If Catfish Had Nine Lives(94)
“Weird, unreal. I have an idea. Before you ask any more questions, take a day, a few days, and think about whether or not you want to know.” My mouth was so dry. I took another drink. “Cliff, I’ll tell you if you really want to know, but you need to trust me on this part—you might not want to. Honestly.”
Cliff looked up absently to the sky. I watched his profile as he considered my warning. For an instant I thought I saw the boy he’d been in high school, and my heart mushed a little. Oh, geez, I was so stupid. I saw his signature half smile, the shadow of his dimple pulling, before he turned and looked at me.
“Really weird?” he asked.
“The weirdest,” I said.
“I’ll think about it.”
If nothing else, maybe now he could be relieved that whatever he’d been picking up on wasn’t a product of his imagination. I knew the feeling.
“I’m crazy about you, you know,” I said.
“I know,” Cliff said. “You’d better be. We’ve got lots ahead of us, Betts. Lots.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said.
And I truly was.
Chapter 24
The next morning, right before six, I was awakened by a text. Cliff, still feeling like he needed to stop by the jail and confirm there was nothing he was missing regarding the cases he and the other officers were working on, didn’t stay the night. He hadn’t left because I hadn’t told him about my distraction; just the fact that I confirmed there was one was enough to ease the waters. If he truly wanted me to share the ghostly details, there might be other issues ahead, but I decided I could only worry about that when and if it happened.
The early text I received from him said: Crime scene tech from St. Louis here. Do you want to come watch her work?
I texted him back that I’d be there quickly. I remembered Cliff mentioning that Jim had planned on calling in someone from St. Louis, but I was surprised that I’d been invited to attend.
I hurried out the door without even one longing glance at my coffee machine. I’d stop by Bunny’s later.
It didn’t take long to return to the scene of the crime. My drive to downtown could be as short as three minutes or as long as about four and a half; today, it was on the shorter side.
I parked on a side street and walked quickly to the end of Main. I easily spotted Jim, Cliff, a couple other officers, the fire marshal, Evan, and a group of four people I didn’t know. The group was made up of three men and one woman, all of whom wore matching blue zip-up jackets. The woman was undeniably in charge—of everyone and everything. I didn’t think anyone noticed my arrival, and I decided it was best that I stay back and out of the way, so I skirted around the edge of the activity and then stopped close enough to hear what was going on but hopefully still be unobtrusive. Evan, who’d been back a bit from the group, stepped back farther and stood next to me. We smiled and mouthed quick and silent hellos to each other. The woman held on to the arms of one man and moved him to the place where I knew Norman had been standing when he was shot.
“Okay, Cliff, sweetie,” she said. “This is where I believe the victim went down, is that correct?”
I took a double-take at her deeply Southern and extra friendly tone. Even though she wore jeans and the drab blue zip-up jacket, she was very pretty. And also young. She might have been my age, but I guessed a couple years younger. Her black, chin-length hair was held back by a bright pink headband and her big blue eyes were both lovely and intelligent.
Cliff looked at some notes and pictures he held. “Yes. That’s the spot, Amy.”
“Good. Okay, lie down. No, about three feet back,” she said to the man whose arms she held. “Good. Now, I’m going to put you into the position that the victim was found in.” She pulled a picture out of her own pocket and showed it to the young man on the ground.