Love Can Be Murder

intern, the woman who had inferred that Leora and I were friends. Grant called me twice. I didn’t answer because I was afraid I might confess, and he didn’t leave a message. I was still sifting through the images in my head, hoping to explain them away. I wanted to wait until I saw my apartment before deciding whether or not to go back to Grant’s. Maybe returning to the scene of the crime would help to reconcile some of these jagged feelings.
    Then I frowned…Didn’t psychopaths feel compelled to return to the scene of the crime?

    ***

    IF NOT FOR THE ocean breeze air freshener, one wouldn’t have known anything gruesome had taken place in my living room. I stood looking down at the striped sofa and patterned area rug, trying to find shadows of Daniel’s blood, like a gruesome game. All traces of him had been removed. I wondered vaguely as I stared at Vivian’s business card on my kitchen counter if she could somehow remove the ugly images from my head. I sprawled on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to remember someone sneaking past my bedroom. Leora? Eric?
    Or was I repressing memories of doing something so horrible I couldn’t bring myself to remember it? I had the capacity to hurt people—take Grant, for instance.
    My doorbell rang, and when I looked through the peephole, I had a sense of déjà vu. The last time I’d looked through the peephole, Daniel had been standing on the other side.
    This time it was Grant.
    Had I conjured him up simply by thinking about him?
    I swung open the door and knew instantly something was wrong. His pallor was gray, his mouth pinched.
    “Grant? How did you know I was here?”
    “I took a chance and saw your car in the parking lot.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Leora Painter has been arrested and charged with Hale’s murder.”
    I went limp and leaned into him. “But that’s great news.”
    “Not really. She admits she was in your apartment the night before last, but insists Daniel was dead when she got here. She passed a polygraph, and…”
    “And?”
    “And the police are on their way. They’re going to arrest you, too, Renni.”
    I leaned harder. “No.”
    “I’m here for you,” he murmured into my hair. I could feel his hands shaking on my shoulders. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
    I froze. Something in the tone of his voice, in his body language, set off sirens in my head. Disparate events converged: the fact that Grant had seen me with Daniel…had been so quick to come to my defense…that the house had been eerily ready for my return…that I’d been shown the error of leaving him.
    I pulled back, alarmed that he’d somehow maneuvered his way inside the doorway. “How did you get into the building just now?”
    “I followed one of your neighbors inside.”
    Had he been following me? Watching me? “How did you know the man you saw me with at the restaurant was Daniel, was the same man who was killed?”
    “I just assumed it was the same man.”
    The knives…one of the few household things I’d taken with me when I’d left Grant. Had he found it especially ironic to use one of them to kill Daniel? I’d wondered what it would feel like to have someone commit murder for me, and the prospect stalled my vital signs.
    “Renni, are you okay?”
    “Get away from me!” I stumbled backward into the hallway, panic choking me.

    ***

    MRS. BINGHAM was emerging from her apartment, holding a steaming covered casserole dish and heading for Mr. McFelty’s door. I flung myself in her direction. When she saw me, she lit up like a marquee.
    “How are you, dear? Vivian said your place cleaned up beautifully.”
    “Mrs. Bingham, I know who killed Daniel. The police are on their way.”
    She patted me with her free hand. “Don’t worry, dear. The man deserved to die.”
    Grant rushed up behind me and I positioned myself between them, equally confused and repelled. “What?”
    “A jury will never convict me,” Mrs. Bingham said matter-of-factly. “The man was a nuisance, just like the fellow who lived upstairs, blasting his music at all hours. Poor Mr. McFelty works three jobs and he needs his sleep. I thought you got rid of him, but then he showed up again, shouting like a maniac. Young people have no respect, but a jury will understand.”
    “How…how did you get inside my apartment?” I asked.
    “I lifted a master key from the super once when I delivered a green bean casserole.”
    While I processed her inexplicable confession,