Page 78 of A Murder is Going Down

‘Aunty Sam’s not selling the house.’ I undo my seatbelt. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘Wasn’t your aunt talking about selling?’ Michael asks.

‘Aunty Sam would never.’

‘I just thought … but I guess now she’s got this US tourand everything she doesn’t have to,’ Michael says, getting out of the car.

Lilia and I follow him.

‘I’d better go home,’ she says.

There’s no sign of either her mum’s car or Ben’s, so maybe I should care how she plans on doing that, but I’m too distracted by what Michael’s just said.

Inside the house, I track Patrick down in the kitchen, just in time for him to open the fridge door into my knee.

‘Ah!’ I yell.

‘Shit. Sorry. Are you okay?’ Patrick asks.

I try to play it down. ‘I’m fine. Scars are cool, right?’

‘Sorry. I didn’t hear you.’ Patrick pulls his over-ear headphones off his head with one hand and puts a carton of milk down on the bench with the other. ‘How did you guys go?’

I think about telling him it’s none of his business, now that he’s decided he doesn’t care about investigating Felix’s death. But, come on, I don’t have that kind of self-restraint.

‘We found a note and a thread that might be from someone’s clothes,’ I say, going straight to the highlights.

‘What note?’

‘It was a piece of paper with the wordsI’m sorryon it.’

‘Just lying around?’ Patrick looks as sceptical as Lilia was. It’s annoying.

‘It has the name of some hotel on it, too,’ I say. ‘Pluswe found this yellow-gold thread caught on a bush near the road.’

Patrick has an expression that tells me he’s not planning to break down the door of the local police station to deliver this crucial new evidence.

‘They probably mean nothing, though, right? Otherwise the cops would have spotted them,’ I say. Then I remember the best bit. ‘I’m more interested in the fact that Ben rang Felix the night he died.’

It’s only now I remember that not only has Patrick tapped out of this investigation, he’s landed himself on the list of suspects. The cops surely don’t discuss evidence withtheirsuspects. But despite my suspicions, I can’t quite help myself. Or maybe I want to suck him back in.

‘How do you know that?’ Patrick asks, looking impressed for the first time. He flicks on the kettle and gets out a mug and a teabag. ‘Do you want one? There’s English breakfast or one of Elena’s ginger monstrosities.’

I shake my head.

‘Lilia checked his phone.’

‘That’s quite bad-arse,’ Patrick says and the twist in my stomach feels like jealousy. ‘Do I still have to hate her?’

‘I don’t even know anymore.’

‘Are you two … friends again?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say immediately.

‘Forget I said anything.’

‘I’d love to,’ I say.