I have to sit tight until I speak to the warden.
Chapter 1
Sinclair
Present Day
Aknock sounds at my front door, and I stop mid-stride. There isn't anything particularly odd about it, but it feels wrong. Call it discernment, a hunch, whatever it is, I have it. I place the casserole in the oven and set it to two hundred and twenty degrees.
Whoever it is knocks again. There's a hint of underlying impatience. I place the dishtowel I'm holding on the counter, then take twenty steps from my kitchen to the front door. I count to twenty-one, until I'm standing in front of it.
“Who is it?” I disengage the security latch, my fingers trembling. I suck in a breath, releasing slowly.
A man on the other side answers coolly, " It's the police ma'am. Mind if we have a word?"
I freeze. My heart starts banging against my chest so viciously, I’m afraid it’ll get free.
“Mrs. Finley...,” another man says. His voice is kinder.
"Just a minute," I reply as I look through the peephole. Sure enough, two uniformed men stand at my front door. One's hand lingers on his Glock, the shorter of the two, while the other simply gives him a sideward glance cocking a brow at his display of uncertainty. He turns back to the door. His eyes lock on mine. It feels like that anyhow, with the way he focuses on the peephole. My neck jerks back.
He knocks again. “We just want to talk.” he continues looking through the small glass hole as if he can really see me.
I open the door slowly, and I can feel the blood draining from my face. Two officers standing on my doorstep can only mean one thing. Bad news.
“What’s happened?” When the question escapes my mouth, I realize I don't want to hear it. I don't want to listen to them say that something's happened to my family. "Are they okay?" The men look at me quizzically.
The taller of the two sighs. “I’m Detective Jameson. This is Detective Willis.” he motions to his colleague. “Can we come in, ma’am? He seems irritated. I decide to do as he says, and slowly open the door. They step over the threshold, and I back away slightly. I close the door and stand in the foyer, my hands wrapped around my middle. Detective Jameson's eyes roam around the entrance.
"Do you know why we're here, ma'am?" He crosses his hands across his broad chest. His brown eyes narrow in on me. He's unsmiling, and it makes me nervous.
I frown. “Not really?”
“Does the name Chelsea Morgan mean anything to you?” Detective Willis asks.
I feel a cold shudder run through me. “Of course. Chelsea’s my best friend. She lives next door. Is she alright? Was she hurt?”
That raises their eyebrows. "Miss Morgan was reported missing by her boyfriend, Mr. Kurt Frank.” He checks his notes. “He tells us you might have been the last person to see her.”
“What do you mean, she’s missing? I don’t understand.” I place my hand over my chest. The words stick in my throat."How long has it been? Surely Kurt is overreacting." I say the words, but the look on their faces doesn't convince me. I feel pressure on my chest.
The two detectives look between each other. “She hasn’t been seen since Monday.”
"We had lunch at the Wharf on Monday."
"Mrs. Finley," Officer Willis probes when I fall silent. "I know this is alarming…"
No shit. This can't be true. Surely, they have the wrong person. How can Chelsea be missing? Sure, I hadn't seen her in two days, but that isn't strange. She is often holed up at the store or with Kurt.
“Would you mind answering some of our questions?” he babbles on, but I am not listening anymore. I nod and turn toward the living room. I need to sit down.
“There has to be some kind of mistake…” I say as I take a seat.
"Ma'am, we've tried to contact her, but her cell phone is off...We've been to the bookstore, and nobody has seen her, not since she left for lunch on Monday," Jameson replies. Had she sent me a message the last two mornings? Why can't I remember?
I can smell the food cooking in the oven. "The casserole, it's in the oven." I say, motioning in the direction of the kitchen but not having the energy or inclination to stand. "Could you turn it down?" I ask these strangers. Detective Willis stands and leaves the room. I turn my attention to his partner.
"There's more, isn't there?" I look at Jameson, who has been mostly quiet, observing. I know he suspects me of having something to do with this. He's dumber than he looks if he thinks that I could ever hurt my friend. This is notTrue Crime.
