Creep - Jennifer Hillier [122]
They entered the small break room and Jerry looked around with a sigh. The smelly old couch sat against one wall, and an old television was mounted in the corner of the ceiling. The volume was low and it was playing a late-night infomercial for an exercise machine that was guaranteed to flatten your stomach in only six weeks. The sink was filled with dirty mugs, and crumbs were all over the counter. To the right of the sink, a soiled bread knife lay beside an opened bag of bagels. The room was a pigsty, not much better than a frat house.
“Sit,” Jerry said, pointing to the small table and chairs in the corner. “I’ll make the tea.”
He started opening the cupboards, his back to her, pawing through the mounds of crap inside. He could swear some of it was still here from when he’d retired three years ago. “Bingo!” He reached for a box of Earl Grey tea. A name was scrawled in black marker on the side. “You’re in luck. This is Detective Kellogg’s, but I’m sure she won’t mind.”
Behind him, Maddox sighed. “She felt sorry for me, I could tell. I bet she’d never fall for someone like Ethan. She’s too smart for that.”
Jerry thought it best to keep his thoughts about the perky Kellogg to himself. He reached for the kettle and turned on the faucet. “Ethan Wolfe is a smart guy. And a very good liar. He strikes me as the kind of person who could fool anyone.”
“You’re being kind. It’s pretty obvious I was an idiot. Looking back now, there were so many signs. I just can’t believe I didn’t see them for what they were.”
Jerry plugged the kettle into the outlet and bustled over to the fridge to look for some milk. “Like what?” he said, bending over. His nose wrinkled as he pushed some of the contents around. The fridge didn’t smell too good.
“Like when Diana died,” Maddox said. “He was her TA, but he didn’t even seem bothered by it. Considering he was the one who sliced her throat, you’d think he’d have reacted in some way. But he was like stone. It was like he felt nothing. That should have told me something.”
Jerry froze, his hand on a small container of milk he’d found stashed near the back of the fridge. Did she just say that Diana St. Clair’s throat was slashed? His mind flew back to his conversation with Mike Torrance at the Golden Monkey the week before, when his ex-partner had specifically told him that this detail had been omitted from all their press releases.
So how could Abby Maddox know about it?
The kettle whistled. He straightened up slowly, clutching the milk container in his hand. Heading to the counter, he unplugged the kettle and went about the business of fixing them both a cup of tea. His back to her, Jerry said casually, “Where’d you hear that? About her throat being slit?”
A full five seconds of silence.
Then in a soft voice she said, “I think I read it somewhere.”
Bullshit.
Jerry rapidly dunked the tea bags into both their mugs, his mind racing. The police definitely hadn’t released that detail to the media. No way in hell Maddox could know about it. Unless Wolfe had told her. Unless she’d been there when he’d done it. Did she know more than she was telling? What was she hiding? Maybe she knew all along that Wolfe had committed the murders, but she was afraid for her own life if she told anyone. Maybe—
Before his thoughts could fully form, Maddox was right behind him.
Her slender arms encircled his waist and he could feel her head leaning softly against his back. “Jerry.” Her voice had dropped to a throaty whisper and she pulled him closer. “Thank you for being here with me. You’re really helping me through this night, and I appreciate it more than words. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”
Jerry stiffened in surprise, almost knocking over one of the mugs. “Uh . . . Miss Maddox . . .” He put his dark hands on top of her milky white forearms. “I don’t think—”
Before he could finish his sentence, her hand was under his chin. Her wrist jerked hard, just once.
As the bread knife slid into his throat, like a Ginsu cutting into a steak, Jerry had one last thought before he lost consciousness.