Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Steps pounded down the staircase and Devon bounded into the kitchen. Dark shadows spread under his eyes. My hands started shaking until I had to put my cup down.
Linda kissed his cheek before she pressed another cup into his hands and made him sit down across from me at the table. I stared at the tabletop, not wanting to look into his eyes. I’d have to face him soon, but not in front of Linda.
You can’t protect her forever, a tiny voice whispered in my head. But I wanted to try. I was still haunted by Linda’s terrified expression when she heard about the latest murder.
I could feel Devon’s eyes on my face, prodding, searching, but I didn’t look up to meet his gaze. Bringing the cup to my lips, I took another gulp, braced myself, and forced my face into an expressionless mask. I raised my eyes. He frowned. After a glance over at Linda, who was rinsing the hot chocolate pot, he mouthed “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mouthed right back.
He didn’t buy it.
“Tired,” I whispered, surprised how calm my voice sounded.
Linda dried the dishes, unaware of the tension right across the room. When she was done, she turned to us. “I’m heading to bed. I don’t feel well.” She took a bottle of sleeping pills from the drawer above the sink and popped two into her mouth. She smiled apologetically. “I guess I’ve had trouble sleeping lately.”
I sat the cup down on the table and stood. “I should probably try to catch up on rest too.” I had a feeling Devon would follow me up to my room, and that would give us a better place to talk then in the kitchen. Devon stared at his cocoa, not even glancing my way.
When I’d left the kitchen, I heard Devon’s chair scrape over the floor. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know he was following me up the stairs.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“You’ve been acting weird,” I said, stopping in front of my room.
“You’re one to talk. It’s like I don’t even recognize you sometimes,” he shot back.
“What do—” I stopped myself. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?” I considered asking him about Francesca but my gut told me to wait. If I spooked him too soon, he might find ways to hide the truth. I’d have to figure out a way to search his room.
I sighed, rubbing my eyes, then I gave Devon an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload my bad mood on you. It’s just too much.”
“I know,” Devon said. “Yesterday was hard. I’m just glad you weren’t nearby when the murder happened.”
I had a feeling he was trying to find out how much I knew. “Yeah.” I feigned a shudder. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course,” Devon said.
“Can you make me your famous BLT sandwich? I’m starving. Maybe because of the stress. I didn’t want to ask Mom for it.”
Devon hesitated, but then he nodded. “Sure. I’ll bring it up to your room. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” I stepped into my room but didn’t close my door.
Devon was our main suspect. Alec had said it and Major agreed, so why couldn’t I shake the feeling that I was missing something?
I listened for Devon’s footsteps in the corridor as he went downstairs. A few moments later the front door fell shut. What was he doing outside? But this was my chance.
I tiptoed into the corridor. The house was silent. Ronald would be gone all night, keeping watch over a dog with a gastric torsion. His and Linda’s bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in to see Linda sprawled out on the bed, her lips drifting apart as soft snores echoed from them. I closed the door carefully and moved on to Devon’s room.
Devon was surprisingly tidy for a guy, with all of his belongings seemingly in place. I’d seen rooms inhabited by boys at the FEA that had given me a rash just from looking at them.
I wasn’t sure where Devon had gone or how long he would be, but if he’d prepare my sandwich like he’d promised, I’d have a bit to look around. I didn’t know what Major and Alec expected me to find. Many serial killers kept souvenirs of the victims as trophies to remind them of their success. Months later, I still remembered the photos and descriptions of different serial killer cases I’d studied in class. Some had been so horrible that I still had nightmares about them. One guy kept body parts of the women he’d killed. The police had found tongues, fingers, and even eyes in his freezer.
But I still couldn’t imagine Devon killing someone—much less his own twin sister.
Kneeling in front of the bed, I lifted the mattress and found . . . a Playboy. I looked behind the posters on his walls and in his wardrobe. But there was nothing interesting.