Page 44 of Always Murder

“I just wanted to know who assigns—”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she threw the door open.“I’m late.”

Before I could argue, she threw herself into the Civic, slammed the door, and sped away.

I tried not to dwell on it, but the fact that the Jinx St.James plan had worked better than mine was a bitter pill to swallow.

Without any other genius ideas, I wound my way back to Hemlock House and convinced myself to take advantage of the time.I needed to make some progress on this novel.At the bare minimum, I needed to make some decisions about the plot.And I was going to make those decisions today.I was going to be efficient.I was going to be pragmatic.I was going to lock down this outline so I could start writing.

At least, that was the plan.

Quicker than I could believe, night had fallen, and it was time to pay a visit to the Naughts.The glow from the Christmas lights softened the shadows behind me as I drove away from Hemlock House, and then I entered the forest, and darkness closed around me.

It had been a gray, gloomy day, and it made for an even gloomier night.The fog was thicker than usual among the Sitka spruce.And even though it was cold enough that I had the Pilot’s heater all the way up, it apparently wasn’t cold enough for ice, because when the headlights swept across ferns and hanging moss, drops of water glistened.I thought about turning on the radio or playing some music on my phone.But I didn’t.Instead, I started thinking about Bobby again.

Until now, I had successfully avoided ruminating on the absolute weirdness of our interaction in the cruiser earlier that day.But now, alone in the SUV, I couldn’t avoid it anymore.What had happened?I’d complimented him on how he’d handled Sissy—I mean,Ithought it was a compliment.I knew Bobby was good at his job.I knew Bobby took pride in being a good deputy.And while I knew comparisons could be seriously bad news, I couldn’t help thinking about how Bobby’s ex, West, had been sounsupportive of Bobby’s career.They’d fought about it.A lot.If you could call it a fight, when West got angrier and angrier, and Bobby nodded and agreed and got quieter and quieter.

Like how in the cruiser that morning, he’d said,Thanks.

And then that was it.The conversation had pretty much been over.

It made me want to say all the words that would have gotten Rudolph kicked out of the reindeer games.It didn’t make any sense.Bobby and I hadn’t been fighting.We’d been doing theoppositeof fighting.(Actually, maybe the opposite of fighting was, um, adult time, but you know what I mean.) I’d been trying to be positive and supportive and encouraging about Bobby’s career.I hadalwaystried to be supportive.Even when Bobby and I had only been friends, I’d known how much it meant to him to be a good deputy.

Oh my God, I thought.Were we in a fight?

The thought was so disorienting that I actually couldn’t think of an answer.With West, it had been obvious because West had been so vocal, so angry.But Bobby’s behavior had been the same.I remembered the way he’d said,Can I turn off the lights, and I felt that same sense of disorientation as another thought spun around me: WasBobbyfighting withme?

No.

That was—

I mean.

But hecouldn’t.Bobby didn’t pick fights.Bobby didn’t get mad.Bobby waspatient.

I took several deep breaths.My heart was racing.My hands felt stiff, and my joints throbbed like miniature pulse points.Flop sweat had broken out under my arms, and that familiar tightness closed around my chest.

Maybe it was because of Ryan’s stupid username, but the realization that bubbled up was:You’re about three french fries short of a full-blown panic attack.

(People say that, right?)

Part of me thought I should pull over.Another part of me thought if I pulled over, Iwouldhave a full-blown panic attack.Instead, I lowered the window.The cold air rushed in, wet and bracing with the smell of balsam.Against my flushed face, it felt wonderful.My eyes stung, and I blinked them clear.Then the tires bounced as I started to go onto the shoulder, and a fresh—and more immediate—fear ran through me.I brought the Pilot back onto the road.

Drive, I told myself.Just drive.

It wasn’t as easy as that.Thoughts kept bubbling up.But I drove, and I managed to stay on the road.

When I pulled up in front of Millie’s house, I parked and killed the engine.My hands had stopped shaking; now they felt numb.I couldn’t tell if my pulse was racing.My eyes were so dry they felt gummy, and I realized one of the Pilot’s vents was blowing right in my face.I angled it away from me.

I should go home, I thought.I wasn’t in any condition to be investigating.I should go home and call Bobby and—

Apologize?For what?

But Bobby wouldn’t be home.He was working another double, and then he’d have Christmas Eve off, which worked out perfectly because he had to work on Christmas, so we were going to do all our celebrating on Christmas Eve, and—

And I could see it, everything we’d talked about and planned, not only Christmas but—but everything.EverythingI’dplanned, even if I hadn’t said it to him.Hadn’t said it aloud to anyone.Because Bobby was a prize, and I didn’t want to scare him off by saying something insane like,You’re perfect, and I’m never going to let you go.

And at the same time, I could hear him rolling over in bed, in the dark.Hear him saying,Thanks.

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