I opened my mouth to—what? Argue? But why did I want to argue? I’d had the same thought, hadn’t I? I’d seen the photo of Channelle and Foster. As soon as I’d seen September, I’d jumped to the conclusion that Foster had done this to her. And now that Bobby told me he’d been arrested, I could see how the other pieces fit: Foster was a mooch, using his boyish good looks to live off the women he met, like September or Channelle. Foster was our only eyewitness to the events of the night JT had been murdered, which meant he could have told us whatever he wanted, made up any story he wanted. Like Keme getting into a fight with JT. He would have known that Keme’s clothes were in JT’s garage, and he would have known which clothes were Keme’s so he could use them to frame him. He had Channelle’s necklace. I had known, the first time I’d met him, that there was something dangerous under the pretty surface—a darkness that rippled when he lost control.
So, why was my first, automatic reaction to tell Bobby that they had it all wrong?
I didn’t know, so I didn’t say anything.
After several seconds, Bobby said into my silence, “Try to keep her awake, Dash. The ambulance is on its way.”
Chapter 15
The paramedics came. Then the deputies—Tripple and Bobby. A crowd gathered, mostly middle-aged, mostly White, men and women who emerged from their RVs with careful steps, drawn by the scent of blood in the water. Tripple kept them back; he was about as good at that part of his job as he was at everything else, meaning he snapped at people, barked orders, shouted, and generally acted like the rear end of a particularly stupid donkey. He was the perfect example of a guy who had let the tiniest amount of power go to his head, and watching him bully a woman on the other side of the caution tape, I couldn’t help but feel like Tripple was genuinely angry. Probably because he took any challenge to his authority personally. I felt numb in the aftermath of finding September and learning Foster had been arrested, but watching Tripple in action still made me simultaneously sick and tired.
The sheriff came, and I gave my statement—not that there was much to give.
“Go home,” the sheriff said when we’d finished. “Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”
I hadn’t, not really, but I said, “Are you sure he did it?”
“The investigation is ongoing, Dash.” But she was a good sheriff—good in so many ways. So, she let out a breath and said in a lower voice, “He admits they argued. His version is that she gave him the necklace as a way of buying him off.”
“But she kept the other pieces? The ring and the earrings?”
The sheriff shrugged. “It’s just one of the places his story seems wobbly. Seems to me it’s more likely he took the necklaceoff her after he killed her, but it might be true. We can place him in her motel room; his fingerprints are a match.”
Something about that theory bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Okay, but whoever killed Channelle hit her with a car. Does Foster have a car?”
“We’re working on that.” More dryly, she added, “If you happen to spot a white sedan with some fresh scuffs, I’d be interested to hear about it.”
“The car was white?”
Realization of her mistake tightened her mouth. “Don’t even think about it, Dash. You’re going straight home. Among other reasons, because I don’t need one of my deputies angry that I sent his boyfriend out to chase down leads.”
“Bobby—”
The sheriff held up one finger. “Straight. Home. Do you hear me?”
I nodded.
Bobby drove me home; I told him he didn’t have to, but he did anyway. He got me settled in the billiard room with coffee and a slice of Indira’s red velvet cake (in the spirit of the season, she’d made it look extra bloody, and we were legally obligated to call itdeadvelvet cake). He put a blanket over my lap. He fussed with Netflix, trying to find something he thought I’d like, until he finally settled onReal Rob.
“I can call in,” he said.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
He crouched, brushed my hair back, and twitched my glasses into place. “You’re not fine. Nobody would be fine after that.”
“I know. But I’mfine, you know? I mean, I don’t need you to stay. I’ll be all right.”
Unhappiness drew at the corners of his eyes.
“Go,” I said with a tiny laugh. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“Do you mind if I take the Pilot? Otherwise I have to wait for Tripple to pick me up.”
“It’s your car, Bobby. And I’m not going anywhere.”
