The Sinner - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,38

thought you were going to run him out of town for sure.”

“Not my call, sadly,” I said.

Juliette snorted, speaking volumes in the language between friends.

“What is your point?” I asked.

“If you really wanted him gone, he’d be gone.”

“Margot may be old, but she’s no pushover, and she wanted him to stay.” Juliette was silent, and again, the silence said plenty. “I’m serious.”

“Fine. Play that way.” Juliette shrugged and tossed a handful of candy into her mouth. She twisted on the printer table to better watch whatever Matt was doing. “He doesn’t look healthy.”

I thought the same thing, but kept my mouth shut. No way was I admitting I’d been watching him.

Not at first, of course—but then I’d noticed that the sounds of work coming from the courtyard didn’t stop. Ever. They started at dawn and ended at dusk without break.

It had turned into some kind of contest. If he was working, I was working. The sounds of saws and hammers became an odd soundtrack to religious rituals around the world, and watching him from the corner of my eye became my new hobby.

Thanks to his insane work schedule, the Discovery work was done three days before I had to go back to the library. And I had a headache from glancing at him sideways.

“Jeez,” Juliette whispered through her teeth. “He looks like he’s lost about five pounds.”

“He doesn’t eat,” I said. “Margot leaves out sandwiches for lunch, but he eats them for dinner and I don’t know what he’s doing in the morning.”

Juliette smirked at me. “I knew you cared.”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “But we don’t need him dying on our property.”

“Good point,” Juliette said, looking out the window again. “At least he’s drinking water.”

“Oh, he’s plenty hydrated. Around noon, Katie sits up in the cypress and throws water balloons at him. It used to be orange peels, but yesterday she upped her game.”

“You don’t feel like stopping that?”

“I feel like filling up the balloons for her.”

Juliette watched him out the window for a long moment. “He is one good-looking guy. You sure you don’t want to give me a few details of whatever you two did that night—”

“Did you have a point in coming here?” I refused to take the bait.

“A friend can’t stop by and lust after the help?”

I rolled my eyes and clicked the Send button and then pushed away from the desk, grabbing a bag of candy as I went.

Nothing said celebration like stale candy.

“I talked to Garrett’s and Owen’s folks. The boys insist they didn’t have anything to do with either break-in.” Juliette said.

“Of course they didn’t.” I split a red chocolate between my teeth.

“The parents weren’t much help, but a certain vibe I got from Garrett’s stepmom makes me believe they weren’t so innocent regarding the first incident with the spray paint.”

“There’s nothing you can do?” I knew the answer even as I asked it.

“Not without proof, sorry. But we’ll keep an eye on them.”

I smiled, grim and weary. “You did the best you could.”

“The good news is, the whole town knows about Matt living here, so I’d imagine the break-ins will stop.”

“That’s my silver lining?”

“Well, that and being able to watch him out your window. Seriously, he’s sexy as hell.”

I took a deep breath and gave in to my raging curiosity. “So? What did you find out about him?”

Juliette looked blank. “What do you mean?”

“Matt Woods—you wrote down all that information.”

Juliette laughed. “I didn’t do anything with it. The guy was clearly telling the truth. I’ve never seen a more tortured liar in my life. You could tell it doesn’t come easily to him.”

“He didn’t seem to have any problem the night before,” I murmured. But then, I wondered, maybe all that stuff he’d said in the library was the truth. The mother dying of cancer and his father.

Not that I cared.

“You’re the researcher,” Juliette said. “I thought for sure you’d have him all vetted by now.” Juliette stared at me wide-eyed. “You haven’t searched his name? Not even on facebook? You? You don’t buy dishwasher detergent without looking it up.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Sure you have.”

Again, that silence that seemed to say so much.

“You know,” Juliette said, softly, carefully, as if she knew she was tiptoeing onto thin ice, “the chance of him being married—”

“I know,” I said, but I couldn’t calm the voices screaming what if?

“Is that why you haven’t checked him out?”

“I don’t think I could survive that again,” I said. Ridiculous, as if that particular lightning would strike twice, but I