Confessions About Colton (Wattpad Books Edition)

Chapter 4

I had walked up the stairs to Colton's front door a million times. But before I could curl my fingers around the old-fashioned brass knocker, I swayed and found myself leaning against one of the towering pillars on the porch. A mixture of fast food and nerves was the perfect combination for uneasiness. My forehead rested against the cool exterior of the pillar and, between blotchy patches of black ink that splashed my vision, I could see areas where the white paint was chipping. I took a few deep breaths. The letter had given me a distraction from what was really happening. It was almost like an escape from the real world.

Almost.

The confession had allowed me to view Colton's death from a completely different perspective—as if I were an outsider looking in. Standing in front of his house was too much of a reality punch. It took me a good couple of minutes to gather myself. The brass handle felt cold and hard as I knocked.

Mrs. Crest was wearing an apron with her shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows. At first, she frowned at me, struggling to identify who I was. She looked tired as she examined me, her faded blue eyes squinting to remember my features. Eventually, she looked almost relieved as it came to her.

"Elliot," she said. "It's so good to see you."

"He-e-y," I choked out.

Mrs. Crest motioned for me to enter. With tentative steps, I shuffled into the spacious foyer of the house. I followed her to the kitchen, where she picked her knife back up and sliced through a carrot with impeccable ease.

"Mrs. Crest, I came here to apologize for last week. It was a selfish move, just walking out during the service. I wasn't in the right headspace, but I know that isn't an excuse."

Mrs. Crest put the knife down and wiped her hands on her apron before coming around and wrapping her arms around me.

"Sorry." She sniffled as she pulled away, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She gave me a shaky smile and returned to the chopping board, but she didn't pick up the knife. She just stared at the vegetables scattered across its surface.

"Do you know what happened to him?" she whispered. At first, I thought she was talking to herself, repeating a rhetorical question. But when she looked up at me with watery, pleading eyes, I knew it was directed at me.

"No," I answered. "But I'm trying to figure it out."

Mrs. Crest laughed half-heartedly. "Colton always loved solving mysteries. He'd watch those black-and-white crime series and always piece together the story before the main character did."

I forced a small smile, worried that if I contributed to the conversation, it would grow into something ugly. Talking about Colton too much ignited a spark of anger, a raging flame of frustration toward everyone. Directed at Colton for not telling me anything. At his parents for not taking better care of him. At myself for not realizing, for not looking out for him. I counted to ten in my head.

Then out of the blue, Mrs. Crest said, "How would you like to stay for dinner?"

She looked like such a mess I was afraid that something bad might happen if I left her, so I said, "Sure."

She smiled, seeming pleased, and wiped her hands on her apron. "I'll just get some meat from the freezer downstairs. I won't be a moment. Make yourself at home, Elliot."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Crest."

Her departure created the perfect opportunity to sleuth. My mind ran back to the time theory. I had been thinking the next letter could be in his pocket watch. . . . But what about other options? There were only two significant clocks in the Crest residence: one in the dining room and the other in the upstairs corridor. I would have to be quick.