Page 61 of The Writer

“Marley, no.”

“Don’t you see how dangerous this is getting? For you, especially. I mean, everything that’s happened so far relates back to you.” She lowers her voice. “They even murdered someone in the same way your college roommate was killed.”

“Exactly. It all relates back to me,” I say. “The cops will think I’m guilty.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, I’ll back you up. You might even have an alibi for when the murder was committed.”

Problem is, I don’t. I spent that night alone at the apartment. Even Crystal wouldn’t be able to vouch for me.

“Just give me a little bit longer,” I say. “Come to the next meeting. Between the two of us, we can figure out who is doing this.”

Marley leans back and looks down into her lap. “I’m not sure I’m up for it.”

“What’s gotten into you? The other night you were more passionate about this than I was. What’s changed?”

“Maybe I realized it’s more satisfying reading about the aftermath of a crime than investigating it in real-time.”

But that’s not it. There’s something else there, a hidden agenda that Marley is reluctant to share. Even if I can’t trust her fully, she’s the closest thing I have to an ally.

“I’ll go to the police, okay? I just need a little more time first.”

“Just be careful.” She nods as she stands. “And in the meantime, leave me out of this.”

THIRTY-ONE

I’m not able to make good on my promise to reach out to the police. Before I’m given the chance, they approach me.

When I see Chaz standing by the entrance to Mario’s Pizzeria, I assume he’s coming in for an early dinner. I barely notice the person standing next to him, an older man in a stiff brown suit, until he displays a dull brass badge.

“Becca, mind if we have a word with you?”

I look between the detective holding the badge and Chaz. “I’m about to start my shift.”

“We’ve already talked with your manager, Nikki,” the man says. “She’s understanding. Even offered us the back booth so we can have some privacy.”

No one has ever described Nikki as understanding. She’s probably eaten up with curiosity and glee at the idea of police officers showing up to speak with me. Again, I look at Chaz, but his eyes remain on the ground as we go inside.

We’re sitting in the back of the restaurant, the same place I sat with Marley to go over our potential theories. Something about this meeting feels different, the stakes raised. It’s intimidating talking to law enforcement, even if you’re sure you’ve done nothing wrong.

Chaz sits across from me in the booth, still staring at his hands. The other officer pulls a chair to the end of the table and sits. “I’m Detective Wooley,” he says. “I understand you already know my partner.”

“He comes in a couple nights a week,” I say, staring at Chaz until he finally raises his head and acknowledges me. “What can I help you with, officers?”

“Chaz said you shared a theory with him,” Wooley says, leaning closer. “I’d like to hear it.”

My nerves relax. Perhaps, after further consideration, Chaz decided my idea wasn’t that far-fetched after all.

“You see, I’m in this writing group,” I explain, rambling through the basic dynamics of our group, including Marley, the newest member. Chaz already knows these details, but I explain to Detective Wooley the pattern I noticed between the slashed tires and the hit-and-run, how each crime mirrored one of the stories shared in group.

I don’t yet present Marley’s theory, that this person might have started murdering more than a year ago. Or that I’ve made another connection between the story I wrote and the murder of Jessica Wilder last week. I’m afraid if I give them too much information all at once, they’ll become overwhelmed and laugh me out of the room.

“So, this group. You meet once, twice a week?” Chaz asks.

“This month we’ve met twice,” I say. “For NaNoWriMo.”

“What?” Officer Wooley asks.

“We’ve upped our number of meetings because we’re all trying to write a novel in one month’s time.”

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