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She’d died last year of a heart attack.
A heart attack that I seriously suspected that my brother had induced.
Reluctantly, I walked toward the sheriff.
“What can I help you with, Sheriff?”
His eyes studied me.
“You’ll have to come with me.”
I frowned. “For what?”
“Your brother and parents put you at the scene of your brother’s assault.”
I blinked. “What? When?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
I was already shaking my head. “Sheriff Black, seriously. I couldn’t have done it. I’ve been here working since three!”
His eyes studied me. “You drove past their house and collected their trash. That’s when they said you did it.”
I was already shaking my head. “I didn’t! I swear!”
“They have proof.”
“What proof?” I panicked. “I didn’t do anything. I swear! Ask Caleb.”
Sheriff Black’s gaze went from me to Caleb, who wasn’t even trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.
“She never left the truck,” he said. “Actually, when we get to their street, she stays in the truck.”
Sheriff Black blinked. “Why?”
“Because my brother is a fucking psychopath!” I cried out. “He’s nuts, and I just know that he’ll do whatever he has to do to blame me for something psychotic!”
“It’s true,” my coworker said. “She was in the truck the whole time. Her entire street, she was in the truck. We have cameras in here, too. You can see her and me the whole time.”
Black looked at the cameras.
Then he looked at me. “Why would your brother blame you for this, though? He has a broken arm. A laceration on his forehead. And he’s sporting a hell of a lot of bruising.”
I looked him dead in the eye and said, “He’s psycho, remember?”
Sadly, that wasn’t the last encounter that I had with Sheriff Black over my “supposed” transgressions.
Over the next ten years, my brother would only get smarter.
And I would have a hell of a lot harder of a time proving my innocence.
One
I’m confident my last words are going to be “are you fucking kidding me?” And they’re going to come out of my mouth because of Jessamy Darling.
—Black to one of his deputies
Black