The red light on the alarm isn’t blinking. I stop, my fingers over the keypad.
“Something’s wrong. The alarm is off.” Angus chases after Sophie, his toenails scrabbling on the floor. Seconds later I hear him barking. I spin around. I’ve never heard him bark like that—so deep and frantic it vibrates inside my own chest. Now Sophie is screaming.
I drop my purse and keys and sprint toward her voice, Marcus close behind. When we come around the corner, Sophie is backed against the wall, still screaming and gasping some words I can’t understand. Her face is a flash of panicky white in the dim hallway. Angus is yelping and circling something on the floor. The smell is worse. So much worse.
I flip on the switch beside me and the hall is bathed in light. It’s Andrew.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I recognize this room at the police station. The fake wood table, the pale green cement walls, the color of hospitals. Nothing good ever happens in rooms this color. This is where I sat with Corporal Parker and filled out the paperwork for the peace bond. It feels like months ago.
Sophie and Marcus are in other rooms, giving their statements. I hate that Sophie has to go through this alone, begged and argued with the police to let me stay with her, but they insisted they had to speak with us individually. I keep replaying the sound of her scream when she found Andrew, that terrible anguished look in her eyes. She hadn’t knelt down or touched him. She was frozen in the hallway, staring at his body with her hand pressed over her mouth. I wrapped my arms around her, held her close. I wished I could have stopped her from seeing him like that.
The congealed blood around his head had soaked into the oak hardwood and dried almost black in spots. One of his arms was outstretched as though he were reaching for something, his hand so white it looked like a leftover Halloween prop. His right leg was at an odd angle—was it broken? I wanted to walk over and pull it straight, but I just closed my eyes, held Sophie tighter.
Marcus called 911 and the police arrived in minutes. We waited outside, shivering in the cold, none of us talking. Marcus kept reaching out to touch my hand, or wrap his arm around Sophie’s shoulders. Angus sat beside her, making a soft whine.
On the way to the station Sophie stared out the window, her expression blank, her body shaking. She was in shock, cocooned from the horror for a little bit longer, I hope. I remember when my mother and father died, how everything felt distant and unreal, until it became very, very real. I have to get her home, have to be there for her when she breaks.
“You okay?” Parker says. She’s wearing a pale blue blouse today with a slim-fitting black pencil skirt and high heels, but she doesn’t look any less official.
“Yes. I think so. It’s cold in here.” I rub at my arms. When I get Sophie home and settled, I’ll have a hot bath, or drink a rum, or both, but then I realize we don’t have a home anymore. There’s no way either of us can ever spend a night under that roof again. And we probably won’t be able to go back to our house to get our things for days, maybe weeks, while the police finish their investigation. The thought hits me hard in my stomach. Where are we going to go?
“You’re in shock.” She already offered me a coffee or tea, which I declined, not sure my stomach could handle it.
“I don’t know what he was doing in there.” I shake my head, still trying to process everything that’s happened. I guess she’s right. I’m in shock too. How can he be dead? A sudden image: Andrew at twenty-seven, standing at my cash register, his smile and blond hair lighting up my world. “I can’t believe he fell down the stairs. I wonder how long he was in there.…” A horrible new thought scurries through my mind. What if he didn’t die right away?
“You were going to drive past the house,” I say. “Did you see anything?”
“I didn’t get a chance—I worked double shifts all this week.” Her gaze flicks away, over to a corner of the room, and I wonder if there is a camera or something set up. She mentioned that our interview might be recorded. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to offer to drive past. “You said the alarm was off when you entered the house. So who else has the code?”
I try to focus on the question, but her voice is tinny and distant-sounding. I’m surprised at the ache of grief in my chest, the desire to set my head down on the table and cry. Why do I care? I shouldn’t care. He hurt me. But I loved him once. God, I loved him so much.
“Lindsey? You okay?”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“The code?”
“Right. Just me, Sophie, my brother too.”
“What about…” She looks down at his notes. “Greg?”
“I never gave him the password.”
“Did he ever see you setting the alarm?”