Page 7 of Nowhere Good

“Did you?”

Instinct caused Claire to turn toward the kitchen, because she felt someone’s eyes on her. It was Dillon, her boyfriend, who also worked as their cook during business hours. He watched through the window that led into the kitchen, burning a hole in her head. Detective Winslow didn’t seem to notice, his attention fixed on her.

“Mostly,” she said. “I’d text him every now and then to make sure he was still breathing. Probably been a year since I’ve sent one of those.”

He pulled out a photo, then put it on the table. “This was on the table beside Brad’s bed.” He slid it closer to her, and her heart dropped.

She hadn’t seen this in years.

It was her and Brad at prom. She looked drunk and stoned off her ass—she had been—and Brad was giving a goofy smile to the camera. Seeing it hit her over the back of the head with memories. She didn’t want to cry in front of this man, but in this photo, she didn’t see Brad, the addict—she saw Brad, the sweet guy who used to hold her hand and tell her how pretty she was. The girl in this photo had loved him from the bottom of her heart; all she’d ever wanted was to save him.

Claire dabbed the few tears that escaped and handed the photo back.

“I’m sorry,” Detective Winslow said, his voice earnest.

“S’okay. I just always wished Brad would get better, and I’m sad to know he never did.”

He tucked the photo away, then took out a fancy iPhone, opened something on it, and turned it to her. A picture of a dime bag with a red stripe along the top. “Have you seen this before?”

A tickle of familiarity, followed by an image in her head—more like a camera flash—of seeing something like this. Not years ago, but recently. As in a month ago, maybe less. It was in the back of Dillon’s car while she was cleaning, but she’d passed it off as garbage because Dillon didn’t shoot up or do any drugs like that.

“What is it?”

“It’s black tar heroin. We found bags like this at Brad’s house, but this one was found on Eliza Johnson’s body. I’m sure you heard what happened to her.”

“I-I did.”

Damn it—she was losing her composure. Her palms dampened with sweat, her heart thumped so loud she was sure Sully might hear it. Why would the same dime bag be found at Brad’s place, on Eliza’s body, and in the back of Dillon’s car?

Claire might’ve been kept in the dark, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew her dad and his buddies were into some shady business, and she knew Dillon and Marty were part of it too. Maybe that was why the dime bag had been in Dillon’s car—because they sold drugs. That must’ve been the connection the detective was looking for; find where the bags are coming from, open up a new world of people Eliza knew, people who could’ve killed her.

But Dillon, flawed as he might be, was no murderer.

“I’ve never seen it.” The lie fell out. For a moment, she regretted it. But she had to protect her family. Right?

“Okay.” He took the photo away. “Did you know Eliza at all?”

“Not really. She went to my school, but she was two grades ahead of me. That’s about as far as I knew her.”

“What about your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” She never said she had one.

“Dillon Beamish.” His expression showed no emotion. Claire had no idea how to read him. She’d tried flashing her girlish charms or whatever and he seemed completely unfazed.

Feeling cornered, she laughed. “No, he didn’t. They were probably in the same class, but he never said anything about her. If he knew her well, he would’ve told me when she died.”

“Of course. He wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that.”

She wasn’t sure if he was telling her or asking her. “No, he wouldn’t.”

He offered a slight smile. “Sorry for all these questions. Since you all went to school with Eliza, I have a lot of history to catch up on.”

“It’s all right. This was never just about Brad, was it?”

He was decent enough to say, “No,” and Claire appreciated the honesty. She watched him take out a notepad and pen from his pocket and set it up on the table. “One more question, Claire—do you know where Dillon was the night Eliza died? That was Monday, June 23rd.”

Claire racked her brain for the answer. “Um, yeah, he was home. I remember it ’cause he was playing his video games real loud till the early hours. All those gunshots ticked me off. I got the news about Eliza in the morning, and Dillon was in bed by then.”