Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Exactly that.” Stan nodded. “Declan told him where to stick that idea and that they’d talk about it later. Alan wasn’t having it, and if I didn’t go in there, he might have decked him.”
Hmm.
“Not the first time, either, if you believe the rumours,” he went on.
“Do you think he did it?” Mum asked, putting her glass down on the table next to her.
Stan blew out his cheeks, then shrugged. “Wouldn’t be surprised, to tell ya the truth. Alan’s got a right temper on him, and pushed far enough… Well, anyone’s capable of anything, aren’t they?”
I glanced at my parents, then out at the back garden that was in desperate need of the grass mowing.
Hmm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stan’s words had been ringing in my mind all morning.
‘Anyone’s capable of anything, aren’t they?’
They weren’t helpful, not in the slightest. All they were was the reminder that we were only human, and when we were pushed to the limit, we were liable to do things we wouldn’t normally do. Which was the problem.
Take the time I’d punched Sam Potter in year ten, like Dad had reminded me last night. I wasn’t a violent person. Sure, I was prone to throwing the odd book in frustration at a character or slamming a door after a bad day like anyone was, but violent? That wasn’t a word anyone would really use to describe me.
Mum was right when she said I’d be a poison-in-your-tea kind of killer, not a knife to the gut one.
Besides, I’d never get the blood out of my hair if I stabbed someone that violently.
Back in school, Sam had been bugging me to kiss him for two weeks. I’d told him over and over that I didn’t fancy him, but he hadn’t gotten the message. That day at lunchtime, just outside the library, he’d gone on and on and on about it, even going so far as trying to kiss me without my consent, and I’d lost it.
I remembered turning around and socking him right in the nose without even thinking.
If my friends hadn’t jumped between us, I might have followed it up with another.
I’d only ever swung for one other person in my life—Noah, but he’d thrown sand at me, so it was totally deserved if you asked me. In that moment with Sam, a fog had come over me. I hadn’t understood it then, but looking back at it, it had been a haze of anger. I’d had no control over myself in those few seconds.
It was that easy.
It happened that quickly.
I couldn’t imagine getting so angry that I’d stab someone thirteen times, but then again, I couldn’t ever imagine myself punching someone in the face either.
And I’d definitely done that.
The emotional aspect of the murder made it hard to work out. I hoped that was the thing that would rule me out of the whole suspect pool, because I wasn’t that annoyed at him, and any reasoning I would have for killing Declan Tierney was merely circumstantial.
The others, however…
I’d barely even thought about Guy and Michael. They seemed like such unlikely suspects when Alan was right there on a silver platter, seemingly with all the reasons in the world.
His motive was pretty clear: get rid of the guy making his life difficult.
So many of my theories felt circumstantial, though. Why would Alan—anyone—lure Declan to the bed and breakfast? That was the big outlier in everything. It didn’t make any sense.
Unless they hadn’t lured him there.
Maybe they’d followed him there.
That made more sense. My biggest fear that night had been Declan Tierney going to the bed and breakfast. That was why I’d set the cameras up, after all.
What if my gut had been right?
What if he’d gone there for some reason and someone had followed him? Taken the opportunity while it was presented to them?
If only I knew more actual information about the case. Unfortunately for me, I doubted Jamie or Noah would be forthcoming about any of the particulars, so I was going to have fill in the blanks for myself.
Christ, what had my life become?
Two weeks ago, I was working behind the front desk at a dentist’s office, thinking of all the ways I would run my horrid boss through a woodchipper. Not that I actually would, of course.
I didn’t have access to a woodchipper.
Now, I was running on Fox Point’s beach, trying to piece together who could have killed Declan Tierney and why.
If I removed the idea that he was lured to the bed and breakfast to meet his demise, then it made a lot more sense.
So, he went to the B&B, followed by his killer.
That didn’t really get me any closer to the rest of the mystery, but it wasn’t quite so baffling to think about it like that.
But who followed him?
I hadn’t seen anything—no cars, no people, nothing that would help me answer that question, but that didn’t mean much. Someone had obviously been there, and right now, my prime suspect was Alan Sumpter.