Truly, Madly, Deadly

Truly, Madly, Deadly, Part 2

Author’s note: Thanks for reading! Please vote, comment and like! Truly, Madly, Deadly is the first of my YA thrillers published with Sourcebooks – coming soon in January is See Jayne Run. All of my books are available in print and digital from any major retailer.

Copyright © 2013 by Hannah Jayne

A navy blue sedan was blocking Sawyer’s driveway when she came home from track practice. Sawyer parked behind it and stepped out of her car, the dusk already setting, already pushing the estates into a hazy darkness. She blinked when she saw the spark of a cigarette from the side of the house. Sawyer guessed the owner of the sedan was checking out the bones of the houses nearby; it wasn’t unusual for potential buyers to check out the Dodd family’s “model home.”

“Hey, Dad,” Sawyer started, “it looks like someone’s looking at the—” She paused, looking at the three heads that swung to look at her.

Her stomach rolled over on itself as she felt all eyes fixate on her, studying her with a look she was starting to recognize—and loathe—sympathy mixed with curiosity, with just the tiniest hint of frustration.

Sawyer’s dark eyes washed from her stepmother to her father. “What’s going on?”

Andrew Dodd blinked at his wife and cleared his throat. They were perched on the new ecru couch, pillows undisturbed, but their faces were drawn. A man sat on the couch directly across from them, a small leather notepad balanced on his knee.

“Is this your daughter?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Andrew Dodd said, jumping up and going to her. “This is Sawyer.” He put his hand on the small of Sawyer’s back and ushered her into the living room. “Sawyer, this is Detective Frank Biggs.”

Frank Biggs looked exactly like you’d expect a man named Frank Biggs to look—like a mustached fireplug in a short-sleeved, button-down shirt; a stained blue tie; and khakis that could use an iron or a dumpster.

Sawyer shook his hand and he smiled, breathing out a whoosh of overly minted, Nicorette smelling air. “Nice to meet you.”

“Dad, what is this about?”

“Detective Biggs just wants to ask you a few questions about Kevin.” Andrew cleared his throat a second time, avoiding Sawyer’s gaze. “About what happened to Kevin.”

“Just a few routine follow-up questions,” Biggs said, flipping a black ballpoint pen over his hairy knuckles.

Sawyer nodded. “Okay. But I told the other officer everything I knew.”

Biggs nodded and flipped open his notebook. “So did you see Kevin the night of the accident, Sawyer?”

He pronounced her name Saw-yah and fixed her with his flat, brown eyes.

“Yes. I saw him before”—a sob lodged in her throat—“before the accident.”