Page 79

Now, I’m numb. My brain only wants to replay my stupidity from the day. Smiling during a murder investigation? Inviting myself over for a platonic slumber party with a hot FBI agent? I can’t even blame Caleb for taking the out because I did all this after finding a dead body in my apartment. I’m mentally and physically incapable of making sense of this night. So instead, I stand in the shower until I’ve burned through two layers of skin. I order room service but can’t eat anything. I watch an episode of Psych but can’t laugh.
Nothing.
TV Shawn and Gus can accomplish a lot, but even they can’t make me forget my last image of Justin. I wish I could have brought my dogs to the hotel with me. I miss having someone to hold when I’m scared and their warm distracting presence. If only Caleb hadn’t left me here with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I thought he was softening toward me, but if he cared at all would he have left me alone?
I text my boss, letting her know what happened and that I won’t be in tomorrow, but before closing out of the application, my thumb hovers over Justin’s name. I hold my breath and click on it, skimming back through his unanswered messages like maybe I can find his murderer somewhere in his texts.
How dumb. It’s not like he texted “Hey Amelia, someone is going to kill me in your bathtub, I hope that’s alright.”
My throat constricts and my eyes cloud over. The tears are an endless running well of what could have been. We wouldn’t have ended up together, I know that, but he still could have had a wife and kids, a life. He could have had a family.
My eyes pop open. Wait, of course, he has a family. Right?
Why don’t I know this conclusively? We were planning a life together. But I never once met them. I should reach out to them and tell them what happened. I need to do something. But where do I even start?
Probably therapy.
I lay my head back against the headboard. I need therapy. Then I need to move, again. I can never live in that apartment knowing Justin died there.
Which brings me back to the question that’s been hovering around in my brain all day.
Who would kill Justin? And why? There was a lot I didn’t know about my former fiancé. Did he have a gambling problem? A drug addiction? And why did he think that a cheap engagement ring would solve any of his problems?
I need to go to his apartment. Maybe then I can find his parents' number and contact them if they haven’t been reached already. It’s the least I can do after he met his demise in my bathtub. Ugh, I’m going to be sick again.
For the second time today, I call Caleb.
“Yes?” he answers.
“Yes?” I repeat. “Who answers the phone like that?”
There’s a beat of silence. “What is it, Amelia?”
I pull the phone away from my ear. Whoever is next door has a very deep voice. I wait but no other sounds follow.
“I want to go to Justin’s apartment.”
“No.” His response is immediate.
“I used to be engaged to him. I used to care about him.” My voice cracks on the last word and I sniff.
Hesighs, the sound long and low.“It’s two in the morning.”
He has a point there. A little suspicious to go snooping around a dead guy’s house in the middle of the night.
“So, in the morning?” There’s no way I’m not going to investigate this. Someone died in my apartment. I deserve to know why.
“Fine,” he says with a grunt, and I glance at the far wall. Who is my neighbor?
I lower my voice for the next part. “I think my neighbor is listening to me. What if the killer followed me here?”
Caleb coughs. “You’re fine.”
“What if they are tracking my phone?”
He lets out a long breath. “I’ll come check it out. Be there in five.”
For a moment I consider telling him not to worry about getting out of bed and coming down to the hotel, that I’ll be okay. But I thought I was safe in my apartment. I’m no longer taking chances. From here on out, I vow to lock all doors!