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“Then give me your phone so I can call the police.”
He lifts a brow. “You don’t have your phone? That’s not very responsible. What if you come across someone dangerous?”
“Like you?”
He rolls his eyes and takes a step closer.
I hold the hair dryer higher and pull the aerosol out of my shirt.
He cocks a brow. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Is that what you told Justin right before you stabbed him in the heart?”
His eyes narrow. “I didn’t kill Justin. I didn’t kill anyone!” he yells.
“Careful, you’re becoming unhinged.” Like a psychopath.
He steps closer. “Look, I just need that box. Tell me where you hid it and I’ll disappear again.”
“Why?” I counter his movements, stepping back when he steps forward.
He scrubs a hand over a beard that’s new since the last time I saw him. “Why do you keep asking questions?”
“Because that’s what they do in the movies. The villain always explains their motives, giving the victim time to think of an escape.” Shoot, I just gave up my whole plan!
His lips curve up. “And did you?”
Not even a little bit. It’s harder than it looks trying to get the killer to confess, and look for an escape route, and not die in the process. “Not yet. Keep talking.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous, Amelia. Put your toys away and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“I’ll keep my hair products, thank you. But feel free to spill your guts. How did you know my parents?”
He purses his lips, debating for a full minute before finally speaking. “I met them twice. Once in New York.”
Hearing him say those words knocks the breath out of my lungs. I wanted him to deny that he knew them, that it was all a big misunderstanding. But it wasn’t.
My hand holding the hair dryer trembles. “Explain.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “They caught me at a bad time. I was…running from something. I knocked over your poor mom and felt terrible. I knelt down to help and accidentally grabbed your dad’s black bag instead of my own when I left. I didn’t notice until I made it to, uh…safety.”
“The jewelry box was in your bag?” I ask. It was never my grandmother’s.
He nods. “It took me a couple of weeks to track your parents down, and when I finally found them again, they were in Italy.”
The blood drains from my face and I stomp toward him, hair dryer raised high. “Did you run them off the road? Did you kill them for a stupid box?”
He jumps back. “No! I just searched their room. I quickly realized they were on vacation and didn’t have the box with them. I approached them then and told them what had happened. But they didn’t believe the box was mine. They thought I stole it. They were correct on that one.” He smirks. “I did steal it.”
“You talked to them?” I whisper, like that last conversation was something special simply because it was their last.
“They’d already had the box appraised and realized it was worth a lot of money. They weren’t going to hand it over to just anyone. But they hadn’t realized it was stolen until I approached them about it,” Liam continues like he didn’t hear me. “They didn’t know it was Scarlett’s, or I assume they would have turned it over to the police. Along with me.”
Scarlett…Winthrop. His girlfriend.
“They told me to leave, so I did. But I kept an eye on them. Saw them buy a painting, and saw your mom in the room taking the painting apart and making her own. It looked suspicious, so I snagged my own from the local museum and tried to intercept their painting, but it got lost. I’d planned on following them home, but…”
They never made it.