“Erica? Slow down,” Freddie called out, jogging to keep up with me as I made a beeline for his Jimmy.
I wasn’t sure why I was walking so quickly. It might have been to get away from all that Mr. Carver had told us … but I suspected it had a little more to do with trying to get away from what I was thinking we needed to do next.
“Erica!”
I stopped in the middle of an empty parking space, waiting for Freddie to catch up.
He stopped beside me, his hands on his belly. “Wow. Okay,” he said. “That back there? My ears are still ringing.”
I didn’t answer.
“But seriously, we need to talk about what all this means before we even consider thinking about our next move.”
I still didn’t answer.
“All that stuff he said about some mysterious letter to a lawyer being hidden in some grave?” Freddie chuckled. “It’s a pretty crazy story, right? I mean, no sane person would think there’s any truth to that.”
I turned and looked at him.
“No, no, no!” Freddie shouted. “I know that look. That there is Crazy Erica! She’s way worse than Happy Erica!”
I didn’t change my expression.
“You can’t be thinking…” Freddie trailed off, shaking his head. “You know—you know, Erica—that I’m down with doing a lot of things the average person wouldn’t. In fact I normally encourage those things, but you can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“You heard him, Freddie,” I said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like my own. “It’s not an actual grave.”
Freddie grabbed my shoulders. “Erica, I want you to take a moment to think about what you just said.”
“What about what you said?” I asked. “You said in the beginning you wanted me all-in, Freddie. This is what all-in looks like.”
“What!” Freddie held up a finger to my face and said, “No. You just stop it! Right now.”
I started walking again to the SUV. “Whatever it takes, Freddie.”
He ran in front of me, forcing me to stop. “No. Sorry.” He cut the air with his hands. “As CEO of Otter Lake Security, I have to veto this plan. This crosses a line.”
I moved past him, cranked the door to the SUV open, and hopped in the seat. Freddie followed suit on the other side.
We sat for a moment in silence, both of us looking out the windshield.
“You’re still thinking it. I can feel you still thinking it.”
I leaned back against my seat. “Freddie, when I saw Kit Kat lying in the grass like that … it changed everything.”
“Look, I get it,” he said. “But this is too far. Causing a ruckus at the bingo hall? No problem. It was kind of cute. Getting in the occasional bar fight? Why not? It’s Otter Lake. But what you’re thinking right now? No.”
“What if it were your grandmother in that hospital bed?”
Freddie’s eyes flashed over to mine. “You talk about my poppo again, and I’ll stab you in the ribs.”
“Exactly,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “Listen, if Mrs. Masterson killed her father to stop him from giving the house to Kit Kat, that really makes it a lot more plausible that she killed her husband and her caretaker. Especially if Mr. Clarke somehow found out the truth. I find it highly suspicious that the second murder took place right at the memorial plaque thingy for her father. What if the caretaker knew and was going to dig it up?” I scanned Freddie’s face to see if any of this was registering.
He was biting his lip. Oh yeah, he was thinking about it.
“What other option do we have?” I asked. “Do you have any other leads? Because, really, I’m open to suggestions.”
“I … not really.”
“Well then?”
“Erica! Think it through,” Freddie pleaded. “You and I both know that Grady’s not playing anymore.”
I buckled my seat belt. “So what do we do with all this then? Nothing? Tell Grady? I don’t think he’s exactly listening to what we have to say right now.”
Freddie chuckled and held his arms out to the side like his lat muscles were too big. “Nah, he’d be all like, I’m Grady Forrester. And nobody is digging up anything. There was no evidence of a murder, and your witness is a hundred years old. I wish I had Freddie’s boat. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so angry all the time.”
“Not helping, Freddie.”
He exhaled all his fake muscles with a whoosh. “Erica, I’m pretty sure what you’re suggesting is a felony.”
“It’s not a felony.”
“And you know that how?”
“Work,” I said. “I transcribe these kinds of cases all the time.”
“Really? Just like all the time?”
“Yup.”
“Erica, you’re lying! And you’re terrible at it.”
Suddenly my phone buzzed. I fiddled around in my jacket pocket to retrieve it. “Just a second,” I said. “It’s my uncle. I have to take this.” I swiped the screen. “Hello?”
“Erica, it’s Uncle Jack.”
“Hi,” I said quickly. “It’s really good to hear from you. I take it you got all of my messages?”
“I did. I did. And your mother sent me quite the email. I apologize for not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a busy week.” His voice sounded as though he meant it. “Listen, I’ve looked into the case, but Erica … I’m not sure how much we can do for Twyla.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not at all liking the seriousness of his tone. “Is the evidence against her really that bad?”
“Not at all. Well, the ME hasn’t handed over the report yet, but all things considered—frankly, I wouldn’t expect them to get past discovery. So I don’t know why—”
“Why what?” I asked. “What’s the problem?”
A moment passed. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Erica, I don’t how to tell you this … but Twyla has decided to plead guilty.”