Page 40 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Jet slumped back against the sofa, forgetting about her broken head, hissing when the bandage made contact. ‘Talk about kicking me when I’m down.’ She waved the letter, sharp edges carving through theCedar Delight-scented air.

Billy studied her. ‘Well, it might not … might not be a coincidence, Jet.’

She sat back up.

‘Couldn’t this be related to your attack?’

Jet studied him back. ‘You think?’

‘I mean, has this ever happened to you before?’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘And I’ve never been murdered before either.’

‘Exactly.’ He stood up. ‘I think we need to take this to the police. Aren’t they looking for a reason someone might have wanted to kill you?’

‘Over thirty grand?’ Funny, Jet always thought she might be worth more than that. ‘You’re right,’ she sniffed, getting to her feet, swiping Billy’s spare key from the table.

This wassomething.More than clicking up and down River Street on Google Maps. A possible lead.

She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door, put iton, key in one pocket – where her other keys lived – letter and envelope in the other. Patted her jeans pocket to check she had her phone, remembered that checking was useless; her phone was with her killer.

She slipped her thick socks into her Birkenstock clogs.

‘See you later,’ Jet said, reaching for the door.

‘Oh,’ Billy replied, one arm already inside his fur-lined denim jacket. ‘I thought … no, yeah, that’s fine.’

Jet faltered in the open doorway. ‘Oh,’ she said too. ‘I just thought you’d be busy, you know. I’m probably imposing enough, right? Don’t need to take up any more of your time.’

Billy’s jacket fell, his face too, catching it with the hook of his little finger. The jacket, that is, not his face. He’d already picked that up, a one-sided smile. ‘Yeah, no, you’re right. I’ve actually g-got a shift at the bar later anyway, so that’s … yeah, that’s fine. S-see you later.’

Later.The meaning different now, shortened to a few hours. Because that’s the only kind oflaterJet had left.

‘Yeah, see you later, Billy.’

9

‘And when did this arrive?’ Detective Ecker’s eyes scanned down the letter again, creasing by his thumbs.

‘Came in the mail this morning.’ Jet sat across the table from Detective Ecker and the chief, tucked into metal chairs that were too small for them. Jack Finney stood against the back wall of the interview room, a file in his hands, hugging it to his chest.

Ecker glanced at the digital clock hanging over Jet’s head. She turned to follow his eyes: 4:52 p.m. It had the seconds too, ticking up in angry red digits – red for danger, and blood, and mistakes.

‘I didn’t open it until this afternoon,’ she said, answering a question he hadn’t asked. ‘And I sat in re-re-re – the waiting room for over an hour, waiting for you to get here. You know I’m on a bit of a tight deadline, right?’

Ecker didn’t answer, even though Jethadasked him a question. He studied the letter again, moving his thumbs down, the top half of the page flopping over.

‘The loan was taken out two months ago,’ he said. ‘And the first repayment was supposed to be made last week.’

Jet shrugged. ‘Guess I’ve got bigger things to worry about than a bad credit score.’ She rubbed the spot above her eye, the pain deepening under these bright overhead lights. They never heard of soft lighting? Lamps?

‘And you don’t recognize this bank account number? The one the money was paid into?’

‘Nope, that’s not mine.’

Ecker clicked his tongue. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘we’ll look into it.’

‘You think it’s related? To my murder?’

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