Chapter 15 #3
"That seems doubtful. The killer wouldn't leave a trail." Morgan paused. "I keep thinking of the killer as a man. After what you saw at Cabot's house, is it possible that it's a woman?"
"That's a good question." I thought for a moment, realizing I had been thinking all along the killer was a man.
"I believe Cabot was struck in the back of the head with something heavy.
I don't know what it was. There was no knife, gun, or anything covered in blood that was left in the room.
I'm not sure how tall Cabot was. I only met him once nine years ago, and, tonight, he was crumpled on the ground so I couldn't tell.
It's possible a woman could have knocked him out with something heavy. "
"Well, hopefully, Detective Barclay will know more tomorrow."
As Morgan headed off to her room, I tidied up the table, putting our film equipment away and sat down to check my laptop.
There was nothing new in my email, and I didn't feel like reading the comments on our podcast, so I put Liam's name into the search box, wondering what would come up.
I'd always avoided looking him up on social media. But I was curious about him now.
Our conversation earlier had been brutally honest, which had only reminded me that he'd once known me better than I knew myself.
He'd always seen through my pretenses, my fake smiles.
I'd never been able to fool him, which is probably why I'd started fighting with him just before Paige died, and definitely after, because my insecurities had been running off the charts.
I didn't want him to see me for who I was because I didn't like myself very much.
As I searched through various social media platforms, I finally found him on one of them, but it wasn't really about him; it was focused on his nightclub, the music and comedy acts coming to perform at The Peak.
His business looked even more successful than I'd realized.
He'd always wanted to own a club, and he'd made it happen by the time he was thirty years old.
I looked for evidence of his personal life, but while there were plenty of pretty girls in photos taken at the venue, no one seemed to repeat more than the other.
It didn't seem like he was in a relationship, and there had been no sign of a woman living at his apartment.
I wondered why he'd stayed single. He'd told me once that he didn't like dating, that he preferred relationships, which had made him different from most of the college boys I knew.
But then Liam had always had a vision for his life.
I'd had one, too. But mine had combusted. My dreams had failed early, and I'd given up on them. Maybe I'd quit too soon, or maybe I'd been smart to cut my losses and do something else, because all those other jobs had led me here.
And I liked what Morgan, Cassidy, and I had created. I also appreciated having real friends, people I could count on, people who let me be the star but also had my back. And I liked to think I was good for them, too. That we were all good for each other.
I paused on one close-up photo of Liam playing a guitar on stage with one of the bands. The photo was zoomed in on him, his beautifully handsome face, the curly dark hair that always fell over his forehead when he played, his strong jaw and sensual lips, his broad shoulders and long legs.
I got a little hot thinking about the way we'd once been—before everything had gone wrong.
Or maybe I couldn't even blame it on a vague everything.
Because it was really all on me. I'd blown it all up.
Just the way I'd blown up a lot of things in life when I got scared, when I didn't think it was going to work.
It was easier to get out than to try to fight.
Sighing, I shut my computer down. I might not have fought back then, but I was fighting now, and I had one goal: to find out who killed Paige. I couldn't let anything else get in the way.
I was about to stand up when I got a text from Liam. It gave me a jolt. I almost felt like I'd spoken his name aloud, like my phone had heard my thoughts and somehow pulled him to me.
But that was ridiculous. I opened the text. It was short and simple: We should talk. Can you meet me tomorrow?
I licked my lips, having no idea what he wanted to talk about, but it was quite a turnaround from his attitude during our last two conversations.
I texted back: Yes. When and where?
Three o'clock at our spot.
I was surprised by his choice of location and not at all sure I wanted to meet him at a place that held so many memories. But how could I say no? If he had something to say to me, I needed to hear it, even if it was painful.
Okay. I'll be there.
He gave me a thumbs-up, and I stared at that emoji for far too long.
Then I finally clicked off the screen and stood up.
I double-checked the front door locks, then turned off the lights and went into my room.
I needed to sleep. I just hoped I could do it without dreaming, because I had a feeling those dreams would turn into bloody nightmares.