Page 21 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

Her lips curve. “‘Ready the Chamber of Consequences’ bad.”

My exhaustion flees, and I make gimme motions with my hands.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hugo

I’m vibrating like an overeager Golden Retriever as Rue turns into our driveway on Friday, but instead of rushing over to her, I force myself to finish smoothing out the last of the fertilizer for the bushes on my side of the duplex.

Even though it’s raining. Even though it’s a little late in the season to be adding more of my nutrient compound. When my phone buzzed with my Rue proximity alert, I rushed outside and am now drenched and covered in soil and bone meal.

It’s all worth it when, instead of heading straight for the mailboxes like usual, she walks right over to me.

“Did you hear?”

“I, uh, hear a lot of things,” I say with my goofiest smile and my fussiest voice. “Most of them during sessions and therefore confidential.”

Normally, a stupid deflection like that would earn me an eye roll, but today, those gorgeous amber eyes just crinkle at the edges.

“Remember that fatal arson we talked about?”

She smiles from underneath her favorite umbrella while my smile falls away at the reminder of how hard she’d tried to hide her distress that day.

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“So the cops didn’t have enough evidence to arrest their main suspect, but guess what?”

I don’t have to guess, neighbor girl. I fucking know. I’ve got the chemical burns and stab injury to prove it.

“What?” I say instead.

“He’s dead.” She spins her umbrella between her fingers.

“You’re kidding.” I adjust my glasses, hoping it hides the triumph in my eyes. “How’d that happen?”

“That’s the wildest part.” Another colorful twirl. “It was a house fire.”

God, imagine if I could tell her everything. Tell her I saw how upset she was, and even though I couldn’t bring back Mary, I could do something. Imagine her being so overwhelmed with gratitude that she’d dig her hands into my hair and ruffle it and kiss me. Hell, I’d probably roll over and ask her to scratch my belly too.

But I can’t tell her I did this for her, just like I can’t tell her I’ve got to keep my gardening gloves on because it turns out that potassium nitrate causes a wicked chemical burn if it lands on your skin. I can’t even be overly excited about the news that Marshall’s dead because a normal person wouldn’t celebrate. A normal person would shake their head and frown and say that it’s awful, just awful, but it’s justice.

I suppose it’s for the best. Dr. Mohr’s hair is too full of gel for a proper ruffling anyway.

“Oh wow.” I frown and shake my head, even furrowing my brow for good measure. “That’s awful. Just awful. But I suppose it’s justic⁠—”

“It’s poetic,” she says, her voice almost dreamy. Then she shakes her head. “I mean, it’s justice, for sure.”

Her certainty eases the tiny twinge I’ve been carrying since I lit that initiator and walked away. I was so focused on making things right for Rue that I didn’t do my usual due diligence on Marshall. But between Rue’s access to investigative details, Morticia’s confidence that he was the guy, and my own research, I’m comfortable fitting this kill neatly inside my code.

“Anyway, Bart and I took the call on Howard Marshall.”

“Wow. Was it bad?” I ask, as if I don’t have a damn good idea.

“Ohhh yeah. An overloaded extension cord lit up his accelerants. Like I said, it’s almost poetic.”

I’m so relieved she shares even a fraction of my notions about right and wrong and fitting punishment to crime that a laugh bursts out of me. When she looks at me curiously, I clear my throat and roll out my most stick-up-the-ass voice.