Bryce could only sigh in frustration. “Tell me you’re not going to do this.”
“Ijust think,” Thea continued, making it known that she was, in fact, going to do this, “that if anyone should do a little freelance investigating, it’s us, y’know? The case is ongoing and apparently they have no leads.” She lifted her hand as though she was a fourth grader volunteering an answer in class. “Ihave a lead.”
“Youhave atheory. One with absolutely no evidence to back it up. You can’t just go accusing people of murder because they’re new in town.”
Thea shrugged. “I’m not accusing anyone of anything. But if it so happens that my mom made a lasagna for the Godfreys that she wantsmeto take over later… well, I can’t help that, can I?”
Groaning, Bryce collapsed into the swivel chair, so well-used by now that it had a permanent ass print sunken into the padding. “Don’t do this, Thea. Please.”
“Do what?” An innocent smile crept onto Thea’s pink lips. “I’m merely being a good neighbor.”
“I won’t be part of it. I liked Isaac. He was kind to me when…”When I needed kindness, Bryce wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to, through the lump in her throat. It did make her sick, though, to think that somebody had ended his life and dumped him in the rotten sewers that ran beneath town. He deserved so much better than that.
“Fine,” Thea shrugged. “I’ll have Mikey carry the brownies, then.”
It was clear Thea intended to do no such thing. She was baiting Bryce, knowing that for all her grief, she couldn’t resist the chaos Thea always brought to their friendship. And perhaps the Godfreyswerea little suspicious. And perhaps she didn’t want Isaac Harmer’s murder to go unpunished.
Perhaps that’s why, with a long, jagged exhale of breath, she agreed.“Fine.I’ll carry the damn brownies. But that’s as far as this goes.”
“As far as it goes.” Thea extended her pinky finger in promise. Bryce curled her own around it knowing full well it would probably be broken. Maybe that’s just what friendship was: a pile of broken promises.
* * *
“Yoohoo, Mr. Godfrey!” Thea waved over the white picket fence of the Godfreys’ back yard, wondering what sort of job John must have if he could afford the large, three-story house beside the town’s library and still be at home at one-thirty on a weekday.
She stopped in her tracks when she heard the crack of a spade burrow itself into damp, gravelly soil.
“Oh my God. He’s burying a body,” she whispered to Bryce.
Bryce rolled her eyes, clutching the Tupperware box of brownies in her hands.
John’s gray head rose above the pointed wooden slats — which, Thea noted, could easily be used to impale somebody — as the sound of digging ceased. “Oh, hello. Thea, was it?”
“Thisis the guy you think is a killer?” Bryce muttered, lips downturned in disapproval. “He’s wearinglinen.”
Thea clucked her tongue. “Have I taught you nothing? It’s always the least suspicious ones.” She neglected to mention the fact that John had appeared more suspicious in the bookstore a few days ago. Apparently, in the comfort of his own yard, he swapped his long black coat for light, well-ironed trousers and loose beige shirts.
Louder, she called to John, “Yep, Thea! My mom sent round some homemade lasagna and brownies.”
“Ah!” Pale slices of color shifted across the slatted fence and John ambled to the gate, and then the bolts clicked and it creaked open on rusted hinges. “That’s so kind of you both. And who is your friend?”
Bryce’s silence made it very clear she had no intention of introducing herself, so Thea said, “This is my best friend, Bryce.”
“Well, both of you do come in. We’re in the process of digging out a fire pit and having a housewarming barbecue.” He motioned to the uprooted patch of earth, the spade still thrust in the center. There was no corpse, Thea noted. Just a fire pit, as John had said. The serial killer vibes were dwindling awfully quickly. “It’s a little early, I know, but you see, my daughter — ”
A shrill peal of yaps broke through his words, the source a ball of white fluff rolling across the freshly-trimmed grass. There must be a dog somewhere in all that fur, Thea thought, with an arched eyebrow.
She didn’t miss the way Bryce snorted as though to say ‘I told you so’.
“Might I introduce you to Sugarplum?” John picked up the heap of white curls, sticking out his chin when a pink tongue swiped across his cheek. “She’s very friendly. Loud, though.”
“Sugarplum,” Bryce repeated, reaching out to stroke the dog with an amused smirk. She cast Thea a pointed look. “What alovelyname.”
Thea knew what she was trying to say: what a pretty, completely non-serial killer-ish thing to name a dog.
So perhaps John did not appear quite as dark and shadowy as he had in the bookstore. Therestillhad been a murder in town right after he’d moved in, and he clearly liked his crime novels. It surely couldn’t be a coincidence.
She shot Bryce a glare and placed the piled tupperware on a frosted glass patio table.