Page 25 of Haven't Killed in Years

Paranoia is only noise, noise created by fear, fear driven by wants. It was hard to argue with my father’s logic at the moment, since the more I wanted answers, the more paranoid I became. I had to fight the noise. It couldn’t beanyone. Not really. That was weak thinking. It was an excuse for why I hadn’t been able to figure it out.

This person wanted something from me.

Elyse Abbington was inviting me to knife parties. Dominic was desperate to find Marin Haggerty. Jake and his friends—stuck in a state of arrested development—were fixated on massacres and murderers. There had to be something there. But what?

My phone buzzed against my desk and I lifted it enough to stop the echoing rattle against the surface while I read the screen.

It was Dominic. C’mon—the timing! This was a joke, right?

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey,” he said. “How was last night? I heard you were at Jake’s.”

“It was good.” I reached under my sweater, brushing the thin scab across my stomach. “They’re an interesting group.”

“You hear about the body?” he asked.

“Yeah, I bet you’re excited about that.” I was misplacing my residual disgust from the previous night.

“I wouldn’t say it like that. Wondering if they’ll find any evidence. I bet it will heat up the investigation now that there’s a body.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sure,” he said. It was an odd response that didn’t provide me much insight. “What are you doing today?” he transitioned.

“I’m at work. It’s Monday.”

“Can you leave?”

“Why?”

“For an adventure.”

“What kind of adventure?” I’ll admit, I enjoyed Dominic, but I didn’t want to go on some forced mini-golf date because we had kissed.

“I’m going to Worcester to talk to James Calhoun’s ex-wife.”

“What?” I snorted. “Why?”

“I’m following a hunch.”

“The Marin thing?” I tried to be dismissive.

“Yes,the Marin thing,” he said, dismissing my dismissiveness.

I didn’t know what scent he’d picked up, but I couldn’t let him follow it without me. “I can take half a day. Can you wait until noon?”

“Really? Yes, for sure. I’ll pick you up. Where’s your office?”

“Financial district. I’ll meet you at Post Office Square. The pointy side by the FedEx.”

“That means nothing to me, but I assume it will once I get there.”

“Yeah, call me if you don’t see me.”

“Okay, bye.”

I hung up and pulled up the scheduling system, blocking out twelve to six as greenOut of the Office—Personalbefore changing it to blueOut of the Office—Meetingjust in case Karen or Sam or Henry had nefarious intentions after all. It’s okay to be a little paranoid.