The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,85
head. “I worked with her, and she was younger than me . . . I didn’t know she had a problem until now.”
“That’s usually the way it goes, I think.”
I shook my head, looking down. “Oh, I knew for sure my mom had a problem. If you’d asked me how she would go? That was where I’d have placed my bet.” Maybe that was what had bothered me—that I’d been so focused on my own issues, I hadn’t seen any signs. I wondered if Trevor, the bartender, was evasive because Elyse had been supplying him, too. If that was what he’d written on her hand that night in the bar.
“Mm,” Nathan said, settling back into the stiff cushions. “My dad had a drinking problem when I was younger. I didn’t notice until it reached a boiling point and my mom left with me. I think some people are just better at hiding it.”
Maybe that was why I’d come here. Because each time I spoke to him, I felt a little lighter, alleviated of some guilt. Like I was unloading a secret.
“My mom hates to see me drink. I’m twenty-nine and can’t have a beer when she’s over. I told her I’m not trying to hide anything, isn’t that the point?” He fought back a smile. “My youngest brother is gonna give her hell, I can tell.”
“Good he has you, then,” I said.
“They moved away a few years back. I don’t see them as much as I’d like anymore. I set up my business where I live, though. Not so easy to remake your life again.”
“No, I know.” I hated the feeling that I was being pushed to start over again somehow. If I even managed to make it through this. My gaze kept drifting back to the television, on instinct. Wondering whether the news would catch up to me.
“I can turn this off if you want,” he said. “I don’t want your friend’s death to upset you any more than it already has.”
I shook my head. “It won’t be in the news, even, I bet.” Overdoses were unfortunately all too common. It touched every area, rural and urban alike. “Meanwhile, there’s this article about me. Maybe you’ve already seen it.”
He shook his head once, sharply.
I took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not true. People I know were quoted in it. The things they said, God.”
“Did they accuse you?”
I could read between the lines what they were implying. Maybe he didn’t know the case well enough. Maybe, unlike Bennett, he hadn’t done a Google search the second after I’d left yesterday. Maybe he didn’t put much stock in the way stories were spun.
I wrinkled my nose. “Not exactly. The article just said I was a person of interest.”
“Well, you’re not the only person of interest. Maybe just the most interesting one.” He gave me half a smile, then tapped his finger against the side of the bottle a few times. “My father’s phone, it got a few calls that night. He didn’t respond. But they were from a burner phone. They can’t trace it.”
My back straightened. This. This was why I’d come to him. Because it felt like we were on the same side. That we could uncover the truth together, from different angles. I felt myself pulling closer.
“Was there a message?” I asked.
“Nope, nothing.”
I shivered. I’d heard those calls coming through as I stood over Sean Coleman’s body. The ringing of the phone waking me. Someone had been calling him just as I’d found him. It was probably what had dragged me back to consciousness.
“Do you . . . When you first got here, did you ever think it was me?” I asked. Other people must have. Detective Rigby, even Rick. Maybe that was why Nathan told me things, to judge my reaction.
He took another drink, resettled into the cushions, buying time.
“Well, I’m looking at you, at your arms, your neck, and I don’t see how it could be.” I felt his gaze on me as he spoke. “I can’t imagine my dad went down without any sort of fight. Not someone his size compared to your size, unless you snuck up on him—and it seems like he was the one sneaking around. What I’m saying is, based on logic, I don’t think so. You don’t strike me as the type.”
I nodded, though I was thinking: Not unless I felt trapped, cornered. Then, subconsciously, and truthfully, I couldn’t say for sure what type of person I’d become.