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TWENTY-ONE

I'D LEARNED A LOT about Ariel, things that Robin and Barr might not have unearthed by themselves. I'd sworn up and down I wasn't going to investigate her murder, yet it sure looked like that was exactly what I was doing. Why couldn't I stop asking questions? Did I have some kind of genetic mutation?

Gawd. Well, that was it. Finished. Over. Finito. No more snooping or questioning or even wondering to myself. No more gnawing on the problem like it was a big juicy bone and I was a hungry terrier. Barr had asked me to gossip, but by stealing Ariel's diary and talking to Lindsey Drucker, I'd crossed that line.

Too many people knew I'd been asking questions. Someone had killed Ariel in a very violent manner, and the last thing I wanted was to set them off or make them think I was a danger in anyway, shape, or form. After all, it was more than likely I knew the murderer.

Nope, I thought. Stick a fork in me; I'm done.

At least for a few days.


I mean, it made sense to back off and see how things played out. I knew a lot more about Ariel now. Maybe it was enough. I'd learned by now that it was a bad idea to barrel ahead, poking at hornet nests just to see what came out.

Because I already knew the result would be hornets. And I didn't like getting stung.



TWENTY | Spin a Wicked Web | cледующая глава







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