“Tell me you’re on your way over here,” I say.
“Natalie, we have to talk.”
Oh no. Again? This is not leading anywhere good. “What? Why?”
“Look…” He heaves a long sigh. “That detective came to see me again…”
I can see where this is leading, and I don’t like it. “Caleb…”
“He kept pushing me.” He sounds anguished. “He kept asking me if I was sure I was with you the whole night. He kept talking about the penalty for lying to a police officer. That guy is scary.”
“Please tell me you didn’t…”
“I had to tell him the truth, Nat.” His voice cracks. “I told him that I left at 9:30. I’m so sorry.”
I want to reach through the phone and strangle him with my bare hands. “How could you do that to me? Do you know how this is going to look?”
“I’m sorry—I really am. But what was I supposed to do? Lie to a cop?”
“You already did it once. It’s not like he was going to find out.”
“He could have found out!” He’s just short of shouting. “I live in an apartment building. I’ve got a bunch of neighbors on my own floor. I saw somebody in the elevator on my way up. He could’ve easily found out I was lying.”
“He never would’ve found out.”
“You don’t know that. I could have gotten in a lot of trouble. Honestly, you shouldn’t have asked me to do it in the first place. It wasn’t right.”
I’m squeezing the phone so tightly, I’m shocked that it doesn’t crack in my hand. “You could’ve at least given me a heads-up. That detective already has it in for me. If you had told me, I could have told him first, at least. Instead of looking like a liar.”
He’s quiet for a moment on the other line. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I promise you, I wasn’t planning to tell him. He just… he got it out of me.”
As furious as I am with Caleb right now, I believe him. I know how persuasive and frightening Santoro can be. I can imagine Caleb cracking under the pressure. Especially since he didn’t feel great about lying in the first place. He’s right—I never should have asked him.
But in my defense, I thought he was utterly infatuated with me. Now I’m not so sure. And I had no idea how weak he is.
“I’m so sorry,” he says for what seems like the millionth useless time. “I mean, this hurts me too. I don’t have an alibi either now.”
Right, but so what? Santoro doesn’t think he’s the killer. That honor has been bestowed onto me and me alone.
“Do you still want me to come over?” he asks in a small voice.
“Please don’t. I’d rather be alone.”
I don’t actually want to be alone, but I don’t even want to look at Caleb right now. My chest aches, and it hits me that the person I want to see most in the world right now is Seth, but then I remember he hates me.
It’s amazing how quickly I’ve become isolated from my entire social network. My boyfriend has betrayed me. My former lover thinks I’m a thief. And even my best friend was looking at me funny.
“I’ll come to the 5K tomorrow,” he says. A peace offering. “I’ve got my T-shirt all laid out on my dresser.”
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry, Nat.” Every time he says it, it’s a knife in my heart. “But I’m sure this will all blow over. I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong. How could you have? That detective is just giving you a hard time.”
“Yeah…”
Except there’s something more going on. I haven’t told Caleb about that ceramic turtle I found in my laundry hamper, and after he snitched on me to the detective, there’s no way I would consider it. But there’s a reason Santoro keeps hounding me. I don’t know what it is, but somebody has it in for me. I just don’t know who. Or why.
The doorbell rings, and I almost jump out of my skin. Even from the sofa, I can see the red and blue lights flashing behind the front door.
Oh no.
“Caleb,” I gasp. “I’ve got to go.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I… I’m fine. I have to go.”
Before he can answer, I end the call. I rise from the sofa, facing the lights of the police vehicle. Except it’s not just the one light on top of the detective’s car. It’s more than that. There are a bunch of police cars outside my house.
Something terrible is about to happen.
Chapter Forty-Two
I stand at the door for several minutes, shaking too hard to work the lock and get it open. Part of me wants to make a run for it. I could go out the back door and then…
Well, what could I do? My car is parked in front of the house. There’s nowhere to go. And I’m hardly the type to be on the run from the police.
Finally, I turn the locks and crack open the front door. It’s no surprise that Detective Santoro is standing in front of my door. It’s hard to remember a time when I used to be able to open the door and he wasn’t standing there.
“Hello, Miss Farrell.” He doesn’t even crack a grim smile. His lips are a straight line. “We have a warrant to search your house.”
I don’t doubt that the warrant was obtained after my stupid boyfriend informed him that I did not, in fact, have an alibi.
“I see.” I feel like I’m choking. “I guess then… come in.”
I step aside to allow the detective and his crew into my house. This seems like the deepest violation. These police officers are in my home. But what can I do? They obviously had enough evidence to get a warrant to search the place. I don’t know how though. I mean, half of Boston probably doesn’t have an alibi for last Monday night.
“Should I wait in my car?” I ask in a tiny voice.
“We gotta search your car too,” he says, without a hint of apology in his voice. “I need you to open the locks on the door.”
I don’t have much choice but to cooperate. I grab my car keys, point them in the direction of my car, and I hit the key fob to unlock the doors. The lights flash as the doors unlock.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I ask Santoro.
He looks at me thoughtfully. “You can sit on your couch in the living room. I’ll stay with you.”
“Can I stay with a friend?” I could call Kim and crash at her place. If she’ll let me.
“I’m afraid not. I need you to stay on the premises.”
We head back into my living room, Santoro leading the way, and I follow wordlessly. I searched the house pretty thoroughly last night, but not as thoroughly as these officers seem to be looking. I can hear loud noises coming from upstairs in the kitchen. The sound of a dish breaking.
Thank God I got rid of that ceramic turtle. I even ran all the clothing in the laundry hamper through the wash.
I sit gingerly on the sofa, and Santoro sits beside me. His black eyes are trained on mine. The room feels unbearably stuffy, like I can’t even breathe. I wish I could go outside, but it’s really cold out. Still, I’d rather be anywhere but here.