Page 119 of Without a Clue

The sun was slow setting on the horizon tonight, lingering as its golden sunbeams dallied on jagged mountain peaks, like a child’s cry of delight as he climbs up and slides down, pleading for a few more minutes on the playground.

It’s a lovely thought.

A sunset playing on the swoops and ridges of mountains like a child does a slide on a playground.

The kind of thought lovers have, not killers.

And I both hate myself for even questioning him and feel the unwinding knot of relief.

Nash is innocent.

He’s more than innocent.

He’s giving and he’s kind and he paints pictures of sunsets using playground imagery and a child’s cry of delight.

He GETS the beauty of humanity.

And people who GET the beauty of humanity don’t kill people.

You could make that point in court.

As I tuck the notebook back inside the bag, I slip out the laptop on principle. I open the lid and try a handful of password guesses. I even blush as I try my name. Nope. Let’s pretend I never did that. Time to move on.

I check inside his coat pockets but get nothing but the scent of woods and the brush of leather on my fingertips.

I move at last to his bag. His weekender bag.

My bottom lip is pulsing from being clenched so fiercely through all of this. Which is better than passing out again, at least.

Do not pass out.

I summon my courage with the mental reminder that this is not betrayal (though it looks an awful lot like betrayal) but due diligence, and unsnap the straps of the bag.

Nash carries few items with him.

A couple of identical pairs of jeans.

A few folded flannel shirts.

He’s the living picture of a man with a capsule wardrobe.

I slip my hand inside the various pockets around the bag.

Socks.

Deodorant.

I dig to the bottom of the bag and feel a bump under the flap at the bottom.

Freeze.

My fingers then curve slowly around the handle of something large and distinct.

Knife.

Slowly I pull it out, eyes widening until my fears are confirmed. A bloodied, caramel-colored cloth encapsulates a large knife. The type of hunting knife you might use to separate muscle from bone on a deer. The kind of knife that just might kill a person, or two, in the middle of the night.

It’s plain to see.