Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,31

Dang.

“Fair enough. It’s none of my business, but did you really put the smackdown on her ex?”

“I did not. I merely inserted myself between That Boy and Darla.” And broke his jaw, when That Boy had the abysmally bad idea to reach around Tom to hurt Darla.

“That Boy?”

“True men do not hit their loved ones. And they certainly don’t follow them to their place of employment and shout and grab and knock things over.”

“Scumbag,” she agreed.

He hadn’t thought his actions were at all unusual, so Darla’s tearful thanks had come as a surprise. So had the pans of apple crisp she started bringing him every couple of weeks. (He had a lethal affinity for fruit crumbles of all kind.)

To Tom, the situation could be distilled to an equation. Abusive significant other + tearful employee = forcibly remove abusive significant other + help tearful employee with restraining order paperwork. Although he no longer thought of Darla as an employee. He’d discussed the situation with Abe, who had explained the concept of “work friend,” which was therefore how he now categorized Darla.

“So the reason I stopped by, Tom. I had a dream. A bad one.” She helped herself to some catfish but was now devouring appetizers with a more pensive, uneasy air. If it was an act, it was outstanding. “And it made me remember something. I think Danielle knew she was in big trouble. I think she knew she had a killer sniffing up her back trail.”

“Oh?” He gave himself a few seconds to mull over her words. “The police asked her friends, family, teachers, and the like if she had any enemies. They all—you included—denied it.”

“I know. Because she didn’t. Besides, if anyone had said otherwise, you would have remembered reading about it. Because you can’t let Danielle go, which means way too much to me to be able to explain.”

“That is … kind of you.” It was absurd, absurd, how much that comment warmed him. He had decided years ago that conforming and complimenting was not as valuable as gaining knowledge, and for the most part that still held true.

But. It was Ava.

Again: absurd. You’ve known her less than a week. But as his late sister had once explained, an absurdity didn’t mean it wasn’t actually happening. Just that it was difficult to believe.

Ava seemed content to let him think, or she was happy devouring the rest of the catfish basket. After another minute, he asked, “Why would you tell me this?”

“Huh?” The waitress had topped off her lemonade, and Ava paused midgulp. “You kidding?”

“Almost never.”

She stared back, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I tell you? It wasn’t in your files because you only had my original statement. Ten years ago, I was as blindsided as anyone.”

“Were you?”

Her dark blond brows arched. “Yeah. Sorry, did I not make that clear? About the blindsiding? We were all shocked and horrified and I threw up a little at the crime scene. The techs were really nice about it.” Trying too hard. That’s what one of the techs said, unfortunately, while she was in earshot. Like the killer had watched too many cop shows. It was that thought—the possibility that Danielle was a prop in her own murder—as much as the smell of wet iron that brought her pizza back up. “So, yeah: blindsided.”

WRONG. Something about the word sketched from Danielle’s ashes, coupled with trying too hard, was stuck in her brain like a fish hook. It was wrong because someone tried too hard? Or someone tried too hard and it was … for a moment she felt like she was on the verge of putting it together.

Nope. Gone, like her knowledge of most of her passwords, because companies constantly made her change them.

“We recommend P3623ii6247DF29697mn17 for your new passcode.”

“See you in hell, Wells Fargo.”

“Do you know what I would like, Ava?”

She brought her brain back online to focus on the present. “I can honestly say I haven’t the vaguest clue,” she replied. “But I can’t wait to hear it.”

He smiled before he could stop himself. She was refreshing, no question. And she seemed genuinely interested in the things he said, even when they were gruesome things or blunt things. If she wasn’t a sociopathic murderer, he could be halfway in love with her by now, which was—he hated to overuse a word but this one was apt—absurd.

(“Yeah, but absurd doesn’t mean impossible, big bro.”)

He silently told the ghost of his sister to hush. “I would like to go to Danielle’s memorial tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yeah.