The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

“I don’t think Tim killed them,” I say. “I don’t believe it.” Chelsea plants her hands on her hips. “You have a serious blind spot when it comes to Tim. He isn’t as great a guy as you think he is.” “Yes, he is.” “Trust me—he isn’t.” It sounds like she has something specific in mind, but I’m sure it’s something stupid. “Look, he’s not a killer.” She lets out an exasperated sound. “Don’t you get it, Brooke? It had to be him. He’s the only one who had the opportunity. He was alone in the living room and he could’ve gone up and killed her. Nobody else had the chance to do it.” I chew on my lower lip. My lips have gotten very chapped in the last couple of weeks, as the weather has turned. Licking them and biting them makes it worse, but I can’t help it. “Actually,” I say, “one other person had a chance.” “Who? Shane was outside. And nobody else is here. Who else had a chance?” “You.” I try to pick out her features in the dark room, but all I can see are her dark eyes with leaked mascara. “You were alone in the living room when Tim and I were in the kitchen.” Her jaw falls open. “Excuse me?”