Page 83 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“One more thing.” I look vaguely at the front door, remembering Phil and Elsie’s odd behavior the first time we were here. “Statistically, they’re the most likely suspects for this murder. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice heavy. “I know. I just…” She bites her lip and looks at me. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”
“Well,” I say, shrugging, “I guess we’ll find out.” Then I nod at the door, letting go of her wrist. “Go ahead and knock.”
She delivers three sharp raps to the door, and we wait for only about thirty seconds before it lurches open.
“Oh,” Phil says, looking surprised. I guess he’s working from home again. “It’s you. Good to see you.”
And look. I don’t like the way his eyes linger on Heidi.
I’m not one of those overly jealous guys. I’m really not. As far as I’m concerned, a man should feel confident enough in his relationships not to be jealous, and he should recognize that his partner is not a possession to be hoarded or to be shared.
That being said…Phil is married, and he might be a murderer, and so I don’t care how great Heidi manages to look in a simple t-shirt—he needs to keep his eyes to himself.
“Hi,” Heidi says. She either doesn’t notice his interest, or she’s suddenly an excellent actress. “How are you doing?”
“We’re great,” Phil says, smiling at her. “What brings you two to this neck of the woods?”
People grieve in different ways, I remind myself.Maybe he’s desperately sad on the inside.
Regardless…I think Phil and I grieve in very,verydifferent ways.
“Well…” Heidi says, looking quickly over at me and then back to Phil. “There’s no easy way to ask this, I suppose. We were wondering if we could take a look around your mother’s room.”
The absolute audacity of this woman, asking to look around a dead woman’s space.
“Here’s the thing,” she goes on, speaking more quickly now. “When your mother—uh, passed—she had time to say a few last words.”
Phil straightens a bit at this, his eyes growing more alert, his expression more interested. “Did she?”
Heidi nods. “Yes. She—I’m sorry.” She breaks off suddenly. “Will this upset you to hear?”
I think it’s safe to say that nothing about Carmina’s death seems to be upsetting Phil, but it’s nice of her to ask.
“Not at all,” he says—proving me right—and the gestures for Heidi to go on.
She nods, a determined mask settling over her features. “She looked me right in the eye and saidpickandlock. It was very startling.”
“I can imagine,” Phil says, rubbing one hand over his mouth, his brow furrowed. “But I’m not sure what she would have been talking about. She didn’t keep any sort of safe, that I can recall…” He trails off, his eyes distant.
“We’d be happy to help you look,” Heidi says, and I have to force myself not to smile at how stealthily she’s working back around to the idea of seeing Carmina’s room.
“Uh,” Phil says, and…wow. I honestly think he’s considering it. “Well…”
It’s because Heidi showed up here with perfect confidence and asked to do something ridiculous—barging into a deceased woman’s home—like it was no big deal. This is how conmen work. They go about their business so confidently that everyone else goes along with it too.
“Come on in, then,” he says a few seconds later, and he doesn’t even look annoyed. He looks like this is something that happens every day. “Let’s see if we can figure out what she was talking about.”
“If you’re sure?” Heidi says.
“Come on, come on,” he says, stepping back and waving us in.
I follow Heidi in, feeling very strange, mostly because Phil is acting so bizarre. He leads us up the stairs without comment, and we keep following him—down the hallway, past a cloudy fish tank and an uncomfortable looking chair, before stopping at a closed door at the very end.
“This was her room,” he says. And even though the past tense rings jarringly in my ears, he doesn’t seem to notice; he still appears totally unaffected. He opens the door and steps inside without hesitation. “We haven’t touched anything yet.”
“I’m sure that would be very difficult,” Heidi murmurs, her gaze already darting around the room. The bed is neat, the floor bare, and the large photos on the wall are lined up neatly. It takes me a second to realize that they’re photos of Carmina herself, though undoubtedly when she was younger—in her twenties, maybe. She’s glamorous and beautiful, and despite the many different styles I see in all the pictures, they all capture a sparkle in her eyes that I never saw in real life.
