InspectorBrodie cleared his throat and bowed his head, as if he himself dreaded theconversation we were about to have. I’d seen things like this on TV. Thequestioning, the uncomfortable interrogations. You never think you’ll be inthat position until it happens, and then you wonder why you hadn’t thought toprepare yourself, just in case. I should have watched more true crime shows. Ishould have studied more. I should’ve done anything to keep the scotch fromsloshing around in my belly, as I waited for the man to speak.
“Allright,” he said, nodding. “So, let’s start withyersister. Tell me about her. Who was she? What was she like?”
Itook a deep breath and closed my eyes, to try and remember her smile. It hadbeen over three weeks now since I’d seen her alive andalreadyshe was beginning to fade from my memory. I don’t remember telling her shecould do that, and I don’t remember giving myself the permission to forget her.I shuddered with despair, and Inspector Brodie once again reminded me that Ididn’t have to do this now if I couldn’t, but I persisted.
“Shewas a good person,” I said quietly, then spread my lips in an aching smile. “Iknow everybody says that after someone dies. They always talk about what a goodperson they were, and I guess that’s because they feel guilty talking crapabout the dead. But seriously, Gracie was such a good person. She volunteeredat the local animal shelter a couple of days a month, she was a teacher forspecial needs children, she regularly gave money to St. Jude’s Hospital …” Ishook my head and opened my eyes. “She was almosttoogood, and I wouldtell her that. I’d say, girl, you need to do something bad. Like, live alittle, you know what I’m saying?”
Brodienodded contemplatively and said, “Ye need to get some excitement inyerlife.”
“Exactly,”I agreed sadly. “Anyway, she got engaged to this guy a few years ago, Matt. Myparents never liked him, and if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t care for himeither. There was just something about him, youknow?Like, he was a nice enough guy, but almosttoonice, to the point ofbeing phony.”
“Somethin' tells me ye're about to get into just how phonyhe was,” he muttered, staring ahead of him at a wall of floral paper and agorgeous, antique set of armchairs.
“Bingo,”I snickered, shaking my head. “Gracie got home one day, just a couple of monthsbefore their wedding, and found the asshole screwing his best friend's wife intheir bed.”
“Fuckin'arsehole,” Brodie groaned, wiping a palm over his chin.
“Mm-hmm,”I muttered, shaking my head. “Apparently, they had been having an affair forover a year, and he had the balls to blame Gracie.” I rolled my eyes, as atinge of residual rage toward my almost brother-in-law returned. “He told her,if she hadn't been so busy, he wouldn't have had to turn to someone else.”
“Whata nice lad,” Brodie muttered sardonically.
“Right?”I uttered a disgusted sound, as I remembered opening my front door to find mysister on my porch, in tears and insistent that she would never trust anotherman again. “So, anyway, Gracie had to call off the whole damn wedding, and whenshe got around to cancelling the honeymoon, I told her she shouldn't. Iinsisted that she should still go, take a couple of weeks and just … live, youknow? Life would always be there when she … got back …”
Ipinched my eyes shut and struggled to catch my emotions before they could runwild. I cleared my throat and shook my head. Then, when I was sure I was fineto speak without breaking down, I whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Brodieplaced a hand on my knee. It was a comforting gesture, not at all intended tobe suggestive, and shame on me for enjoying the warmth of his palm through myjeans.
“Idon'twannahear yeapologizin'anymore, ye understand?”
Thecommand felt like a gentle scolding, like the time my mother told Gracie to notlisten to the mean girls in school. It felt like he cared, and I shouldn't haveallowed myself to be fooled like that, when I knew he was only doing his job.He was just doing what he had to, to solve the mystery of my sister's murder.But I needed to feel like someone cared for me, during the most traumatic timeof my life, and right now, he was all I had.
“Ijust never thought that would be the last time I'd see her,” I whispered,remembering the day I left her at the airport terminal. “She was scared to go.She had never traveled alone before. She was afraid of flying, and alwaysplayed it safe. I mean, she never even left her windows open, because she wasscared someone might see it as an opportunity to break in.”
Brodienarrowed his eyes, as he worked his bristled jaw from side to side. He stood upabruptly, gripping his chin in his palm, and said, “So, maybe we should focusour sights on someone she would've felt she could trust.”
“Well…” I covered my eyes with my hand and said, “The last night she was supposed tobe here, I was on the phone with her, when she saw this guy looking at herthrough a pub window. So, I told her to go in and say hi, you know, live alittle. So, maybe …” I barely shrugged, unable to combat the heaviness in myshoulders. “Maybe he did it.”
Brodieturned to me, frustrated anger flaring in his eyes. “Yedidnaethink to tell me this before?”
“Wedidn't think she was murdered before,” I replied quietly, dropping my gaze tothe carpeted floor. “I guess I just didn't want to think that I … thatIkilled her.”
“No.No, listen to me right now.” He dropped to crouch before me, keeping his handshanging between his spread thighs. “Nothin’ ye didkilledyersister. The bastard that killed her, isthe only one to blame. Tell me ye understand.”
“Iunderstand,” I repeated, while knowing I didn't quite believe it.
“Yesaid ye last spoke to her on Sunday,” he said, holding my gaze.
Inodded. “Yeah, she texted me that night to tell me she was going to staylonger.”
“Doye have her mobile? Ididnaesee one at the place herbody was found.”
“I… I don't know …” I turned to the plastic bag full of her belongings, sittingon an old, wooden end table, and dug through its contents. There were herclothes--dirty and bloodied, and I dropped them as quickly as I got them intomy hands--and one high-heeled shoe. A few credit cards, her drivers' license,some cash, and lip gloss, all spilled from her open purse. I peered inside thelittle leather bag, only to find a few loose pieces of gum and nothingelse, andshook my head. “No, her phone isn't in here.”
“Shewasstayin' somewhere?”
“Yeah,”I said, voice hushed. “She was staying at an inn. The Whispering Crow.”
Brodiestood up, dug his keys from his pocket, and in the determined voice of someoneon a mission asked, “Yewannatake a ride?”
