Page 17 of Always Murder

But when was the last time we’d done something fun?Something cute?Something for the two of us that wasn’t squeezed into the few minutes before Bobby finished a shift and when he needed to go to sleep?

I took out my phone and started to text Bobby—nothing major, justI miss you.

But he was working.

And, anyway, what did I expect him to say?I didn’t want him to apologize; it wasn’t like Bobbywantedto work this many hours.He was exhausted, and on top of that, there was something weird going on with this whole detective thing.Not only our conversation the night before, when he’d been so…evasive.Bobby wasn’t really an evasive person, and it wasn’t like he’d totally avoided my question.But he hadn’t answered it, either, not really.

I was still waffling when I saw Elliott, David (or whatever his name was), Kassandra, and Angeline.They were gathered around a firepit, drinks in hand, and if I hadn’t known them, I would have thought they made a cute foursome.

“Ugh, she’s the worst,” Angeline said.“If she says one more time that she doesn’t trust lawyers because she saw aTV showabout a lawyer who did drugs, I’m going to tell Mom.”

“She’s probably the one who does drugs,” Kassandra said.“I bet Keme’s her dealer.”

I considered stomping over there and doing something dramatic, something that would make a statement.I could picture myself standing over them, giving them a piece of my mind, while they cowered and sniveled and realized what awful human beings they were.Of course, in real life, the words probably would have gotten stuck in my throat, or one of them would have started talking over me, or—the possibilities were endless.

“Did your bank ever figure out what happened?”David asked.

Angeline made a sound of pure disgust.“No.They say the ATM cameras were blocked.I keep telling them: I gothacked.I don’t know why that’s so hard for them to believe.”

“Maybe you didn’t get hacked,” Elliott said in a thoughtful tone.“I know this is going to sound awful, but as a lawyer, you have to learn to ask the tough questions.Do you remember if you ever left your purse in the same room as that boy?”

There was no doubt whothat boywas, and I decided I was definitely going to give them a piece of my mind, only first I needed some cotton candy to get my strength up.

“Oh my God, you poor baby,” Angeline said.“What happened to your hand?”

Elliott’s answering laugh could best be described asphony.“My cat got a little too frisky.”

I hoped to God that wasn’t a euphemism.

That was when I saw Ryan.

He had his head down, his shoulders turned in, and he glanced from side to side and over his shoulder as he hurried away from the barn-like building.It was not the stride of a man leisurely picking out a Christmas tree with his family.No, Ryan’s scurrying rush toward the trees was the behavior of someone who was determined to get a place on Santa’s naughty list.

So, I went after him.

I’m not a master of tradecraft (in spy novels, that’s what spies always call it).But fortunately for me, neither was Ryan.He walked in a straight line toward the trees, and although he did glance around and check behind him, all I had to do was stay back, drifting through the crowd of happy families, and not wave my arms or jump in the air or shout my name.(Also, I did pull my hood up, and it made me feel super cool.)

When Ryan reached the rows of trees, I marked the aisle he stepped into.And a few seconds later, I started down the next aisle over.

The change was immediate.The trees were placed close together, and they made the narrow footpath feel like it was cut off from the rest of the world—the sounds of laughter and music faded behind me, and the lights strung overhead thinned and then stopped completely.Even my footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of evergreen needles.The smell of balsam and fir grew stronger, sharper, and while it was pleasant, it also seemed to activate some primitive part of my brain that knew being out alone in a forest, in the dark, was not a great way to keep the human race alive.My heart started to beat faster.The fog was wet on my face.And I was painfully aware of every tiny sound that broke the stillness: branches rustling, the scuff of something moving behind the screen of trees, the rustle of my clothing.

This didn’t make any sense, I told myself.Someone should be out here.Families should be picking trees.

But was this the right spot?I hadn’t really been looking at signs.Maybe this area wasn’t being used right now; maybe that’s why the lights weren’t strung out here.Maybe happy families shopping for happy trees were in another part of the tree farm, far away from here, which meant I was completely alone except—in theory—for Ryan, and if you’ve ever written a mystery novel, you know—

A scream broke through my thoughts.

For the record, Ididn’tscream.Or jump.Or say any bad words.

I did, however, have a single moment of paralyzing panic, and then my body decided now was a great time to take an adrenaline bath, and my heart kicked into triple-overtime.

Somewhere nearby, someone was laughing.

“It’s not funny!”That was Ryan, and to judge by the ragged edge in his voice, I guessed he’d hit the pee-your-pants level of terror.Someone said something I couldn’t hear, and then Ryan said, “I know it’s a bird, dummy.”

If that scream had been a bird—in the fog, out in the middle of this dark, lonely forest—then GaGa needed to start doing a haunted house every year.

“What do you want?”Ryan asked.“What’s so important?”

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