“They like his alibi. I’ve got a decent enough one, too, so in the long run I should be okay. Right now everything’s still a mess, and it doesn’t seem smart to have the cops trooping through my house.”
“What are you going to do then? It may be dangerous for you to keep living here alone.”
“I’ve already packed up. I’m moving into the Saratoga Arms first thing in the morning.”
He nods as he briefly weighs the idea. “Good . . . And you know what? I’m crashing on the couch here tonight.”
On one level it’s absurd that he’s here, that this man I didn’t even know two weeks ago has come to my rescue and is offering to camp here for the night, and yet right now my whole life seems like nothing but an endless string of absurdities. His presence happens to be one I’m grateful for.
“It’s a lot to ask of you, Derek. I could try to find a motel instead.”
“A Saturday night during the summer? Fat chance.” He smiles for the first time tonight. “Tell me this—is breakfast included?”
“For sure. And the spare room has a great mattress.”
Derek insists, however, on bunking down in the den because that way he’ll be more likely to hear if anyone is skulking about.
I go back upstairs and pull down bedding from the hall linen closet. When I return to the den, Derek is by the window, peering searchingly into the night. I catch my breath.
“Did you see something?”
“No, just keeping an eye out.” He turns toward me. “You say you’re positive you put the cash in your desk drawer the day of the party. So the thief—and the person who left the matches—has to be someone who came to your house that night.”
“Yes.”
“Of course, Guy was there, too. Did you ever consider whether he was the one who left the matches?”
The thought had never entered my mind, but now I realize it’s worth consideration. If Guy thought nothing of embezzling from at least one company, he might have been helping himself to some of the money I’ve made. Were the matches part of a plan to keep me off balance so I wouldn’t be paying attention to money matters? I shrug, at a loss.
“It’s hard to imagine, but in some ways I don’t know him at all.”
I’ve told Derek so much already and I’m tempted to share the rest, the details I’ve uncovered about Guy’s background. I ultimately decide to hold back. I can’t bring myself to smear Guy. Maybe, just maybe, there’s an explanation.
Derek touches my shoulder again.
“You’ll figure it out, Bryn,” he says. “Why don’t you try to sleep now. If there’s another call, wake me immediately, okay?”
“Thank you, Derek. I’d better charm the hell out of your class to make up for all of this.”
It’s not until I’m back in bed that I realize how much my arms and legs are throbbing from stress and fatigue. But sleep doesn’t come as easily as it did earlier. I keep recalling the sounds from the phone call, the crackling flames and the distant wail of a siren.
At some point I finally drift off, though when I wake a little after seven, I can tell that it’s been a troubled sleep. I dress quickly and hurry downstairs. The door to the den is open, but when I peek in, I see that the couch is empty and the bedding folded neatly at the end. A minute later, I find Derek sitting at the kitchen table, drinking an espresso and staring out into day. The sight of him is totally comforting.
“Hey, good morning,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind I helped myself.”
“Well, I did promise breakfast. Were you able to catch any sleep last night?”
“I clocked a few hours, though this house creaks more than my dad’s knees. How about you? Those look like some pretty big circles under your eyes.”
I smile at his candor. “I didn’t do super well. But I felt safe at least. I can’t thank you enough for coming over, Derek.”
“The more I think about this whole business, the more concerned I am for you, Bryn. I checked the door in the daylight and it looks like someone definitely hacked out the lock, probably with a tool.”
I tense at this news. A tool suggests premeditation and a definite attempt to gain entry. And then why the call, too? Just to make sure I was scared out of my mind?
“What if . . . ?” I’m forming the thought even as I speak the words. “What if the two incidents happening last night were purely coincidental?”
“How do you mean?”
“Though the two things happened around the same time, they’re different in some ways. Someone trying to break in, someone trying to freak me out. Maybe the call was from the person who wants to mess with my head—Kim, for instance. And someone else entirely tried to get into the house.”
“A burglar, you mean?”
“No, the person who killed Eve.”
He straightens in the chair, jolted by my words. I share the theory I’ve been toying with: that if a jealous lover murdered Eve, he might be in a rage, rightly or wrongly, about Guy as well.