Cupid's Guide to Murder

Chapter 17: Chasing Nothings

"Besides, you're a little hard to hate. They'll come around."

Warmth pooled in my stomach.

His eyes slid to the clock, and then he glanced back at me. "I think the house is warm enough to not feel like a freezer. Should we check out the rooms upstairs?"

I didn't want this moment to end. I tried to capture it as if it was actually something worth remembering and stay as long as I could if it meant just sitting near him. But as the flames dissipated, I knew I couldn't keep it; nothing lasts forever. He stood up, offering me a hand, and I took it, letting him pull me up.

His fingers wrapped around mine for a second too long, but he dropped my hand, and just like that, the warmth was gone. I was so glad he couldn't see the thoughts that loved to betray me or feel how my heartbeat quickened.

"Natasha's room," Griffin said, avoiding my gaze. "If I remember correctly... the first room on the left?"

"Right," I breathed. "It's the room on the right."

It was a faint memory, but one that still existed. Natasha had brought me to her beach house only once — she had told me she only came there alone when things were bad.

I held my breath, imagining her in this empty place, alone and scared.

Griffin nodded, allowing me to lead the way. I walked towards the room, edging the creaky door open.

There was a large vanity mirror with the attached lights off. Handmade paintings and potted plants decorated the dresser. A coffee mug with lipstick fringed on the rim. I glanced at the maroon shade, swallowing.

Natasha's signature shade.

"She was here," I whispered. "She came to Eastwood before all of this."

Before, all we had was a potential lead. This confirmed that Natasha had been here — maybe to get away from Killer Cupid.

Griffin moved forward, shuffling through the drawers. "Most of them are empty," he said hoarsely. He moved to the closet next, pulling the doors open.

I walked over to the dresser. Going through Natasha's things felt invasive, but her summer home held secrets. It had to — why else would she come here? I ran my fingers lightly over the handles, going through each chest.

Old t-shirts.

Swimsuits.

Suntan lotion.

Nothing that screamed murder. Just as I was about to give up, my eyes landed on a glimmer of teal.

I moved aside a baseball cap. On top of the envelopes, there was a printed-out note from Killer Cupid.

My stomach twisted, goosebumps lining my skin. Killer Cupid hadn't just been stalking me — he had been after Natasha, too. 

I pushed aside the top note, revealing multiple envelopes underneath. My body tensed as I leafed through the envelopes, realizing they contained letters.

"Griffin." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Look." I showed him the envelopes, and he leafed through them before meeting my gaze.

"They're all letters blackmailing Natasha." Griffin's eyebrows furrowed. "Why would someone do that?"

"The last note says she isn't safe," I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "But that isn't the worst part. I recognize the handwriting."

The same writing from the handwritten notes she would pass me in class when we were too young to have phones. The way she dotted her I's and how she curved her e's.