Chapter Forty-Four Bennett
| Forty-Four |
Bennett
It was his last night in London and Bennett was flying to Dublin in the morning.
He was wiped out, and all he wanted to do was sleep.
His signing line was over two hundred people long, and he was grateful for the bookstore’s efficient staff in moving them through quickly, no easy task when fans wanted to chat.
Finally, after the last person came up, he stood and stretched, eager to get back to his hotel.
As he began to walk toward the front of the store, he saw her.
His heart started to beat faster. It was that friend of Poppy’s.
Bridgette from London who had interrogated him at Poppy’s memorial service.
Their eyes met and she stopped in front of him.
“I can see why she fell for you,” the woman said, appraising him coolly. “You know how to pour on the charm. Didn’t see that side of you at the memorial service.”
“Why are you here?”
“I saw the poster in the window. Thought I’d see how you were getting on.”
He was too tired for this, but he had to play nice.
“Do you want to go grab a drink?” he asked. “I think the store’s about to close.”
“Yeah. I know a place.”
He followed her out the door and down a couple of blocks and into a pub. They found a booth in the back and sat down.
“I have reason to believe that Poppy’s death wasn’t an accident,” she said, her eyes boring into him.
Bennett didn’t want to dredge up the past. Especially that day. But it didn’t seem he had a choice.
“Bridgette, I told you at the service everything that happened. I don’t know why you can’t accept it. It was a terrible, terrible tragedy. But that’s all it was.”
Bridgette was staring at him, and her eyes narrowed.
“Yeah, see that’s the thing. I don’t buy it.
” She pulled out a paper from her purse.
“A letter. Written the day she died. She wanted to come to London. Said she was leaving you.” She leaned across the table, hostility oozing from her. “Did you kill my friend?”