Page 63 of Kill Your Darlings

I told him.All of it.About going by the old house, about tracking Colby down and talking to his neighbor, about the long, terrible drive home and the blowout in the middle of nowhere.I told him everything with the exception of Judy Jenning’s oblique comments.Even if I’d felt ready and able to confront the possibility that my father had killed my mother—and I didn’t—wasn’t—things were complicated enough already.

Finn heard me without interruption, though his face grew dark and severe.

When I’d trailed into silence, he said, “Where’s the rental car now?”

“I left it with the valet when I got back last night.”

“And the slashed tire’s still in the trunk?You didn’t dump it along the way?”

Why on earth would I have dumped it along the way?Oh.Right.To cover up the fact that the tire wasn’t slashed.That there had been no flat.That I was making it all up.That was the way Finn’s brain worked.Rudolph had been spot-on in the elevator when he’d characterized Finn’s writing asThose bleak police procedurals.All that violence and betrayal and corruption.

“It’s in the trunk.Yes.”

I watched doubtfully as he rose, tucking in his shirt, buttoning it.With a businesslike air, he rolled up his sleeves, crisp white cotton against tanned forearms.“Where’s the claim ticket?I want to have a look for myself.”

“I’m not sure that will prove anything.I could have slashed the tire.”

He stopped in the process of slipping on his shoes and surveyed me.With a shade of exasperation, he said, “Keir, stop thinking like an editor of mystery novels for a minute.You were tired, stressed, and spooked last night.Anyone would have been.You’re not a mechanic.You might be wrong about what damaged the tire.And you might be reading more into the fact that the driver of the Cadillac stopped to help.Coincidences do happen.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.“We can’t be guessing.We can’t be theorizing.We need to know for sure whether someone really does intend you harm.Because that changes everything.”

He was right.I nodded wearily.

Something changed in his expression.He said more patiently, “It’s going to take me at least forty-five minutes.You didn’t sleep much last night.Why not nap while you can?It’s going to be a hell of a long day.”

He didn’t sound like he was looking forward to it any more than I was.Understandably.

“All right.The claim ticket is in one of my Levis pockets.”

He nodded, turned to go, and I said quickly, “Phineas?”

He turned back; his brows raised in inquiry.

“I’m sorry for involving you in this.It’s the last thing I intended.”

Finn’s smile was sardonic.“NowthatI know is the truth.”

I tried to sleep after Finn left.

I stretched out on the bed and closed my eyes, listening to the rumble of the surf beneath the building.I wanted to sleep.I needed to sleep.But I kept seeing Finn’s face as I’d poured out the whole sick, sad story.I couldn’t not remember how his expression changed from concern and caring to disbelief to professional distance.

He was never going to think of me the same way again.I couldn’t blame him.But it was still difficult.

Regardless of how much Finn deplored my actions, he would try to help, though, and I had finally reached the point of being more grateful for the help than afraid of the consequences.

Last night had been the turning point.Crouched down in the mud and mist, believing I might die in the next few minutes, I’d had an epiphany.

I, too, was tired of the silences and secrets.

I did not want to die.That went without saying.But I also did not want to live without companionship and love and intimacy.

I’d built a good life for myself.I was financially comfortable.I had work I enjoyed and found meaningful.I was liked and respected by my colleagues.Mostly.I had friends and an active social life.I had my dear little cats.I had my health.Most of the time.

None of which changed the fact that I was lonely.

Intensely lonely.

And had been for years.

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