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“I’m not leaving you.”
“If you don’t go, you’ll have to deal with a shootout instead.Is that better?”
His face was lost in the shadows, but the strain distorted his breathing.
“Go,” I whispered.“I’ll be okay.”
“Once she’s halfway down the aisle, I want you to start backing up.If she makes a move, run.”
“Go,” I said again.“Go.”
He gripped my shoulder.And then he slipped away, hurrying down the next aisle.
To cover the sounds of his movement, I raised my voice and called, “Andrea, right?”
The soft, scuffing steps stopped.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
Nothing.
Making casual conversation with murderers was one of those life skills you can’t put on a resume.But it was, apparently, mything, as the kids say, and since every second bought Bobby more time, I opened my mouth and let the brilliant dialogue flow.
“That was a smart move, the way you played it the other day with me and Millie in the office,” I said.“Risky.You almost pulled it off.”
Silence.
“You’ve made a lot of smart moves,” I said.“What happened?How did it go wrong?”
(Okay, maybenotso brilliant.)
Another of those whispery scuffs moved in my direction.
“Did she catch you stealing?”I asked.
“I wasn’t stealing.”
I’d heard that voice before, on the day Millie and I had visited CPF.It belonged to the woman who had impersonated Luz Hernandez—Andrea, her daughter, the one Paul had told us was always getting into fights with her mom.
“What was it then?”I asked.“A misunderstanding?”
“She always blamed me for everything,” Andrea said.“She always thought I was doing something wrong.The envelopetore.It wasn’t my fault.”
It wasn’t difficult to imagine what had happened: Paul had told us that Luz was hard on everyone, even her daughter.One day, Luz had stumbled on Andrea with a package she’d opened.A package from Japan.Only instead of something valuable or cool, it was a quirky gay manga, and it was absolutely worthless.
“But your mom didn’t—”
“She didn’t believe me.She wouldn’t even let me explain.”
“Right, I was getting to that part—”
“She went crazy.She dragged me into her office.She was screaming.She was always screaming.‘What do you think you’re doing?’and ‘How stupid are you?’and ‘I’m not cleaning up another of your messes.’I didn’t—” Andrea’s voice skipped a beat.“I didn’t have to put up with that.I tried to leave, and—and shegrabbedme.She washurtingme.”Disbelief hollowed out the final words.The empty span of seconds that followed felt cracked, broken open.And then, with a kind of anesthetized calm, Andrea said, “I was defending myself.”
Something small, I thought.A utility knife, maybe.A hammer or a wrench.“And then you had to—”
“It’s all her fault,” Andrea said, voice warbling like she might cry.“She ruins everything.The package was like that when I found it.I tried to tell her, and she wouldn’t listen, and she grabbed me, and then she was justlyingthere.”
“But you’re smart,” I said.“You came up with a plan.The warehouse staff was overworked and spread too thin.You knew where you could hide the body.Only for a few days until you knew you could get rid of it safely.On Christmas Eve.After everyone went home, when the big rush to get everything delivered was finally over.But you had to move quickly, so you—”