The Ann Dawson Case

PART 9- Andrew

I lay in bed, not wanting to get up. I knew Andrew was coming over soon, but he was probably the last person I wanted to see right now. Sure, he was smart and nice, but he tended to drone on and on, and he was overall unattractive. He also made me slightly uncomfortable. I got ready for the museum date. How boring. I couldn't stand looking at paintings and old things, but I decided to go anyway. If Nate could take me out, we'd do something fun and exciting. Ugh.

Andrew was exactly on time, with flowers. How predictable. They were red roses. Boring.

"Thanks, I love them," I lied, "let me go put them in water and then we can head out."

"Can I come in?" he asked, motioning to my living room.

"Sure; it's pretty small," I said, embarrassed. My room was messy; I hope he wouldn't go in there. I went into the kitchen, pulled out a vase, filled it up with water, and brought it into the living room.

"Why did you tell me you saw Linda at the supermarket?" he asked me, in a confrontational manner with his beefy finger pointing at me. He was shaking his leg.

"I just mentioned I ran into her; why are you questioning me?" I asked him back.

Of course I didn't see her at the supermarket; I only mentioned that on our last date to add something to the conversation. Isn't that what people do? They made assumptions about people based off of their personal interactions. I'd heard Carla Templeton do that many times.

"Linda only shops locally: fresh produce from farmer's markets. She wouldn't be at the grocery store you go to," he told me in a similar manner he told Linda that carnations weren't in season.

"She was getting ingredients," I lied. They don't have that at farmer's markets, I think. I didn't like being questioned; usually, I was the one questioning people. I did not like this role reversal.

"For what?" he asked, crunching his eyebrows together.

"I don't know. Just milk and flour and things like that probably. She mentioned a cake," I told him. I needed to change the topic quickly; Andrew was getting suspicious.

"She's vegan. She doesn't buy milk," he said. Crap. He's right. Patricia did mention that. This was really bad. He knew I was hiding something.

"For her mother. She told me it was her birthday soon or something. I don't remember. Would you like something to drink before we leave?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound nervous, even though I was talking fast.

"Actually, could I just use your bathroom for a moment?" He sounded like he bought my story by the way he dropped the topic , but I knew I wasn't in the clear yet.

"Down the hall, it's the first door the left."

I waited on the couch for him to return. I drummed my fingers on the couch and hummed. What was taking him so long? On cue, Andrew walked in.

"What's that on your bedside table?" he asked me, shaking. Crap.

"What were you doing in my room?" I countered.

"Wrong turn. Why are there carnations in your room? I thought they weren't in season," he told me, obviously confused. I knew I had to get rid of them. They were my favorite flower, though.

"Linda gave them to me," I said, praying he wouldn't pry. I was not lucky. His eyes grew wide. Realization hit him.

"Why did you murder Ann Dawson?" he asked me quietly.

"What are you talking about?" I retorted, confused. How did he jump to that conclusion?

"Much like the story that Linda Turner murdered Ann Dawson was lacking a motive, your story had holes," he stepped towards me, gaining a new confidence, "you claim to not know anything about the case, but you are obviously interested. You lied to me about a lot of things. Don't you know you should never lie to a lawyer?

"You passed off your involvement with Linda as merely 'acquaintances', but you have a deep fascination with her. Her carnations were newly planted, obvious by our investigation. There are muddied and bloodied clothes balled up in the trash, and you have carnations; you're obviously hiding something. There are too many coincidences for this to be a coincidence. Why did you do it?" He asked me, getting closer.

I felt threatened; he looked crazy. He was sweating and raising his voice. He cornered me, and I felt defenseless.