Page 73 of A Murder is Going Down

‘Tell me you’re not wrapped up inthe investigation,’ Michael says. He makes the wordinvestigationsound like something you pull out of the bathroom drain.

Rude.

‘Sort of,’ Lilia says again.

‘No,’ I say. Why does this keep happening?

‘Glad that’s settled,’ Michael says, looking between us. ‘We’re going out to Elena’s if you want to come, Lilian – was it? You can fill Heidi in on the way.’

I’m surprised by the offer. Given Michael wants me to drop the whole thing, I suspect he knows exactly who Lilia is and has only invited her to annoy me. She says yes before I can decide if I want to say no.

When Michael starts the car, Wilco are playing on the stereo and my body shivers before my brain knows why. Wilco were Felix’s favourite band – he was wearing one of their t-shirts when he died, which Aunty Sam decided was a comfort – and it’s impossible not to think of him when I hear them.

‘Sorry,’ Michael says and changes the radio station. Apparently, he gets it.

Driving with Michael at the wheel and Lilia in the back is weird. I know Lilia too well and Michael not enough. He’s the most extroverted of the siblings, which helps. His resemblance to Patrick helps too: it’s almost enough to fool my brain into thinking we’re already friends.

I’m still reeling from the revelation that Patrick might have been in town before Felix died, but I’m not ready to talk about that and especially not with his brother. Instead, I ask Michael a string of questions about Patrick. Michael is a chatter and tells me way too much. Bad haircuts! The summer he decided he was going to become a puppeteer! His first girlfriend! The latter nearly derails me (I wantdetails), but I try to stay focused. This might be my onlychance to get some insight into Patrick from the person who knows him best.

‘I don’t get why Patrick’s suddenly decided he’s not interested in how Felix died,’ I say.

‘Hmm.’ Michael’s eyes are on the road as he navigates a tight bend and it’s hard to tell if he heard me.

‘Has he said anything to you about it?’ I ask.

‘No.’ He frowns. ‘But you know how he felt about Felix, right?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Patrick always blamed Felix for Elena’s accident.’

‘What happened the night Elena got hurt?’ I ask.

‘Don’t you know?’ Michael asks.

I’ve heard the story before, from Aunty Sam, but the people who love us can never truly be trusted to tell us the truth, can they? If Felix did something to hurt Elena, I’m not convinced Aunty Sam would have wanted me to know.

‘I’d like to hear you tell it,’ I say.

‘I’ve only heard Elena’s version,’ Michael warns me.

‘Shewasthere.’

‘She did bang her head, though.’

‘This is a lot of build-up.’

‘Okay, okay. The way Elena tells it, Felix came home from a work trip and left his bag at the top of the stairs.Her foot got caught in the strap, she tripped and fell down the stairs.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘Is there a reason why Patrick blamed Felix for the accident, beyond leaving his bag at the top of the stairs?’ I ask.

There’s a long silence. Maybe that’s a coincidence and Michael is just moving through a tricky intersection that requires his full attention, or maybe it’s not. It’s the kind of silence that begs to be filled, that urges me to step in with aforget about itor aI’m being stupid.

I say nothing. (Is this personal growth? Has being so horrendously dumped by Ben and betrayed by Lilia and possiblysomething-ed by Patrick turned me into a more mature person capable of sitting with uncomfortable silences? The idea is thrilling.)