Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Yes, I’m a flight attendant with London Air, but I don’t remember if I got a receipt at the store.” She looks at me. “Did you see one in the bags?”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s okay. What store did you stop at? I can check the video.”
“The one in Paddington Station.” Her fingers dig into my thigh. “I’m…” She shakes her head. “I’m a little confused why you need to verify that information.”
He stops writing and focuses on her. “I got a call from the coroner this afternoon, and he is not convinced that the injuries Mrs. Lewis suffered could have occurred from just falling down the stairs.”
“What?” she breathes, and I cover her hand. “What does that mean?”
“We’re trying to figure that out.” He looks between her and me. “I asked Josh who cleaned up the blood in the stairway, and he said he didn’t know.”
“I did,” I cut in. “Hanna didn’t want Mrs. Lewis’s sister to have to see that when she got here.”
“And you are?”
“Her boyfriend.”
“Do you live here?”
“No, I got in late last night.
With another nod, he begins to write again, while Hanna sits statue-still at my side.
“How long have you lived here?” he asks Hanna, her fingers still digging into my skin.
“Almost two years.”
“And Josh?”
“He and his friends just moved in a couple of weeks ago. They were doing some work for Mrs. Lewis and staying here while working on the house.”
“How do you think she and her nephew got along?”
“She loved him, and from what I saw, he was very sweet with her.”
“Did she have any problems with anyone?”
“No.” The one word is instant. “Everyone loved her.”
After writing for another moment, he looks up. “When you got home yesterday, was the door open?”
“No, it was locked.”
“Are you sure?” He studies her closely.
“Yes, I remember having to use my key to get in.”
“Did you notice anything out of place?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I mean, there was mail everywhere. I assumed it was dropped when she fell.”
“All right.” He jots something down, then asks, “Is there anything you want to ask?”
“Do I need to be worried about living here?”
“I wish I could tell you that, but right now, we’re just trying to sort things out.” He stands. “For now, I would just be cautious.” He pulls a card out of his pocket. “I’m going to need you to email me your employer information so I can confirm the information you gave me about where you were yesterday.”
“Of course,” she replies quietly, taking the card he hands her as she stands.
“Have a good day, Ms. Mayson, and if you can think of anything else, please call me,” he says as we follow him down the hall, and when she closes the door behind him, she spins to face me, looking white as a ghost.
“He thinks she was murdered?”
“He said they’re trying to figure that out.”
“He said he has to verify where I was and what time I got home yesterday!” she cries, tossing her arms in the air, her chest rising and falling quickly. Too quickly.
“Baby, calm down. We don’t know what happened, and it sounds like they don’t even know what happened.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Walker. If someone murdered her….” Her face crumples, and I hook her around the back of the neck and pull her against my chest. Then, for the second day in a row, I hold her while she cries, feeling completely fucking helpless.
CHAPTER 17
hanna
Walking up the walkway to Douglas’s house, Walker’s hand wraps tightly around mine. The nervousness I felt just yesterday over introducing him to Douglas and his wife is long gone. Honestly, I’m having a difficult time feeling anything other than grief and trepidation.
I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of Mrs. Lewis being dead, and I really can’t believe someone might have killed her. And even with Walker reminding me over and over all day that Officer Taylor didn’t say she was murdered, but the injuries she sustained might not have occurred from a fall down the stairs.
I’m not stupid. I’ve listened to enough podcasts and watched enough true crime documentaries to know you don’t ask questions like the ones he was asking me unless you believe there could be foul play involved. And that’s terrifying.
I have no idea who could have done that to her or if there is a risk to myself or anyone else still staying in the house.
“I think I need to move.”
“Pardon?” Walker asks, stopping us halfway up the walkway.
“I think I should move.”
“Why do you need to move?”
“Because I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Lewis. I don’t know if the police have a suspect in mind or if the person will come back to try to hurt me or you or anyone in that house.”
“Baby.” He shakes his head and turns me to face him.