Page 28 of The Dysfunctional Family's Guide to Murder

So he knows. Or if he doesn’tknow,he at least knows who Paul is, which might mean it’s all aboveboard and Paul is Lisa’s gay friend or her brother or, hell, her gay brother. Dylan’s face, though, doesn’t look like Paul is Lisa’s gay brother.

“Paul Rainbow sounds as made up as PandaBear02.”

“I know.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a friend of Lisa’s.”

“Okay.”

“Because girls aren’t allowed to have friends who are boys?” Dylan’s voice has gone all spiky, and those big eyes, so soft ten minutes ago, are half concealed by lowered eyelids. He slides off my bed, and I have to stop myself from telling him to tie up his loose shoelace.Pick your moment, Ruth, pick your moment.

“I didn’t say that.” I’m trying to work out how to articulate what it was that made me suspicious, but Dylan will have me institutionalized if I try to explain how PandaBear02’s use of the baby-seal emoji conveyed a romantic vibe. “I was just being nosy. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not being nosy; you’re going full Jane Marple.”

“I knew it—I knew you were a superfan.” It’s my effort to change the topic, and it almost works. Dylan’s mouth, halfway curled around an insult, closes and opens again.

“Everyone knows Miss Marple.”

“People have heard of Miss Marple; they don’t know her first name is Jane.”

“Whatever.” Okay, so it didn’t work. “Why are you prying into my life? You don’t evenknowLisa.”

Now my cheeks are red, like we’re passing the embarrassment back and forth between us. “Can we forget I said anything? I’m an idiot. You know this.”

Dylan is halfway across the room, shoelace flapping.“Whatever. I’d better go and do some more of mygirlfriend’s homework.”

“I didn’t—”

“Tell me when you’ve worked out who did it in the library with the candelabra.”

He’s gone before I have time to point out that acandelabradoes not appear anywhere in the game of Clue.

10

I wake up to ahand over my mouth, and my first thought is that the killer has come back for me. My second thought is that GG wasn’t killed quietly in bed—she was on the floor next to her bed, like maybe she tried to fight back or run away, and am I seriously going to go more quietly than an old lady? Nope. I open my mouth as wide as I can and bite down on as much soft flesh as my teeth can find. The hand disappears and so does my readied scream.

“Dylan, what thehell.”

“I didn’t want you to shout or anything.” Dylan is whispering, and I automatically drop my own voice to mimic him.

“And you thought the simplest way to achieve that was to play at being a murderer in a house where someone was recently murdered.”

He holds up his hand. “Mistakes were made.”

I sit up in bed. The light coming through the window of my bedroom is the watery evening kind, filtered throughold-fashioned lace curtains that would be fluttering very prettily right now if there was any kind of a breeze.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Five?”

“Did I fall asleep?”

“You were out of it. I did knock.”

“Why?”