THIS BOOK WILL KILL YOU

2_Carap23_

I'm still bouncing on my heels in the kitchen door, and even though he smiles again I only really relax when I hear mom thumping down the stairs. She's in her bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her hair, and she's going so fast she misses the last step, cussing as she limps past me.

"You okay?" she says, and I can see her lip trembling. "What's wrong?"

I'm not sure why she's so worried, because both her kids are here, safe, and dad's not coming back from the grave any time soon. The thought that nothing can be seriously wrong makes me a little less worried too, and I follow her in, standing on the other side of the bar. The younger cop lifts his hands, flashing that smile again.

"Easy, nobody's in trouble. I'm Detective Cyrus, that's Detective O'Connell. I'd like to say call us Alfredo and Frank, but the honest truth is we're not going to be here for long enough." He holds out his hand and O'Connell hands him a manila folder, which he lays down on the bar. It's lying on a bed of breadcrumbs and I'm so preoccupied with the thought of brushing them away that it takes me a moment to notice he's opened it. "Mrs Bright?"

Mom nods, holding the gown to her chest.

"Susan," she says after a moment.

"Thank you," Cyrus says. "Susan. Frank and I are here because we're investigating a death. A teenage girl from across town."

"A death?" says mom. She looks like she's going to keel over and I think it's more to do with the hot bath than the cops. Maybe a bit of both. Detective O'Connell is on it, pushing off the stool and offering it to her. She doesn't accept, because there's no way she's climbing on that thing without going all Basic Instinct on them. She leans on the bar instead, smudging mascara down her cheek.

"Again, we're not accusing any of you of anything," Cyrus says. "We are just following leads, absolutely nothing else." He looks down at Donnie, who's staring at the open file. "Your sister is not going to prison, and you are not getting her bedroom."

"It's an unexplained death," O'Connell chimes in, obviously irritated, patting his pocket with yellow fingers like he's checking for his cigarettes. "A girl called Cara Pierce. She was found dead a couple weeks ago. Did you know her?"

Everybody looks at me and I shake my head.

"She went to Fullerson," Cyrus said. "No reason why your paths would cross. She was sixteen."

Like me.

"Nice kid, I think, good group of friends. Nice family. Her mom found her, a week ago. She'd died in the night. She'd..." He shrugs, looking at Donnie again. "You don't need to know the details. We're not sure yet, but we want to be sure."

"So if I didn't know her, and you don't suspect anyone..." I say, chewing on my thumbnail like it's candy.

Detective Cyrus thumps the folder with his fist, twice.

"Cara was a writer."

Like me, I think, and this time I feel the gooseflesh slide down my arms like a fish nudging the surface of a pond.

"I mean, young and unpublished, but you know, she liked to write. She was in the middle of writing something."

"A note?" says mom, and the detective shakes his head.

"Not that kind of note, no. A story, we think. Something pretty scary, although who am I to judge, I'm a royal wimp when it comes to horror."

"It's not her story we're interested in, though," says O'Connell, lifting a sheet of paper from the folder and sliding it across the bar. He's giving it to me, but mom snatches it from him. I watch her eyes dart over it, the lines making her brow crease like old parchment.