Page 68 of One Last Chance

Chapter 25

My mouth hurt.My head was on fire. I wouldn’t have cared, except that it was distracting me from what I was trying to do. I had my notebook in front of me and was flipping my pen between my fingers, frowning down at the chicken scratch notes I’d scribbled down in moments of inspiration.

Dayle had been a dead end. He hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that he was pleased with Hunter’s death and my incarceration—of course he’d been happy about it, it had been great for his business. He’d bragged about all the shady shit he did to keep his products moving, even admitted to taking a hit out on a rival drug dealer several years before. But he wouldn’t admit to killing Hunter.

Not that I trusted him or anything, but there was no indication in his expression or tone that he was lying. He’d stated his innocence as fact, just as he’d stated his guilt. What bothered me most was how badly I wanted him to be the killer. It would have been an easy fix to so many of my problems and Dayle being the culprit would also make a lot of damn sense. I could feel my mind trying to stretch reality to fit the hypothesis. It was the first step into a descent into madness and I knew it.

Murder is bigger than anything he admitted to, even the hit, I thought. But for him to admit to it, he’d have to be proud enough to brag about it. Hunter’s killer had been a coward, hitting him from the back. Which had been another reason they thought it was me—they assumed I hit from the back because I couldn’t stomach looking into my best friend’s eyes as I killed him. Dayle, on the other hand, I’m sure would have bludgeoned Hunter to death while staring right through to his soul.

I started to get that sinking feeling again. I’d ridden this wave over and over again, every time I looked over the evidence against me. Everything pointed at me, every tiny little thing. It all sketched a picture of someone close to Hunter and Hunter’s business who, in a moment of fury, attacked him from behind. I fit so well in that picture, especially with how pissed off I’d been at Hunter in those last few weeks, that sometimes it made me question my own memory of what happened that night.

Every attempt to see the situation clearly bumped up against that same obstacle. A ghost image of me kept clouding the picture, making it impossible for me to figure out who had actually been standing in that place. I could make a list of every single person Hunter knew, and—

“And that wouldn’t help either,” I muttered, tossing my pen down in disgust. “The cops already did that, and they narrowed it down to me. I’d follow that same logic and end up at the same conclusion.”

I stood and stretched, cracked my neck, and started pacing the room. I needed a new angle. For as much as I hated the thought of it, I would have to go out to the spot where Hunter’s body had been found and look at the scene through the eyes of a killer. Which, of course, to a lot of people, would have solidified my guilt even more. Something akin to the killer feeling an unfightable urge to return to the crime scene.

“Great plan,” I told myself sarcastically. “Like the line between me and the killer isn’t blurred enough.”

I growled and turned on my heel. I was right next to my door when someone knocked on it. They only got one knuckle rap in before I yanked the thing open. A very startled Leroy stood on the other side, his eyes wide and hazy as he looked up at me.

“I was about to get started,” I snapped. “You don’t have to hound me.”

Leroy’s startled expression twisted into a glare. “I ain’t hounding you, boy. You got a phone call downstairs.”

I looked at him sideways. “Who is it?”

“How the hell should I know? Sounds personal, though.” His tone was suggestive, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Personal in that tone meant female. Heart sinking slowly, I brushed past him into the hallway.

“Hey, hold up, Kash. You know you can’t use the motel for personal calls, right? Especially those kinds of calls, you know what I’m saying? If you’re dealing again, you can’t use my phone for deals. Ever.”

I ignored him. The constant accusations of drug dealing from all sides was getting annoying and I was afraid that acknowledging his would only lead to my second fist fight of the day.

Leroy trotted a little to keep up with me. He was so out of breath that you’d have thought he ran a damn marathon to get to my room.

“Don’t get me wrong, though,” he continued, “I’m willing to look past it—if you cut me in. I could use the money, you know. Cutting you a break on that room has been painful on the pocketbook, if you get what I’m saying?”

I didn’t answer. I knew how much money I’d saved him with my handiwork. He’d have been out more than he could afford if he’d have hired someone off the streets for the job. The only damn thing that was hard on Leroy’s pocketbook was his drug habit, which is what he was trying to get a lottery ticket to cushioning. He kept after me though, chattering on as I took the stairs two at a time.

“All right, well, just so you know, this is the last time I’mma let you use the phone!” He called after me.

I picked up the receiver. “Kash Lawson speaking.”

“Hi Kash, it’s Daisy.” She sounded wooden and strange, almost like she was reading from a script.

“Daisy? Is something wrong?” She had never called me before. Not since I got back in town, anyway. We’d skipped out on exchanging phone numbers, for the sake of keeping our relationship a secret from dear old daddy. Our meetings were always prescheduled, accidental, or a result of me showing up to the library. The fact that she was calling on the motel phone sent so many warning bells ringing through my head. Was she okay? Was her mother okay? Did her father croak?

“No, nothing is wrong,” she said and I let out a long, satisfying breath. Okay, so nobody died, that was good. But it still didn’t answer the question as to her picking up the phone to ring me here.

“What’s up?” I asked, keeping my voice careful.

“ I was just calling to invite you to dinner at my house.”

A sick twist gripped my stomach. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. Almost pinched my damn self too, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming or making this shit up. I’d been hit in the head hard, sure. But…this was next level. “You’re inviting me to where to do…what?”

“My parents and I would like you to join us for dinner,” she repeated, again, the tone of her voice struck harder than her words.

“Your—parents.” My heart thundered in my chest, making my voice louder than I had intended. “Daisy, are you okay?”

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