Page 65 of My Twin Sister

“Cinnamon, please.”

He puts the other two bags away and starts to prepare a cinnamon bagel for me.

“Toasted? Butter or cream cheese?”

“Toasted. Cream cheese.”

“All right,” he says. “Got it. Go sit down in the living room. I’ll bring it out to you.”

I don’t argue. My legs feel heavy, and it takes everything I have to carry myself back to the other room. I ask if he can bring me a water too, and then I let myself fall into the couch across from the fireplace. There’s a throw blanket folded on the arm of the couch and I grab it, shake it out, and cover up.

A few minutes pass, and he’s there with coffee and a bagel.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I shove the thick bread into my mouth.

“You could have just texted me and I’d have come and got you.” He sits on the other end of the couch.

“I didn’t know I was coming until I got here,” I say with a partially full mouth. I swallow. “And then I was just going to turn around and go home.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

We’re quiet for a minute. I keep eating and sipping my coffee to keep my hands and my mouth focused on something while I try like hell to get out of my head.

“You were friends with Brooke, weren’t you?” he asks, and my throat squeezes.

I nod.

“You were friends with her sister. Morgan O’Neil. I remember you guys hanging out a lot in high school. Brooke was a year older than me. Away at college.”

I nod again, not trusting my voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I lose my composure. The tears fall and my face crumples into what I’m sure is a very ugly crying face. I hate letting people see me upset. It’s all my fault Brooke is dead. I don’t know it for sure, but I’m certain of it. Someone buried her up to her neck and let her slowly drown in the waves. She was asking too many questions and now she’s gone. And that means I could be next.

Murphy moves closer to me and puts a hand on my knee. He waits while I cry, and I’m thankful he doesn’t pull me closer to him. I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together and stop the tears.

“Someone killed her,” I say. “And I think it was my fault.”

“It definitely looked like she was killed, but how could that be your fault?”

I take another breath while I consider what to say. I feel so alone. I can’t talk to anyone. I’ve seen what happens when I do.

“Someone said something on the beach when I was leaving. Someone in the crowd. They said something about how Brooke ended up dead after asking questions about what happened to me. How she wouldn’t be a problem for the police anymore.”

I watch Murphy’s face as he processes what I said. He bites his cheek and looks off, thinking. “I’m sure they want to cover their asses. Especially Frank. He’s the one that identified your body. But he wasn’t the only one. They’ve done some shady shit over the years, but that’s a big slip-up.”

“You’ve dealt with the cops before, right? I mean, we all did as teens. But I remember you being more of a troublemaker.”

He smirks. “We were on a first name basis, yeah.”

“And you said they’ve done shady stuff. What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “The usual. Taking drugs for themselves. Lying for each other to stay out of trouble. Lying to get other people into trouble.”

“Do you think they’re capable of killing someone?”

He’s quiet for a second. “Sure.”