Page 70 of My Girl

“Hey there, beautiful,” Ned laughs. “I’m not going to bite.”

I exhale slowly. Bite.Hah.I’ve been jumpy ever since the hitmen and the mall cop, but I haven’t told Ned anything yet. I don’t plan to.

“Sorry,” I say.

“A little bit more of a turn out than you expected, huh?” he asks.

“That would be an understatement.”

“You and Penny did such a good job. Look.” He corners me, a business expression stretched across his face. “What if we charged for entry next year? Maybe we can make this an annual thing. We could make it a haunted house with the party being the main event. And with the ouija board?—”

“Ouija board?” I gawk.

“Yeah. Crazy, huh? One of Penny’s friends brought?—”

Don’t freak out,I think. I don’t care about a ouija board—if it helps the event or provokes the killer, thenfine,whatever—but right now, I’m out of my element. I can handle one-on-one interactions; they’re easier to shift to your advantage. But when it comes to large groups of people, I’m out of my element.

I rub my brow. Ned’s eyes scan me, and his financial ambition melts away.

“We’ll use the profits to find out who killed your father,” he says quietly. “All the funds will go to hiring a private detective or something. Here. I’ll start a donation fund for this year.”

He grabs a bowl from the table behind him, emptying the chips into another bowl, then he digs out a ten from his wallet, dropping it in.

I reach to stop him. “Just?—”

His eyes are patient, waiting for me to tell him what to do. I blink rapidly. Does it matter if he collects donations?

Does any of this matter?

“Just don’t tell anyone about my connection to it, okay?” I say.

“Of course not.”

A woman with blue hair smacks Ned on the back. Ned offers her the donation bowl.

My head spins. I’m surrounded by friendly strangers, and I smile at them, but my heart palpitates. They could attack, and any one of them could be my killer. You never know who the person next to you might be. For all I know, Crave could be here too.

A person shakes my hand. Their lips move, but I can’t hear the words. My chest squeezes. It’s like I’m surrounded by a group of animals that could stampede at any moment.

I’m suffocating.

I run outside, going past the open gate and up the dirt road. A few people smoke to the side, and I go past them too. Over the curb. Across the parking lot. Until I’m leaning against the exterior of the mall.

It’s just people,I tell myself.Normal people.

My heart steadies, and eventually, my shoulders relax. But no matter how long I look at the Galloway House glowing in the distance, I can’t let go of the feeling that my father’s killer isn’t inside of it. Not yet, anyway.

“What a fucking nightmare,” I say.

A figure steps out of the shadows. A white polo shirt. Black slacks. A black belt. Broad shoulders. A widow’s peak.

Officer Gaines.

A shiver runs down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, tightening my grip as if I’m wearing a shield. I close my eyes, speaking wordlessly to myself, comforting my rapidly beating heart.

Crave will be here.

Crave will be here.