Key Lime Pie by Josi S. Kilpack Page B

by the part of her that didn’t want to be wrong about Eric; she had to admit she liked the idea that he would trust her. She bounced back and forth between both fantasies until she was completely confused. What did she want?
    It was vastly unsettling not to know her own mind, and she hated the idea of facing Eric when she was so unsure of her feelings. If she were open to the idea of attempting to repair whatever it was between them, it wouldn’t happen here. Not under this kind of pressure, and not with how she felt toward him right now. And then she felt guilty for focusing on her internal conflict when there were bigger issues taking place around her—a dead girl with Megan’s bracelet. Better to step out of this tension-filled situation than expect to get a good outcome here and now.
    “I want to go home,” Layla said, causing Sadie to look at the woman sitting next to her. She was so quiet it was easy to forget she was there at all. She seemed agitated and tapped her foot against the tile. “Tia made barbeque chicken for sandwiches and pasta salad for lunch.” Sadie waited for her to say something about Wheel of Fortune, but she didn’t seem to remember.
    “I’m sure they’ll let us go soon,” Sadie assured her. After she said it, Sadie realized she’d used us, joining her plans to Layla’s. She shook her head and went back to the inventory form. There was no us. Not with Layla, not with Eric. Sadie needed to remember she was not a part of this.
    She bent over her clipboard, intent on finishing the list of items she’d seen in the box that she now wished she’d have left in the trunk of her rental car. No one would have known the box was even in Florida if she hadn’t taken it into the house. Which brought up a whole new passel of questions. Who would have known the box was there? And who would have known its contents? Layla had barely glanced at it. What had been in the box that was important enough to be destroyed?
    She reviewed her list, trying to identify anything that seemed to stand out. As before, however, nothing seemed particularly interesting and she was again reminded that the contents of the box seemed to be dregs—leftovers. She wished she’d paid more attention to the papers in the binders, and to the photos and receipts in the tea tin, but she’d merely glanced at them, not realizing she’d be the last person to ever see them in their original form. She included the details she remembered—one of the receipts was to a Texaco station, another was the yellow carbon of a credit card sale to . . . somewhere. She knew from prior experience that it was often the small details that made all the difference. Whoever burned all those details likely knew the same thing.
    “Layla.”
    Sadie looked up and saw that while she’d been lost in her ponderings, a man had approached them. He was in his forties, Sadie guessed. What was left of his red hair was short and faded. He was wearing a lavender button-up shirt and slacks with crisp pleats down the front that screamed dry-cleaned—men who ironed their own pants never did the creases right. Sadie wondered if he was a police detective.
    Layla’s expression didn’t change, making it impossible for Sadie to determine if Layla knew him. After a moment, Layla looked away and crossed her arms. “It’s past lunchtime,” she said again, and although her tone stayed the same, Sadie picked up on new tension.
    “Yes, it is past lunchtime,” the man said with a sympathetic nod. He looked around the room at the officers milling around. “Have they said when you can go home?”
    “No,” Layla said. “But I’m hungry.”
    The man nodded again. He was worried about her; Sadie could read it in the lines of his face, which made her think he wasn’t with the police department after all—they didn’t let their emotions show so easily.
    He held out his hand to Sadie. “You must be Eric’s friend, Sandy.”
    “Sadie,” she replied, appreciating his