Chapter 9 #4
Andrew dropped his eyes to the table. “I just don’t know.
” Taking in a deep inhale, he straightened.
“Anyway, that’s what’s been keeping me awake.
” He took a small sip of tea. “I’m sure I’ve had many people reach out with condolences, but I haven’t looked at my phone since Tuesday morning.
It all just feels too overwhelming right now.
But you’ve been a good listening ear. Thank you. ”
Amie felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t been asking questions just out of the kindness of her heart. Then again, she was trying to figure out who killed his wife, which was something she assumed he’d appreciate if she was successful.
Pushing down the guilty feeling, she smiled. “Of course.”
In the silence that followed, Amie scrambled for a way to lighten the mood. This man had invited her in for tea, saying he couldn’t sleep due to thinking about how his wife was murdered, and there she was, making him think about how his wife was murdered.
“I’m sure she would’ve really appreciated the memorial,” she finally said. “The flowers were beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Andrew said with a small smile. “Savannah chose them herself. That was one of the things I could never talk her out of—her weekly flower order.”
Amie stiffened, remembering Savannah yelling at the flower counter employee.
She’d never paid much attention to what the woman had been yelling about, despite hearing her so many times.
But hearing Andrew say “weekly flower order” triggered a memory (multiple memories, technically) of her yelling that exact phrase.
“Care to share what’s been keeping you awake?” Andrew asked kindly. “Could help.”
Amie didn’t know where she could begin to explain everything that had been keeping her awake, even if she wanted to. “My life’s just kind of … a mess.” She shrugged. “Nothing I can solve overnight, but my brain’s still determined to try.”
Andrew nodded knowingly. “Brains tend to have way too much faith in our ability to do things, huh?”
“Yeah.” Amie folded her hands around her mug.
The further the moment got in her rearview mirror, the more she had trouble believing that for a few minutes she had actually begun to wish she was back in the time loop.
The notion frightened her, for some reason.
She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
“May I ask about the trip wire?” She tilted her head toward the front hall of the apartment.
“Ah,” Andrew said sheepishly. “It’s silly of me, I know. Savannah always used to say I was too paranoid. But with her murderer still out there and us not knowing why they did what they did …”
He trailed off, the corners of his mouth turning down as he wrestled with his emotions. Shaking his head, he said, “I just don’t know what to expect. I don’t like not knowing what’s coming next.”
“I know how you feel,” Amie said. Then she added, “A trip wire is pretty smart thinking. What happens if it’s set off?”
Smiling, Andrew stood. “I’ll show you.”
Amie followed him back to the hallway, where he pointed to a tall, pedestal-like table that sat near the corner. On top of the table sat a large white vase with blue floral designs, a fresh bouquet of flowers resting inside.
“Hold on to that vase, will you?” Andrew asked, crouching down.
Amie dutifully picked up the vase, the flowers tickling her nose as she did so.
“When someone walks through it …” As Andrew tugged on the wire, the table began to tip.
“The vase would fall and break,” Amie finished, understanding.
Andrew released the wire, and the table thudded back into place. “Figured the mess of the vase breaking would be worth it if it manages to warn me of an intruder.”
“Pretty smart,” Amie commented. She returned the vase to its table as he straightened back up.
“If I was smarter,” Andrew said, leading them back to the kitchen, “I would’ve remembered that I also set up a wire in the entrance to the bedroom. That one was meant to trip up anyone who might try to enter.”
He chuckled to himself as they sat down again. “Instead, it caught me leaving my room to make tea. Not very smart of me.”
“At least you know it works,” Amie offered, to which Andrew laughed.
“That’s a good way of looking at it.”
Amie picked up her mug as she glanced around the apartment. She thought about Benny being in there earlier that day, looking for the photos. Where had he looked? Did he find them on a laptop and delete them? How could Amie possibly find them herself?
She sucked in a breath as a thought hit her.
“What is it?” Andrew asked.
Amie flashed him a smile. “Tea’s hot,” was the excuse she managed to get out. “It’s very good though. Um, when did you set up the trip wire?”
“Before I went to bed,” Andrew answered. “I haven’t had much time to get used to it, hence me forgetting it was there.”
Amie frowned. Never mind then.
“Oh, the bedroom one I did today,” Andrew amended. “The one in the hallway I set up yesterday evening.”
“Ah,” Amie said, her mind beginning to race again. “Extra security. Smart.”
She didn’t even know what she was saying; she was too busy thinking.
Elena had seen Benny in the Harlows’ apartment earlier that day, sitting on the other side of the door.
Had he tripped over the wire? No, the vase was still intact, and besides, he would’ve been further down the hall if he’d tripped.
So Benny hadn’t made it far into the apartment, and didn’t return later. If he still wanted those photos, he could be back.
“Very smart,” Amie added, this time with added emphasis. “Has, um, Benny stopped by lately?”
“Here?” Andrew asked. “No, he hasn’t. He came by the store to pay his respects.”
“Just …” Amie scrambled for the right words. She didn’t want to frighten the man. “The trip wire is smart. I’d keep using the chain lock on the door, too.”
Andrew stared at her for several seconds. Then he gave her a slow nod. “I will.”
They sat quietly for a minute, sipping their teas. Amie finally spoke, feeling a need to fill the silence.
“Your traps remind me of my friend David,” she said. “I don’t know if you’ve met him; he lives on the second floor. He loves building Rube Goldberg machines, you know, one thing causes another thing causes another …”
She trailed off as Andrew put down his mug with a heavy thunk.
“I know David,” he said gruffly, still gripping the handle of the mug.
Uh-oh. Amie shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Andrew to say more. He didn’t.
“I don’t know what you might’ve heard,” Amie said hesitantly, “but David wouldn’t … I mean, I know him, and he—”
Andrew sighed, rubbing his face. “I know. I’m sorry. The police told me they were going to question him, but I know that doesn’t mean much.”
“So you weren’t the one who told the police about the argument,” Amie murmured, almost to herself. “Right. Because you didn’t talk to Savannah that evening.”
“I only heard about it from the police,” Andrew confirmed.
“Did they tell you who tipped them off about the argument?”
Andrew shook his head, folding his hands on the table. “I know … my wife was often difficult to deal with. She had very strong opinions, was incredibly stubborn, and tended to …”
He paused, then finished tightly, “… put her own feelings above the feelings of others. But I just can’t imagine … murder. Why would someone murder her?”
The question was not being posed to Amie, she knew that.
Andrew was asking it not to be answered, but as a signal to the universe that to him, this Didn’t Make Sense.
Amie understood the small comfort in declaring oneself to the cosmos—if a person couldn’t control their fate, the least they could do was make it known when they felt the narrative designed by the powers that be was frustratingly lacking in logic.
Andrew’s question had a much higher likelihood of being answered than the ones Amie had posed to the universe during the time loop. But not by anyone in that room. Not that night, at least.