“What are you doing here?” I blurted out at the exact moment he asked, “You okay?”
We both chuckled awkwardly. He then pushed his hair back from his forehead. “I was just going for a run. Couldn’t sleep.”
I eyed Matthew’s outfit. He was wearing black running tights with a matching long-sleeved running shirt. Black, but with reflective stripes at the arms and around the thighs. Definitely running clothes. I couldn’t help but notice those stripes ran exactly in the best places to accent his muscles. Those designers sure knew what they were doing. They should maybe get an award—Focus, Erica. “You ran all the way from your place to town? On a night like this?”
“Yeah. I decided to take a shortcut across the fairgrounds. I run at least a few days a week. Good stress relief.” He shook his head. “Hobby, I guess.”
Huh, a really sweaty hobby that somehow managed to look good on him. When I ran, I looked like one of those jowly dogs with the loose facial skin flapping everywhere, but Matthew looked like—looked like nothing! Because it was a totally inappropriate line of thinking for me to take! What was going on with me? I had way too much on my mind to be thinking about what Matthew looked like when he ran. And I had way too much Grady in my life to be thinking anything about Matthew at all. It was just … selfish.
“So,” he said, taking a look up the pole before leaning slightly to the side to see the box behind me. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my feet. What the hell was I doing here? It didn’t seem right to say, Oh I don’t know. Just looking for evidence to free my pseudo-aunt who might have already been arrested for your father’s murder. “I thought … it was a rabbit hutch?” I inwardly groaned. I was a terrible liar.
“Is that a VCR?” Matthew stepped back to get a better look up the pole. “And a camera?” His eyes dropped back down to mine. He paused a moment then said, “You were looking for evidence to clear Tweety.”
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I—”
He halfheartedly raised one hand. “You don’t need to explain. This is a really complicated situation for a lot of us.” He moved forward and bent in front of the box. He slipped the lock off. He then looked inside and fiddled with the same buttons I had before saying, “No tape.”
He craned his head to look up at me, causing a damp lock of hair to fall back on his forehead … a damp lock of hair that I suddenly had the insane urge to brush back … but of course I couldn’t, and not because of Grady this time, but because my right hand was busy holding steady my jacket full of tape!
“I know,” I said quickly. “I thought maybe—”
“Maybe the police already have it,” he said, straightening up.
I blinked a few times then nodded before wrapping my free hand across my guilty, guilty arm, still under the jacket making sure the tapes weren’t sliding around. Hopefully I just looked like I was staying warm. “Totally. Yeah.”
“That would be something at least.” He looked up at the now starry sky. A moment passed before he said, “Erica, I’m not sure if I should ask you this, but…”
“Anything. Ask me anything,” I said quickly. Anything to make me feel less like the horrible person I knew I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Matthew to see the tape—or even give the tape over to Grady—but as wrong as it was, I wanted to watch it first. If it was somehow incriminating, I’d turn it over to my uncle and let him decide how to handle it.
“You know Tweety as well as anyone on this island,” Matthew said. “Do you really think she is capable of murder?”
“No,” I said, using my free hand to push back the hair whipping around my face. “I don’t.”
He nodded.
“Look Matthew, she’s far from perfect. And I can’t say with any certainty that she didn’t have something going on with your father, but she’s not some calculated killer. I know people like Marg Johnson are talking—”
“Good ol’ Otter Lake.”
“But here’s the thing. The twins, they’re hot-blooded animals.” I moved to touch his arm but caught myself before I actually made contact. “If Tweety was angry enough to kill someone,” I said, pausing to look back toward town, “everyone would know it.”
He nodded and gave me a sad smile.
“I’m really sorry you’re going through this.”
“I’m sorry for you too.”
I jerked a little at that.
He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m sorry for what your family is going through. I know that this can’t be easy.”
“Please. Don’t worry about us. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your father in this way.”
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Not really how I expected him to go.”
I bit my lip, debating whether or not I should ask the next question. “Matthew?” I hated myself, but it was for Tweety. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but—”
“Go for it,” he said. “Believe me, after all the questions Grady’s asked us, I’m prepared for just about anything.”
I laughed slightly, but it didn’t feel very happy. “Is there anyone else you can think of who would want your father dead?”
He scoffed and kicked at the grass with his toe. “You mean besides my mother?”
I felt my eyes widen as Matthew turned to look at something behind me. “What’s going on over there?”
I whipped my head around.
Freddie!
The quiet little bonfire I had seen earlier had grown to near-epic proportions, flames clawing their way up to the sky—high enough that we could see it over the tops of the RVs.
I spun on my heel. “I gotta go.”
“Where are you going? Are you going to warn them about the wind?”
I didn’t have time to answer him. I took off in a sprint.
“Freddie!” I called out. “Hang on! I’m coming!”
I didn’t know if he could hear me. The wind had gusted and whipped the words right from my mouth.
I made it to the first break between RVs, when I heard something strange coming from the direction of the fire. It sounded like … like a guitar and … singing.
“Erica?” Matthew asked, jogging to my side. “What’s going on?”
I turned the corner of the RV then stopped dead.
I had half expected to see Freddie on a spit … but there at the campfire—blazing a little less furiously now—stood Freddie, guitar in hand, leading a bunch of people in song.
I took a few more steps forward, enough that Freddie saw me.
“Erica!” he shouted, letting the guitar swing from his hands by the strap around his neck. “Come on! Bucket chicken!”