Corrigan grumbled, knowing he had lost. When he finally agreed, I was still watching Mena. She flushed, ducking her head down as she continued eating her toast, but she was right. Denton had a makeup girl. If she could make Corrigan a different ethnicity, she could do the same to me. Then my ankle monitor suddenly felt like it gained thirty pounds. It was weighing me down.
But if I could get it off, if I needed to for some reason, I could disguise myself. That thought was tucked to the back of my mind.
If I could get it off, if I ever had to get it off.
I didn’t want to think about that time, for what reason that could be, and I took Bryce’s coffee from his hand and gulped hal
f of it down.
“Sheldon! That’s hot.”
I didn’t feel it and pushed it back over to him. “Thanks.” Then I left and went back to my room. Denton was in the hallway on the phone. As I passed him, I heard him say, “Hi, Monica? Yeah, can you come over with your makeup kit? I have a favor to ask.”
I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, closing my eyes. Sliding down to the floor, I sat there. My elbows rested on my knees, and I rested my head in my hands.
I needed a moment, just a moment.
A sense of dread like I had never experienced stirred in me. It was filling me up and somehow, someway, I knew there’d be a time when I would have to get the ankle monitor off.
That was when I knew—the killer was coming to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE KILLER
“Sheldon Jeneve, dubbed The Queen Bee Killer, was at the Palloy Hotel earlier today where it looked like she had her own impromptu press conference.” The newscaster on the news glanced to her co-anchor. Folding her hands together on the desk, she asked, “Is that what you thought, Derek? It seemed like a spontaneous idea of hers.”
Her co-anchor, his hair combed neatly back, wearing a tailored grey suit and purple tie, gave her a polite smile in return. He shrugged, tapping one finger against his chin. “You know, if it was planned or not, it worked. Sheldon Jeneve is all over the news reports today and not in a bad way. She had some interesting points, and if they’re true, the police may need to look further into her case.”
“That’s very true.”
No, no, no.
This was all wrong. All wrong. I shook my head, slow at first as I listened to the news report, then faster at the end. I couldn’t stop.
“We’ve kept our viewers up-to-date with any new developments in the murder of Grace Barton. Sheldon Jeneve has been the first and most pivotal suspect for her murder. The police have seemed very confident in their case against her, but she made a plea for the public today, and I have to admit, I think the public heard her.”
The female reporter frowned. “You think so, Derek?”
He nodded, organizing his stack of papers in front of him. “I really do, Nancy. She was very passionate, but we only report the news.” He held his hand up toward the camera. “Take a look for yourself. If you think Sheldon Jeneve might be wrongly accused, tweet us at #channelyessheldon or #channelnosheldon. Let us know what you think, folks. And on that note, here’s a part of her press conference. You can watch the entire video on our website.”
They switched to a video of Sheldon at the hotel, but I tuned it out. I had watched it many times already. I could recite it word for word. They were blaming Sheldon. As her beautiful face came to the screen, a scream started to build inside me. I hadn’t framed her. Grace’s death wasn’t meant for this. It was meant for more, so much more. This couldn’t happen. I couldn’t allow this.
No, no, no.
Then a reporter asked Sheldon, “Who cut your brakes?”
The screaming in my head stopped. My hands were clenched to both sides of my head, pulling at my hair, but the answer was given to me. Right there. Handed to me on a silver platter. I almost laughed. That reporter, whoever it was, just gave me a way to save Sheldon. I moved my hands and looked up, all of my inner turmoil turned off, and I waited with my breath held.
“Guadalupe Ramirez,” she answered.
Oh, Sheldon. She was so strong. She turned to look at the reporter. She’d been crying, but she didn’t pay her tears any attention. That was my girl. No matter who was coming after her, what was being done to her, she always held strong.
I had to protect her. This is my gift to you, Sheldon. It was not time, not yet, but when it was, I was going to tell her about our connection. She’d be so happy. I knew she would. She had no one. Those two boys were nothing. They didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her, much less hold her, be with her, comfort her. But no, I was wrong. They loved her. They protected her. Yes, yes. They were doing what I did. They would protect her, no matter what. I had to remember this.
They were okay. Yes, they were. They didn’t deserve her. No one did, but they would protect her.
My hands turned into fists. My fingers started to dig into my skin, and I gritted my teeth, but I didn’t feel the pain. The real pain was Sheldon, being with them and not me.