The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,100
find me.”
After a few minutes, I return myself. Don’t want to be too conspicuous with my absence. The conversations seem louder, the cheer more boisterous. I leave my glass on the counter. Weave through the rooms to the staircase. The bathroom on the second floor is done in black and white, and all the bedroom doors are open, which makes finding the master easy. Shoving my guilt into a small, dark place inside me, I close the door almost all the way, blocking the view from the hallway. The tops of the dressers are uncluttered. The nightstands as well. There are two closets. Men’s clothes, men’s shoes in the first. In the second, Gia’s. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.
I hear voices, flick off the closet light, and position myself behind the bedroom door. I keep still, but it’s only a few people waiting for the restroom. Doesn’t take long for them to finish. The doorbell rings as I’m halfway down the stairs, and in steps a gray-haired man. The same man who knocked on my car window when I came to Gia’s neighborhood. I swear he’s even wearing the same blue polo.
I will him to look in any direction but mine. Will him to walk toward the kitchen. But he remains by the front door, surveying the crowd. A few people glance at him with mild curiosity. A couple in the far corner wave. He does the same in response. Just when I think I’ve bypassed the inspection, his gaze locks on mine.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I can’t tell if that’s recognition or not. Tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, I continue down and aim for the small porch again. A few people are already there, so I wander to the larger back porch and find Ryan with Gia’s husband and several others, talking movies. There’s another smaller group on the opposite side of the deck talking politics.
The door opens again and the man in the polo emerges. I move closer to Ryan, and he slips an arm around my waist. The newcomer joins the other group. From time to time he glances over; I do my best to look involved in the conversation. I’m about two minutes from asking Ryan if he’s okay with leaving when the man in the polo walks over. The group opens to let him join.
Go back inside, I silently will. Leave us alone. Leave me alone.
“I’m Gus,” he says. “I’m in charge of the Neighborhood Watch here.”
Peachy. Just my luck. I pocket my fingers to keep them from wandering to my mouth. Everyone else does a quick introduction. Ryan takes care of us both. The conversation returns to movies; this time, horror. I do my best to tune them out.
Cupping my elbow, Ryan leans close to my ear. “You okay?”
“I’m a little tired,” I say. “Maybe we can go soon?”
He looks surprised but says, “Sure.”
Gia comes out, arms outstretched for a hug. “I’m so glad you came tonight,” she says.
“How do you two know each other?” another woman—Eileen, Ellen?—asks.
“We grew up in the same neighborhood,” Gia says. “And after Spencer and I moved here, we ran into each other at the bookstore. Talk about wild, right?” She beams at me.
“Definitely wild. Hey, I’m going to get more wine,” I say, brandishing my almost-empty glass. “Anyone else need a refill?”
I duck into the house and take my time, rinsing my glass and drying it with a paper towel before examining the bottles. I’ve finished pouring a red blend when there’s movement beside me. Gus, standing a touch too close for comfort.
“Still thinking of moving here?” he says.
“Excuse me?” I say, painting my features with confusion as I step back.
“You said you were thinking of moving here.”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t forget faces, especially one like yours. You were sitting outside in your car a couple weeks ago and I knocked on the window.”
I shake my head. “You have me mistaken for someone else.”
“You drive a black Jeep, right?”
“Whoever you’re talking about, it wasn’t me.” There’s a touch of amusement in my words to make it convincing. My palms are damp, though. Armpits as well.
“I’m not in the business of lying.”
“Didn’t say you were, but you’re mistaken.” I’m trying to stay calm, but there’s a quaver in my voice, and heat splotches my cheeks and sternum.
“No, I don’t think so,” he says, moving even closer and blocking the way.