“Did you drive?” he asked me.
“Oh, I just Ubered.” My mind was on overdrive.Fuck, fuck, fuck.What was I supposed to do?
“Want me to drop you off somewhere?” he offered.
Somewhere even more remote where you can chop me up never to be found by my family again because I just bluffed?
“No, thank you. I think I’ll walk.” Believe me, I know. Worst excuse possible. It would have worked in New York, actually. But not in LA. It was probably a two-hour walk from where we were to the Southern limit of Griffith Park. And, from there, two and a half more hours on foot to my place, plus crossing a couple of freeways. So you get the incongruity.
“Elena, not so fast. Walking from here is madness! You’re not even wearing proper gear!” Fred tried stopping me, and my heart leaped into my throat. I tried to pull away, but his fingers clamped around my arm.
34
David
Allow me to hijack the narration, as Elena has been doing all the recounting so far. If this was a suspense romance book that followed the norms of the genre, you should have heard from me much earlier. I told Elena we should have opted for a dual POV and indicated the name of the narrator at the beginning of each chapter. She preferred to tell the story from her own perspective.
But it’s relevant that you know what was happening while she was holding a grudge against me and finding out Fred Appleton wasn’t simply the most self-preoccupied and oblivious writer in the guild. And I’m talking about a profession of egomaniacs here.
Elena left her sister’s place on Friday night, and I was gutted. To be completely honest, I’d been gutted since Wednesday when an offer I couldn’t refuse was extended to me and I realized I’d have to do precisely that and decline. The hold Elena had on me was too strong, and on Wednesday night I’d left her place before either of us wanted me to because I needed to keep my mind clear and think.
The conclusion I reached was pretty straightforward: I still loved her.
So on Thursday, I was determined to break the rules of our strange pact and tell her I needed her. I was tired of only getting to have a piece of her. I wasn’t sure that was my most brilliant idea. She’s never reacted well to ultimatums. But I needed to try. I owed it to myself. And to her too.
Then a fucking murder took place, our world got upended, we suddenly found ourselves not only talking but working together, spending practically every minute of the day with one another—and you know the rest.
So Elena understandably got mad at me when she found out about the job offer I hadn’t told her about. And she thought I was going to leave her for a job. Also, the job decided to leave me for someone else. I heard Gloria Fucking Kingsley was offered the position I no longer wanted. We may have been friends and colleagues in the past, but Gloria was starting to rub me the wrong way.
Now that I’ve told you that I’m a nice guy—and Elena was a bit of a drama queen who overreacted on Friday night—let’s get back to the action. Elena left and I ransacked her sister’s place for alcohol. It turns out a twenty-something-year-old grad student with a generous family stipend keeps quite the well-stocked cellar.
I was on my third glass of a chilled bottle of Godello from Ribeira Sacra when Marta got home, and I told her everything that had happened. We’ve always been good friends, and I know she likes me and would love for Elena to give me another chance. So I wasn’t above trying to plead to the younger sister so that she would make my case with the older one.
“We’ll call her tomorrow,” Marta reassured me. “I’ll tell her I need to talk to her, and I promise to represent your case in the best way possible. But it’s her choice if she wants to hate your guts, and you know she’s a bit stubborn.”
I laughed. “A bit?”
“Okay, she’s very stubborn, but I think you’ve drunk too much.” Marta took the glass from my hand. “Let’s make the sofa bed. You need to sleep. Tomorrow, you need to write that article.”
“Can it wait?” The last thing I wanted was to worry about a fucking work assignment.
“Considering you told me the police are set on arresting you, I don’t think the article can wait. It may be your last chance to establish your innocence in a public way.” She sounded like her father. But she resembled a younger version of Elena. It was all very weird and I assumed I was probably too drunk. So I went to sleep and set the alarm for 5:30 a.m. the following day.
…
On Saturday, I woke up refreshed and reenergized. I made some coffee, making sure I was quiet enough not to wake Marta up, and started working.
I went back to every piece of evidence we had gathered. From the interview with Fitzsimmons, to the several accounts Elena had shared with me from her gossipy agent, the emails, and the CCTV videos. I was watching those one last time, trying not to yawn—you couldn’t describe it as riveting or dynamic—when I saw something we had missed before and panicked.
A cell phone started buzzing on the kitchen island where I had been working. It was Marta’s. She’d left it there the night before. I didn’t want to pry—I’m really not as nosey as Elena has made you believe—but I saw the one sending messages to Marta was Elena, and I couldn’t avoid reading them.
“Fuck!” I yelled, realizing what was happening. I knocked on Marta’s bedroom door. “Marta, wake up. We need to leave. Elena has gotten herself in trouble!”
35
Previously onThings told from Elena’s POV, Fred was trying to get me inside his car and probably make me disappear.
“Ireallyneed the exercise,” I said as I yanked my arm out of Fred’s hand and kept walking away from him at a brisk pace that had me almost panting. “My cardio fitness is ridiculous for my age. I’m turning thirty-five in a couple of months.” I kept babbling while putting distance between me and Fred. “And I have decided to start with the good intentions and resolutions early for a change.”
