Page 38 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

She laughs. “‘Foul play.’ You sound like an SVU rerun.” She takes another picture before shaking her head. “I don’t think anything yet, although all signs point to an accidental death. It’s just that my… my mom liked Alanis Morissette, so I hear that song in my head when anyone says ‘ironic.’”

She blinks away to stare at the camera clutched in her hands. I, meanwhile, have just been handed the first-ever clue about Rue’s family. My research turned up zilch about any parents, grandparents, siblings, or fourth cousins twice removed, so this is a revelation—particularly because it’s clearly one she didn’t intend to share. I should feel bad about her discomfort, but I’m starving for details about her that I don’t already know.

While I was being greedy, she was gathering her composure, and she looks up at me now with the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “It’s one of the few good memories I have of her.”

She lifts her camera again but doesn’t get back to taking pictures.

“A little too ironic?” I say, trying to pull her back to me. “Yeah, I really do think.”

She blinks at me in surprise, and I shrug. “One of my nannies was a big Lilith Fair fan.”

It works to ground her. “One of?” She rocks back on her bootied heels. “Hugo Mohr, were you a rich kid?”

I shift uneasily. “Money, yes. Affection, not so much.”

It’s more than I meant to say, but I’m not mad at myself when her face twists in sympathy and a trace of understanding.

“Oh no,” I murmur, nodding my chin at her glove. “Are you going to do the wrist thing again?”

This earns me a laugh. “Not many men get two strokes a day from me.”

I choke. Her face turns scarlet. Bart, who’s been leaning against the wall watching his partner work, sighs from the very bottom of his soul.

“Oh my god! I’ll just…” Her voice trails off as she casts her eyes around the room, looking for a change of subject. They settle on the small sprig of silvery-green leaves on the recliner next to McEwan’s body.

Oh fuck. She found it.

I’m watching her find my love letter in real time.

She pinches the stem between her gloved fingers, looking around to see where it might have come from. I, meanwhile, can’t look away, caught between agony and ecstasy over whether she’ll recognize the waxy, oblong leaves as coming from my backyard.

“What do you have?” I ask with what I hope sounds like casual curiosity.

“Not sure.” She holds up the clipping to squint at it. “It does look a little familiar. Hey, Bart?”

The older man ambles over.

“Do you think this is the same plant we found at the scene when that bank manager fell off a ladder in his garage?”

Bart pulls out a pair of reading glasses to peer at the cutting in her hand. “Looks like it. We didn’t bag it since it was clearly an accident.” He glares at her over his glasses. “Which is the case here too, yes? Don’t go making extra work for us.”

She absently nods as my heart threatens to pound out of my chest. She’s never been in my backyard, and thanks to the fence separating her half of the property from mine, she’s never gotten a close look at the things I grow there. She can’t possibly connect this to me.

“Interesting.” She tilts her head as she studies it, then slides a glance toward me. “Any idea what⁠—”

“Am I clear to check out the fireplace?” one of the uniformed officers calls.

She curls her fingers around the cutting and turns to answer.

“You’re good,” she says. “I’ll want to get started collecting evidence from the body, but I’ll stay out of your way.”

When she’s facing me again, she frowns. “Hey, are you still doing okay?” She edges closer and speaks under her breath. “Not everybody does well at a death scene.”

Oh, you know, just a mild bit of hyperventilating over you holding the strongest piece of evidence connecting me to this murder.

“I’m fine,” I say in as neutral a tone as I can manage. “Are you going to bag that up?” I point to the cutting in her hand, which is already starting to turn brown and curl at the edges.

“Oh.” She glances down at it, likely confused by my abrupt question. “No. Like Bart said, it’s not necessary.”