Page 68 of 4th Silence
19
Charlie
* * *
JJ strides toward Alex’s car with easy confidence. His breath forms small clouds in the frigid air, one hand raised in a lazy salute. A man walking into a poker game rather than a showdown with a killer.
I stand frozen at the gate, my fingers gripping the cold metal. They’ve gone numb, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the tension coiling inside me.
My feet burn from the snow. My ankle sends white-hot pain up my leg.
“Seems like there’s been some misunderstanding,” JJ says, his voice unconcerned. He glances at me as if confirming Meg’s story. I give a nod. His gaze slides down my legs to my stocking feet, and a small crease forms between his brows. “Why don’t we go inside, and everyone can give me their version?”
Yes, please. I’m turning blue.
Meg’s hands go to her waist. She doesn’t seem dizzy, so that’s a good sign. Between her head injury and my frostbite, we’ll need a tour of the ER soon.
Mom hovers like a mother lion near JJ, my gun at her side. I see the anger in her expression, and I second it—I want to throttle Alex myself for leading us on this chase. For hurting Meg. I ease closer to Mom, intent on relieving her of my weapon.
God. My mother has my gun and is ready to shoot this man.
Alex’s hand tightens on his car door. “I was just leaving.”
“Won’t take long,” JJ says. His tall frame casually blocks Alex from running, just like his car blocks the end of the grand drive, a chess move so smooth Alex probably doesn’t even realize he’s been cornered. “Grab the purse, and let’s go inside.”
My heart beats hard against my ribs. A brutal chill racks my body. I watch Alex’s eyes dart to the Sherman bag sitting on his passenger seat. “It’s my mother’s,” he replies, as if this explains everything.
It does.
JJ nods. “Mind if I take a look?” I hold my breath, watching this masterful performance. JJ, the Emperor of Cold Cases, is playing the part of friend to perfection. Charming. Casual. Not Alex’s boss. Not the man who’s going to call the police and have him arrested.
Alex hesitates, and a flash of something dark crosses his face—calculation, fear, desperation—before he composes himself again. He’s spooked.
“Actually,” JJ continues, his tone light, “why don’t you take it out and show me? The craftsmanship on those things is supposed to be exceptional. At least, that’s what Charlie tells me. She’s into that designer stuff.” His gaze flicks to me again, to my feet. “I wouldn’t know a Sherman from a knockoff.”
A standoff ensues, brief but sharp as static. Alex’s eyes flick around, mind racing for an escape that doesn’t exist. He knows—knows—that JJ is playing him, but he’s too polite, or too cornered, to admit it.
With a drawn-out reluctance, he reaches across the seat and retrieves the bag. “Fine.” He places it on the hood of his car. “It’s just a purse. I don’t know why Charlie and Meg are making such a big deal out of it.”
But it isn’t just a purse. It’s the linchpin.
It’s a loaded gun in a designer disguise.
As it sits there between them, Alex drums his fingers against his thigh. His eyes dart between JJ, the Sherman, and the street beyond.
“How much is a vintage purse like this worth?” JJ asks, not touching it yet, just admiring it from where he stands.
Mom shifts, tired of the game. Meg is coiled like a spring.
Alex hedges. Behind his eyes, I see a recalculation. His composure is melting like the snow under my feet.
“My mother is innocent,” he blurts, his voice rising with an edge of agitation that splits the air. “She didn’t kill Tiffany. I don’t care what you think that purse proves.”
JJ maintains that perfect poker face. “I never said anything about murder.”
Alex blusters. “That’s what this is about. That’s why the sisters came here.” His gaze sweeps past JJ to pin me. “Look, I took it because it belonged to my mother. That’s all. When your sister tried to stop me, I panicked.”
The lie is clumsy, but it gives him something to hold onto. I walk alongside JJ’s car. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a blanket on the backseat. “So, you hit her with it? An overreaction, don’t you think?”
