here.
‘I have to talk to someone,’ she said finally. ‘I can’t get involved with the police. But I’m worried about Annabeth.’
Oh hell. Did she not know? ‘Annabeth,’ I said quietly. ‘She’s um. Dead. She was killed the day you disappeared.’
French Vanilla — Alice — nodded. Oh, thank goodness. That was probably the worst example of ‘breaking it to you gently’ anyone had ever done, so I had to be glad she already knew. ‘Yes, but I’m worried me being missing might mess things up for the police investigation. Confuse them, so they don’t find out who really killed her.’
‘Do you know who killed her?’ I asked.
Another of those pauses. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I … didn’t know anyone she was close to. We barely knew each other when we swapped places. But I…’ She sighed. ‘I’ve read the newspaper stories and the Sandstone City blog and everything. It seems like the story has become about me, about finding me, and I don’t want that. I really don’t want anyone to find me.’
‘Weren’t you worried about coming here?’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s broad daylight. You didn’t even come in disguise.’
Alice looked down at her cardigan and smiled helplessly at me. ‘This was already my disguise. I don’t think I could cope with another one on top of that, my head might explode. Anyway, I won’t be here long. I’m leaving soon, and I won’t be back.’
‘I don’t know if I can convince the police to stop looking for you,’ I said. Understatement of the year.
Alice gave me a look that was surprisingly hard in her round, sweet-as-pie face. ‘Oh, I think you can. I know all about you. You’ve been involved in this since the beginning. You’re dating a police officer, maybe not one who is actually investigating Annabeth’s murder, but I’m sure he knows the officers who are. You’re friends with everyone. You can let them know that I’m not important.’
Huh. I wasn’t seeing much of that meek little bookworm I’d watched on The Gingerbread House archives. Had she been lying to everyone about her personality, as well as her name? Or had recent events toughened her up?
No one was going to stop looking for French Vanilla no matter what she said, because unless they had a cast iron case against Jason Avery (and the investigation wouldn’t still be open if they did), she was an obvious murder suspect.
Well, maybe not completely obvious. Not if you looked at her. She still looked like the kind of girl who would help little old ladies do their shopping. The neighbour you would trust with your spare key.
‘Can you tell me why you and Annabeth swapped places?’ I asked her.
‘Is that relevant?’ Alice said, looking at her shoes.
‘I’m trying to understand what happened. How you got into this situation.’
‘I drove,’ she said simply.
I blinked. ‘You drove?’
Alice nodded. ‘At the end of last summer. My boyfriend — well, I was angry at him. Really upset. I took his car and started driving. Didn’t take anything with me, just my phone. I didn’t turn it on, though. I kept thinking he’d have left lots of messages, and I didn’t want to know whether he had or not. I thought … if I stayed away long enough, he’d report me missing or report the car stolen, or something. I kept going through small towns, looking for police cars or police stations, waiting to be noticed. But no one ever did.’
The words were spilling over themselves, like she had been waiting to tell this to someone for a long time. Lucky me.
‘Was this here in Tasmania?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘New South Wales. I’d always wanted to move to the city and he didn’t, he liked it in the country, so I headed to Sydney at first. But then I realised he wasn’t coming after me, and I got really — I don’t know. Freaked out, I suppose. Upset. Numb. He didn’t care enough to find me, to look, to report me missing. I didn’t have a plan, and I
‘I have to talk to someone,’ she said finally. ‘I can’t get involved with the police. But I’m worried about Annabeth.’
Oh hell. Did she not know? ‘Annabeth,’ I said quietly. ‘She’s um. Dead. She was killed the day you disappeared.’
French Vanilla — Alice — nodded. Oh, thank goodness. That was probably the worst example of ‘breaking it to you gently’ anyone had ever done, so I had to be glad she already knew. ‘Yes, but I’m worried me being missing might mess things up for the police investigation. Confuse them, so they don’t find out who really killed her.’
‘Do you know who killed her?’ I asked.
Another of those pauses. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I … didn’t know anyone she was close to. We barely knew each other when we swapped places. But I…’ She sighed. ‘I’ve read the newspaper stories and the Sandstone City blog and everything. It seems like the story has become about me, about finding me, and I don’t want that. I really don’t want anyone to find me.’
‘Weren’t you worried about coming here?’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s broad daylight. You didn’t even come in disguise.’
Alice looked down at her cardigan and smiled helplessly at me. ‘This was already my disguise. I don’t think I could cope with another one on top of that, my head might explode. Anyway, I won’t be here long. I’m leaving soon, and I won’t be back.’
‘I don’t know if I can convince the police to stop looking for you,’ I said. Understatement of the year.
Alice gave me a look that was surprisingly hard in her round, sweet-as-pie face. ‘Oh, I think you can. I know all about you. You’ve been involved in this since the beginning. You’re dating a police officer, maybe not one who is actually investigating Annabeth’s murder, but I’m sure he knows the officers who are. You’re friends with everyone. You can let them know that I’m not important.’
Huh. I wasn’t seeing much of that meek little bookworm I’d watched on The Gingerbread House archives. Had she been lying to everyone about her personality, as well as her name? Or had recent events toughened her up?
No one was going to stop looking for French Vanilla no matter what she said, because unless they had a cast iron case against Jason Avery (and the investigation wouldn’t still be open if they did), she was an obvious murder suspect.
Well, maybe not completely obvious. Not if you looked at her. She still looked like the kind of girl who would help little old ladies do their shopping. The neighbour you would trust with your spare key.
‘Can you tell me why you and Annabeth swapped places?’ I asked her.
‘Is that relevant?’ Alice said, looking at her shoes.
‘I’m trying to understand what happened. How you got into this situation.’
‘I drove,’ she said simply.
I blinked. ‘You drove?’
Alice nodded. ‘At the end of last summer. My boyfriend — well, I was angry at him. Really upset. I took his car and started driving. Didn’t take anything with me, just my phone. I didn’t turn it on, though. I kept thinking he’d have left lots of messages, and I didn’t want to know whether he had or not. I thought … if I stayed away long enough, he’d report me missing or report the car stolen, or something. I kept going through small towns, looking for police cars or police stations, waiting to be noticed. But no one ever did.’
The words were spilling over themselves, like she had been waiting to tell this to someone for a long time. Lucky me.
‘Was this here in Tasmania?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘New South Wales. I’d always wanted to move to the city and he didn’t, he liked it in the country, so I headed to Sydney at first. But then I realised he wasn’t coming after me, and I got really — I don’t know. Freaked out, I suppose. Upset. Numb. He didn’t care enough to find me, to look, to report me missing. I didn’t have a plan, and I
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