Past…

“I’m sorry, what?” Under the table, I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. “What does that mean?”

It’s been a little over forty-eight hours since the fire, and early this morning I received a phone call asking me to come down to the local precinct. I wasn’t nervous…until now.

Detective Trejo steeples his hands and places them on the table. He went to high school with my dad and they stayed friends throughout the years, so I know the loss is hitting him hard. Unfortunately for me, it means he’s personally invested in the case.  

“Son,” he says slowly, like I’m a goddamn idiot. “When people perish in a fire, there are certain things you expect to find in regards to the body. Your father, for instance, had soot in his throat and lungs. He was also found crouched on the floor of his bedroom facing the door, which indicates he was trying to escape when he passed.”

My expression changes to one of anguish. “Why didn’t he jump out the window?” I rub my forehead, forcing myself to breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…it’s just…”

He holds up a hand. “It’s all right. Anger is part of grieving. And to answer your question, it’s most likely because the house was already engulfed in flames by the time he woke up, making it impossible to see a path to safety.” He frowns. “The autopsy report showed traces of an over the counter sleeping pill. Not enough to cause damage, but more than the standard amount recommended. That combined with the fire would result in him being highly disoriented.”

Blowing out a breath, I look up at the ceiling. “He mentioned he was stressed with work and having trouble sleeping during dinner that night. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but if I did maybe he’d still be here.”

He holds up a hand. “Your father wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. There’s no way you could have known what was going to happen.”

Gripping the back of my neck, I look down at the table. “Right.” My brows furrow. “Sorry, you were trying to tell me something important about my brother before. What was it?”  

“Ah, yes.” He folds his hands on the table again. “The autopsy determined your father was killed during the fire. Caleb’s death, however, is a different story.”

I blink. “How so?”

“There were no traces of soot in his throat or lungs, and his carbon dioxide levels were inconsistent with those who die in fires. Also, the position he was found in was…abnormal given the nature of the situation.”

My palms begin to sweat again. “Abnormal how?”

“He was found lying in a supine position on his bed. Granted, your brother’s room was farthest from where the fire started in the kitchen, but he still suffered some exterior burns.” He gives me a solemn look. “Cain, what I’m about to tell you is serious.”

My heart is pounding so fast I’m surprised he can’t hear it from where he’s sitting. “I’m listening.”

He puts down his pen. “Given the unusual findings, the medical examiner is confident your brother did not die in the fire…but before it. There were signs—for instance, his bloodshot eyes—that give him reason to believe Caleb was intentionally suffocated and the fire was staged as a coverup.”

“Wait, you’re saying someone killed my brother?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of this is if you’re completely honest with me. Understand?”

I nod.

He places his notepad in front of him. “Does Caleb have any enemies? Someone he doesn’t get along with?”

My mouth goes dry. “No, none that I can think of. Everyone loved him. He was awesome.”

“Cain.”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s hard, but I really need you to think.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Detective. Caleb didn’t have any enemies.”

He runs his finger over his lips. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“He’s your identical twin. Perhaps someone holding a grudge against you thought he was you.”

“I thought you said he was in his bedroom? We have separate bedrooms. Why would someone think he was me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe someone broke in without knowing the layout of the house.”

“Wouldn’t that be risky?” I take a shallow breath. “Not to be disrespectful, but if someone is going to commit such a heinous act, you would assume they’d take the proper measures to ensure they wouldn’t get caught.”

His eyes narrow. “I’ve been working homicide for over fifteen years, Cain. Trust me when I tell you…every murderer leaves a clue behind. And it’s up to people like me to find it.” He sits up straight. “Can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?”

“No. I don’t have any enemies either. I mean, my ex-girlfriend isn’t too fond of me right now, but she’d never harm me. Plus, she knows exactly where my bedroom is, so she’d never mistake me—” My eyes widen. “Shit.”

The detective practically hops over the table. “What?”

“Nothing.” I close my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“Cain, if you know something—”

“I made a promise to my brother and I’m not breaking it.”

“Your silence does him no good if it could solve his murder.”

“But I promised him I wouldn’t tell a soul.” I trace an invisible pattern on the table with my finger. “If something like this got out it could ruin people’s lives.”

“People’s lives are already ruined. Your silence only ensures it will ruin more.”

I look around the room. “Can I have some water?”

Walking over to the small desk in the corner, he picks up a pitcher and a paper cup, then places them in front of me.

I take my time filling it. I want him on the edge of his seat, waiting for me to drop this nugget on his lap.

“Before I tell you, can you assure me it will stay between us? It’s just…Caleb had a good reputation in the community. I don’t want to destroy it.”

“I understand. I assure you whatever you tell me won’t be made public knowledge. Unless it leads to an arrest, in which case I can’t guarantee certain details won’t get out.”

“I don’t think that will be the case. But you said if I knew something to tell you, right?”

“Right.”

“Caleb was involved with a teacher at our school.”

“Involved in what manner?”

I give him a look. “The inappropriate kind.”

He presses his pen to the pad. “What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Miller. I don’t know her first name, but she teaches—”

“Science over at the high school.”

“Yeah, and her husband is an assistant football coach.”

“I know. He does some electrical work—” He clears his throat and I can practically see the wheels in his head turning. “Sorry, go on.”

“Mrs. Miller and Caleb were involved for a little while. Things between them were getting…intense. To be frank, he was in over his head. And she…” My sentence trails off and I look away.

“She what?”

My jaw tics. “She kept dangling the carrot in front of his face. She’d end things one week…only to lead him on the next. It was making him a little mental, to be honest. Especially when Caleb found out he wasn’t the only student she was screwing.”

Detective Trejo nearly spits out his coffee. “Oh?”

I nod. “Yeah. My father warned us about getting caught up with women like that, but Caleb didn’t listen.” I shrug. “Can’t really blame him, she is beautiful.”

“Beauty doesn’t absolve someone of their offenses. Please continue.”

“The other student she was messing with…he’s my friend. That’s how I found out.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Damien King.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he writes down his name on the pad. “How did your brother react when he found out?”

I wince. “He was pissed. Not at Damien, because they were friends too, but Mrs. Miller. He told me her sleeping with another student was the equivalent of her cheating on him.”

He raises a brow. “But she’s married.”

I slap the table. “I know. That’s exactly what I said.” I sigh heavily. “This is the part I’m scared to tell you about…it doesn’t paint him in a positive light.”

“No matter what your brother did, he is still the victim in this situation. However, I can’t help him if you don’t tell me everything.”

“You’re right.” I drum my nails on the desk. “He didn’t take the news well. He threatened to tell her husband about her affairs if she didn’t divorce him by the time Caleb graduated.” I roll my eyes. “I tried to talk some sense into him, but he was convinced everything would be perfect if she left her husband. He was so obsessed with her, he didn’t realize she was only using him.” My stomach clenches. “I think she liked all the attention he gave her, probably made her feel special.”

“I see.” He puts his pen back down. “Do you know when your brother first became involved with her?”

I shake my head. “No, not exactly. I only found out about them last month during his—our—eighteenth birthday. She came over in the middle of the night and I ended up walking in on them while they were…you know…in his bedroom.” I screw up my face, pretending to think. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say about three months or so. That’s when he started acting a little weird. Like he was hiding something.”

“So your brother was a minor?”

“Look, Detective. I know what you’re getting at, but I’m not looking to get her in trouble. I don’t like that she led my brother on, but he was a very willing participant.” I hitch a shoulder up. “She’s actually kind of cool. She was the fortune teller at the spring fling two weeks ago and did a reading on me and my date, Julia. Julia loved it and—”

A knock on the door cuts me off mid-sentence. “Sorry to interrupt,” a voice behind me says. “This is important.”

Detective Trejo rises from his seat. “Excuse me, Cain. I’ll be back shortly.”

With that, he walks out.

Placing my head in my hands, I exhale heavily, blinking back tears. I’m not stupid, this might not be an official interrogation, but I know every move I make is being watched and scrutinized whether a detective is in here with me or not. And right now? I’m supposed to be grieving my losses.

About fifteen minutes later Detective Trejo walks back in. I’m not sure what to make of the look on his face.

“I’m going to need to keep you here a little while longer.” He sits down on the seat across from me. “There’s been a crack in the case.”

My blood pressure rises, but I force myself to remain calm. “What happened?”

I can see him mulling something over in his head before he speaks. “You mentioned Mrs. Miller was a fortune teller at your high school dance, correct?”

“Yeah, like I said, she gave me and my date a reading.” I raise a brow. “Why?”

He rubs his chin. “Did she use tarot cards by any chance?”

“She did actually. She said they belonged to her grandmother who used to do it for a living.” I make a face. “But I don’t understand what any of that has to do with the fire and Caleb’s death.”  

“The investigators found something unusual—or rather—two unusual things under Caleb’s pillow.”

“Like what?”

“From what they can tell it’s a pair of women’s underwear…and what appears to be a tarot card.”