by N.L. Wilson
Chapter 20
You know, I don’t normally enjoy being the center of attention.
Ahahaha! That is so not true. I just love being the center of attention. Smack dab in the middle of it. Like right about now. No one in the room was entirely sure where I was going with this. Well, no one but me, Dylan, and possibly now the murderer.
After Luanne’s denial of guilt and my attestation also to her innocence, the room was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop. I mentally broke into a chorus of Queen’s We are the Champions but thought better of actually belting it out loud. Too cocky, even for me. And besides, I had a ways to go before I was home free on this.
But things were definitely moving along.
And every set of eyes in the room was on me. I felt them. Some more than others. Dickhead, of course, was glaring at me. But I have to give him credit; he’d been quiet while I had my say. He might not know where this was going, but he wasn’t so stupid or vindictive as to stop me. Not when there was murder involved. Not even he would stoop so low as to let a killer go free just to bust my ass. And I could tell by the set of his jaw and the way he was listening to me, that he knew I was on to something.
As I stood taking a deep breath before continuing, I heard Ned’s mother mumbling. “I don’t know... I know that face from somewhere. Somewhere recent...”
Oh shit.
Jeremy Poole sat in the corner, so pale and still he could have been a wax statue. Elizabeth Bee sat perched on the edge of her chair, waiting to see what would happen next. Rochelle and Judge Stephanopoulos remained in the doorway, watching intently from the periphery, but not missing a thing.
Dylan was looking at me too, of course. I’d catch his eye every once in a while. I saw the encouraging nods. The hint of a smile. And I liked that. It felt good to be on top of my game while he watched. Strangely good. Weirdly good.
Cautiously good, Dix, I reminded myself. Cautiously good.
I let my gaze sweep again over the people assembled, each with their own agendas and fears and loves. Ah, yes, love. What a crazy thing it was. It could make us laugh or cry. It could scare the crap out of us or make us feel renewed. Make us feel stupid and brilliant all at once. It made old men pat their wives’ hands and call them ‘Dearest’. And as I knew all too well, love could break our hearts. It could turn us into romantic fools. And, yes, it could turn us into murderers.
