Dead. The word jolted Quinn from a sound sleep. She propped herself into a sitting position. “What happened?”
“I went to the hotel to get my stuff,” Astrid said. “I thought he’d already be gone when I got here. He wasn’t.”
“And?”
“I walked in, started packing my bag. I knew he was angry, so I kept to myself. Didn’t say a word to him. He followed me into the bedroom. We got into an argument. I said it was over. He called me a whore. I should’ve let it go, but I didn’t.”
“What did you do, attack him?”
“I made a joke. Said something about how he never satisfied me in bed. I mean, the guy could barely get it up and keep it up on a good day. I almost gave myself carpal tunnel trying.”
“Spare me the intimate details of your sex life, Astrid. Just give me the facts.”
“After I spouted off, he socked me in the chest. And I tell you what—one of my breast implants feels like it’s leaking, you know, like it’s started to deflate. I can’t tell. But when I looked in the mirror a few minutes ago, I thought it looked like—”
“Astrid! Stick to the facts. He hit you. Then what?”
“I told him to leave. When he didn’t, I hit him in the head with a glass dish. He fell. Guess he must have cracked his head open or something. Hasn’t moved since. Oh, and, there’s blood, lots of it, kinda pooling around his head area and stuff.”
Of all the people to call, why does it have to be me?
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Five minutes or so.”
“Have you touched him, seen if he has a pulse?” Quinn asked. “Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not going anywhere near the guy.”
“How long ago did you dial 9-1-1?”
Silence.
“You called 9-1-1, right?” Quinn asked.
“I ... well, I was going to, but then I started thinking, what if they don’t understand it was an accident?”
“It doesn’t matter. Hang up and dial 9-1-1. You don’t have a choice. Say there’s been an accident, and you need an ambulance right away.”
“I can’t. What if they don’t believe my story?”
“Are you hearing me right now? You have to—you’ll look suspicious if you don’t. They’ll look at your phone records and see you called me first instead of reporting it to the police. You don’t need to worry about your story, because when they get there, you’re not going to say anything.”
“How’s that going to work?”
“This is what I want you to do. Let them in, show them where Eugene is, and beyond that, say you’re waiting for your lawyer to get there.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“You will,” Quinn said. “I’ll talk to Dad. Or I’ll call Bo. One of them will know what to do. Okay?”
Quinn paused, waiting for an affirmation. “Astrid, do you hear me? I need you to do what I’m telling you to do right now. You understand, right?”
“I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve never ... killed a person before. I can’t stop trembling, and my mind is cluttered. All kinds of images are spinning, flashing like a light bulb turning on and off. I can’t get them out. I’m losing it, Quinn!”
“You just need a minute to get yourself together. It’s going to be okay.”
“Will you come down here? Please? I can’t do this alone.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Please, Quinn. Just this once. I know I don’t deserve it. Especially from you. I’ll never ask you for another favor again. I promise.”
A Bible verse popped into Quinn’s mind from the book of Matthew. Something about turning the other cheek—if someone slaps the one, turn to the other, and let them slap that one also. It seemed like God expected a lot more than she was capable of at times. When it came to Astrid, Quinn didn’t just feel slapped, she felt beaten. Her face burned just thinking about it. Astrid was her sister, her blood. No matter how much anger she harbored, how much she hurt, she’d have to put it aside for just one night.