully. “I never knew there were so many different ways to be a horrible human being.”

I reach over and squeeze her shoulder. “You’ve had the worst job of us all.”

“Thanks for noticing!” she says in a maniacal chirp. “I regret the day I stole Navarro’s login and made myself a dummy admin account! I may never recover from this!”