Page 3 of Unsuitable

I force my eyes open, turning my head.

He’s checking her neck for a pulse.

Why didn’t I do that?

Those seconds watching him, waiting…feel like hours.

His expression drops, his eyes closing, with a sad-sounding breath.

And it confirms what I knew was already true.

She’s gone.

My heart rips open and bleeds out with the rest of me.

“Is she…”

“Try not to talk. Just hold on for me, yeah? Can you do that? I’m calling an ambulance right now.” He’s on his phone. “Yes, it’s an emergency. Be quick, please. Two kids…one, she’s not moving. I don’t think…there’s no pulse. The other one, he’s alive…talking, but there’s blood everywhere…so much blood…”

Prologue

Daisy

Eighteen Months Ago

“Tell me again, where were you last night?”

I look at the detective sitting across the table from me. My palms are clammy. I knot my fingers together in my lap.

Why do I have to tell him again? Did he not believe me the first time I told him?

“After I left work, I went straight home, and my boyfriend, Jason, came over. He was with me all night. Ask him; he’ll tell you.”

“My colleague spoke with Jason a few minutes ago.” The detective leans forward. Placing his forearms on the table, he links his hands together. “He told us that he wasn’t with you last night.”

“What?” The word leaves my mouth in a breathless rush.

“Jason told my colleague that he was with his brother and friends, playing cards, at his house all evening and that he didn’t see you at all last night.”

“I-I…what? I don’t understand…” My eyes are frantically searching the room. Confusion and panic are racing through my mind and body. “I don’t understand. Why would Jason say that?”

The detective gives me a steady look, saying nothing.

I lick my lips. My mouth is dry as I try to speak, “Jason is lying. I was with him at my place all night.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?” the detective asks.

Jesse.

No…he stayed out last night at his friend Justin’s house. It was just Jason and me in the house.

Oh God.

“No.” I moisten my lips again. “But I’m telling you the truth, I swear.” I stare steadily into the eyes of the detective, trying to convey that my words are the truth.

But I know it’s fruitless. He thinks I did it.

I swallow hard, fighting to hold in my rising panic. “You think it was me. You think I stole the jewelry. But you’re wrong. It wasn’t me,” I state emphatically.