Cause of Death by Laura Dembowski (ereader iphone .TXT) 📗

Anna and Todd are now hugging each other, each trying to console the other.

After a few minutes, Todd is finally able to speak. “Do you have a suspect in custody?” he asks, jumping into business mode. He wants answers, and I don’t blame him. I want them too. Unfortunately, I don’t have any—at least, nothing substantial at this time.

“No, we don’t, but I’m not on the case.”

“Right, of course,” Todd replies. “You can’t work the case; you’re too close. Is your partner on it?”

“I’m not sure.”

Todd gives me a funny look.

“How are you not sure? You need to get your partner on this case!”

He’s growing angry, and I don’t like that. I felt bad having to tell them about Tracy’s death. I hope they make it out of this okay. I’m sure I’ll never see them again after this, so I won’t know, but I do hope things work out for them.

“Shhh,” I see Anna chide Todd. “He’s upset too.”

“Why don’t you know who’s working the case?” Todd presses me.

It’s like he can tell there’s more to this story.

“Because I’ve been suspended for the time being.”

“And why is that?” Todd asks. Then, suddenly, realization dawns. “Did you fucking kill my daughter?”

Before I can even think about an answer, he’s up and lunging at me.

I try to make it to the door, but he grabs my throat and throws me up against a wall. I wonder if I should just let him kill me. That would put a quick end to all of this.

Except Todd wouldn’t want to live with blood on his hands for the rest of his life. He might be able to heal from Tracy’s death, but not if he kills someone. That changes a person at their very core. He’s not in bad shape, but I’m stronger than him. I push him off of me with my hands, forcefully throwing him to the floor. I hope I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t mean to hurt him. It was the only way to get him off me.

I slump over, trying to catch my breath and process what just happened.

Anna runs over to Todd. “Are you okay?” she asks.

He nods, and she turns her attention to me.

“You’ve hurt my husband! Maybe you are a killer. Look at me.”

I don’t. I can’t.

“Look at me, goddammit!”

I look at her.

“Did you kill her?” she asks firmly.

“No,” I say, as tears run down my cheeks. “I did not kill Tracy.”

Anna, satisfied with my answer, returns her attention to Todd. She sits on the floor next to him and hugs him. They are both crying. We are all a mess.

“The significant other is always a suspect,” I say when I’ve caught my breath.

“I understand that,” Todd says, chastened after our struggle, still gasping for air. “I believe you.” After a pause: “So who do you think did it?”

“I have no idea,” I say.

I can’t tell him what I really think. That would be insane. He and Anna just found out their daughter is dead and that I’m a suspect. Perhaps we can talk about it another day, perhaps not, but for now, my lips are sealed.

Chapter 15

Ryan

“Can I come over?” I text Beth.

She texts back a minute later. It feels longer, because I’m sitting in a cheap, crummy motel staring at the wall, wishing all of this would be over. I check the time stamp on our texts to be sure.

“Where do you live? I want to come over,” her text reads.

“I’m not at home.”

“Where are you?”

“Riverview Inn,” I type, hating myself for being here, along with just about everything else I’ve ever done or said.

“Why?” she texts.

“I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Meet you at that wine bar on Sixth, in an hour.”

“Okay,” I text back.

I’m only five minutes from the wine bar she suggested, so that gives me fifty-five interminable minutes until I am saved from myself and this place.

I couldn’t go back home. I couldn’t do it. Even when all the blood is cleaned up, which I will do soon, and not a trace of the crime exists, I’ll still see Tracy everywhere I look.

I can’t ever call that place home again. I’ll have to find a new place, which is fine. I liked my house, but I didn’t expect to spend the rest of my life there. Right now just doesn’t seem like a good time to make any big moves. It could raise suspicion, because for some reason people assume you want to remember your loved ones at every turn. They think seeing their favorite chair and finding their hair on the bathroom counter is comforting. It’s not.

Worse, I could be in jail in a few months, so I might as well suffer here. Why buy a nice, new place when I probably won’t even be able to enjoy it? Houses are meant for those who have a life to live in them. This is my punishment for mistakes I didn’t make, crimes I didn’t commit.

I glance out the window and see my “neighbor” walk past. She looks like she’s strung out on something. Matted greasy hair hangs in her face. Her arms are gangly and covered in tattoos. Dark makeup makes her eyes seem even more sunken into her head than they probably are.

She is indicative of the kind of people I now keep company with. I’m not okay with it. I want things to go back to normal, whatever that is.

I look at my phone for the hundredth time and see that it is ten till. I get in my car and drive to the wine bar, go inside and wait by the window for Beth.

When the waiter approaches, I order a glass of ice water. Alcohol isn’t a good idea. Since I’m under investigation, I could have my blood and urine screened at any moment, for any reason, and I will be clean. I’ve never been into drugs, never even smoked a cigarette. Sure, I’ve consumed more than my