The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,73
the doors slide shut with her inside.
The purse was hitched on my shoulder. I had run out of time.
There weren’t any windows into the exam rooms, but we left paperwork in a bin outside each occupied room, beside a whiteboard with the doctor and nurse on-call info. One of the whiteboards looked like it had recently been erased, the blue marker smudge remaining. I ran my hands inside the bin, and it was empty.
I pushed open the door, prepared to say I was looking for someone if I was wrong. But the room was empty and clean. No sign that anyone would be returning quickly.
I went straight for the sink cabinet. Inside was a red container marked Sharps. I quickly opened my purse, hands on the paper towels, unraveling the box cutter directly into the container. I shook the container gently, so it fell near the bottom. All the contents would have to be emptied by the end of the day. I closed the cabinet doors and backed away.
Like that, it was gone.
I took a deep breath, but my hands were shaking as I barreled out of the room into the hallway. The trick to looking like you belonged, I knew, was to act it. That was where I’d gone wrong when Bennett found me in the medicine room.
Head down, phone out, like I was busy. I didn’t see anyone coming when I rounded the corner, walking straight into Bennett. He had his head down as well, nose to a chart in front of him.
His free hand went to my elbow. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “Hey.” He stepped back, looking me over. “I didn’t know you were back at work yet.”
“I was. But I have to head out now.” I hitched my purse higher, waved my phone at him.
His eyes narrowed down the hall, at door after door of patient rooms. “Were you looking for something?”
“No, I was in the hall and my phone rang, I just ducked inside an empty room for a minute.”
He nodded slowly. “Everything okay? You look . . .” He let the thought trail, let me fill in the blank: panicked, frantic, guilty.
I had wanted to talk to him. But not now. Not standing in this hall, when he had to be wondering what I was doing here, if not looking for him.
I took a deep, steadying breath. “I was looking for you, but . . . I’m meeting the detective now. If anyone asks, I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure, hey, I want to talk, too, but I’m in the middle of . . .” He waved his hand down the hall, and I understood. When we were on, we were on. Everyone here was practiced in compartmentalizing, and Bennett was one of the best.
“It’s fine,” I said, punching in the code to the double doors heading back toward my office.
“I’ll call you when I’m done here,” he said, just as I slipped through the doors.
No one had seen me do it. No one had stopped me. Twenty steps to the door at the other end of the hall. Thirty-two steps down the stairs. When I exited the stairwell, I could see Detective Rigby’s shadow waiting just outside the elevators.
“Sorry,” I called, so she would see me coming. “Ready?”
Three turns down the wide hospital hall to the lobby. The automatic doors slid open, and we were out. The box cutter was as good as gone. And it was all behind me.
I LED THE WAY home in my car as Detective Rigby followed behind. I drove awkwardly, like a kid learning to drive, the way I’d get any time I’d see a cop pull out onto the road, lowering my speed limit, using the turn signals too soon. Checking my rearview mirror continually, like I was waiting for the red and blue lights to turn on.
When we finally pulled up to my house, there were two other vehicles outside my driveway, and I could see the shape of a person inside each. They didn’t step out of their vehicles until both Detective Rigby and I had turned in and parked.
The detective greeted the two men casually as they approached, and I realized she had asked them to meet us here.
This was evidence in a murder investigation, after all.
They both appeared around her age—one with red hair buzzed short, the other with dark blond hair and the start of a beard.
She conferred with them quietly while I unlocked the front door. “Please wait,” she called up to