Chapter Eleven: Lucy

CHAPTER ELEVENLUCY

“Grandma, what the fuck?”

I drop the takeout containers on the table and turn to face my grandmother, who is sprawled out on the couch in the center of her tiny house, watching one of the Avengers movies.

She blinks at me with wide-eyed innocence. “What?”

“You sent me to the diner because you knew that podcaster bastard was there.”

“Well … yes.”

“Please…” I pause, closing my eyes briefly as I gather myself. “Please tell me that you didn’t plan this entire party just to get me here to talk to that podcaster.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking. It’s pretty obvious that’s exactly what I did.”

“Oh my god.” I drop into a chair and put a hand on my forehead. “Why would … what in … Why?”

She stands, adjusting the bun that’s wobbling on the top of her head. She walks over to the table and pulls the food out of the bag. “Have you seen him?”

“You sold me out to a podcaster because he’s cute?”

“He’s not just cute. My god. He even looks better than that—that guy, who is that?”

I drop my hand from my forehead to see her pointing at the television. “Chris Evans.” I roll my eyes. “He is not cuter than Chris Evans.”

“Well, agree to disagree.” She puts my burger and fries down in front of me. “But, no. I did not sell you out because he’s cute. I’m just saying that it might have helped when he showed up at my door with that smile.”

“Smug smile,” I mutter.

“Oh yes, very smug. That boy is extremely impressed with himself.” She laughs and walks to her minifridge. Her loose green dress swishes around her calves. “Do you want a beer?”

“No, thank you.”

She cracks one open for herself and then sits down at the table. She pops a fry into her mouth. “I think that he’s your best shot.”

“Best shot at what?”

“At figuring out who killed Savannah. We spoke for a long time, and he was very straightforward with me. He wants to find out the truth, not just hang you out to dry like everyone else.”

I take a bite of my burger to avoid having to reply to that. I don’t want to tell her that the idea of Ben finding the truth terrifies me.

She points at me. Her fingernails are bright pink, the color chipped at the ends like she’s been picking at it. “Don’t get that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’ve decided you’re guilty and have something to hide.”

“Let’s kill—”

I take another bite of my burger.

“I told him I’d convince you to let him interview you,” she says.

“Bold of you to think you could actually do that.”

“Lucy, let’s not pretend that you’re not going to do this for me.” She pats my hand.

Dammit.

“You need him,” she continues.

“I do not need that idiot.”

“Yes, you do. People believe men. Especially men who look like that. If he says you didn’t do it—if he even casts enough doubt—people will actually believe him. Look at that Ronan Farrow fellow. No one believed that movie man assaulted all those girls until he said it was true.”

I sigh, because she’s right.

Of course, that also means that if Ben decides I did it, I’m extra fucked.

“He solved a cold case on the first season of the podcast,” Grandma says. “He’s going to figure this out, and you’re going to help him.”

“The Harpers hired three different PIs and came up empty. How is Ben going to suddenly solve this?”

“He said he was going to find information that no one else had.”

I grab a fry. “How exactly is he going to do that?”

“Well, for one, you’re going to help him. And two, he already has.”

I stop with my mouth half-open, ready to take a bite. “What?”

“Colin didn’t go straight home from the wedding.”