Page 27 of Nightshades

I grab a washcloth from the counter, wet it, then scrub the message free. It can’t be there. If the Sheriff saw that, he’d want answers, and the only answer I have is that I have no idea what happened.

And automatically, I’d be a suspect. I have no alibi. I only remember driving last night. It was raining.

“Five. Four?—”

“—I’m coming!” I sprint from my room, through the kitchen and living room to my front door.

“Three. Two.”

With a deep breath, I swing the door open to stare down three police officers.

“What’s going on, Sheriff?” I ask, yawning. “Sorry, I’m just waking up. Can I put on some coffee for everyone? Morning Waylon. Zig.”

“Detective,” they greet me in unison.

“Coffee sounds great, thanks. I’ve got a few questions for you, Detective.” Jake steps into my house, his boots thudding against the hardwood floors.

“Well, come on in. Sorry it’s so bare in here. I just moved in.” It’s easier to lie than to say this is all I own. I’m not a materialist kind of person, and it’s only me who lives here. I don’t need anything else, so I don’t treat myself with pointless trinkets.

My job is my life. Everything else is secondary.

“Where are all your boxes if you’ve just moved in?” Waylon asks, standing in the middle of the living room. He studies every inch of the bland walls. “And what the fuck happened to your couch?”

“Just waiting for the rest to be delivered,” I lie again, cleaning out the coffee pot and tossing the old grounds away.

“And the couch?” He pushes.

Honestly, I have no clue, but I have to lie. “It’s old. I sat down on it last night and it gave out. I need to get a knew one.”

I don’t like people knowing too much about me. The more they know, the more that can be twisted and used against you. Even though I am enjoying this town and Cove Police Department in the little amount of time that I’ve been here, I keep people at arm’s length wherever I go.

Sheriff Holland takes off his hat, setting it on the coffee table where the case files are spread out.

A flash of a memory has me tripping over my own feet, and I catch myself on the counter.

“Lula, are you okay?” Jake asks, running to my side like the savior he is.

“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m not a morning person. Well, not when it is still dark out. What time is it?” I yawn again, my eyes burning for me to go back to sleep.

I dropped those case files in the rain. They were soaked. How the hell did they get in my house, spread out on the table?

“It’s around four in the morning,” he answers.

He drags one of the dining room chairs out from under the table and takes a seat. Waylon and Zig make themselves at home too, joining Jake around the table. Zig gives me a sad, forced grin while Waylon has his arms crossed, staring at me with narrowed eyes.

Setting mugs down in front of each of them, I fill their cups with steaming hot black coffee. I always keep extra mugs in another cabinet just in case I have company, but I usually keep what I use separate since I don’t have many guests over. My new coworkers have already worn out their welcome, and they have no idea.

I fill my mug last, , take a seat, and cross my legs before taking a much-needed sip of the bitter brew.

“Okay, Jake. Come on. What’s going on? I’m not liking how secretive this is. I have work to do.”

“There’s no easy way to say this, Lula, but we found your car at the end of the road in an accident.”

I sit my mug down, folding my hands under my chin, then rub my palms up and down my face. “That’s impossible. That can’t be my car. I’m here. I’m home. I’m unharmed.”

Jake leans forward, his eyes taking on a stern shine. “There’s a dead body. Another car was in the middle of the road, and the man’s spine was ripped from his body.”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible.” I cover my face with my hands, knowing I’m not going to get out of this since there’s a dead body in question. I’m going to have to give them answers if I want to clear myself from the suspect list.