Dear Diary

10. KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR FRIEND

Sunday, September 15th

J E R O M E

Mystery has always captivated me, and being sent to that woman's house the other night definitely counts as mysterious. So that's why I'm parked by a curb across from her house this afternoon after taking a day to debate with myself, because I just gotta know what's up.

I don't necessarily have a plan, but I'm good at winging things. I can say I'm a friend of Chace and go from there somehow. Simple enough.

After a while it dawns on me that I don't know this woman's schedule. She may not even be home. There's a car out front, but I can't be certain it's hers. I berate myself for being an idiot but then she steps out of the house at last.

I exit my car and walk toward her. I can make out her features better in the daytime. She's middle aged as I guessed. Her dirty blonde hair is back in a short ponytail and she's dressed business casual.

She's about to reach for the handle of the car parked outside when she notices me. Before I can say anything, she speaks. "Hey. Do I know you from somewhere?"

Damn. Did she see us the other night? That'd be just my luck. But there's no way. It was too dark, and we were too far away for her to have seen me.

"Do you go to Grovesville High?" she inquires.

It's not what I feared, but I still narrow my eyes. "Yes. How do you know?"

"I knew I recognized you. You were friends with Sidney Cromwell. I was on the scene the night of that fire." She sticks a hand out for me to shake. "My name's Diana . . . Diana Shove."

I ignore her outreached hand. "Diana Shove? The blogger?"

"In the flesh," she says, retracting her hand but maintaining the smile on her face. "Well, I'm a journalist for Grovesville Daily most of the time. I run my personal blog on the side."

"I read your latest post. Not a fan."

"I'm sure you aren't, but I'm doing my job."

"Implicating me and my friends is your job?"

"It's an investigation, everyone's a suspect. Especially those who were closest to the victim. Part of my job is making the people aware of all possibilities," she explains.

"Maybe you should consider a career change."

The smile doesn't falter, but now it seems like she's forcing it to cover a mild irritation. "Is that why you were coming this way? To recommend a career change?"

Screw beating around the bush. This is the kind of woman you have to be straight up with. "You know my friend, Chace, right?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," she says without a hitch. Way too quick, like she expected a question like that.

"I thought journalists are all about the truth," I say.

"Careful, Jerome. There's a murder investigation you and your friends are closely linked to. Think about how it looks for you to be here right now, at my place of residence. My truths should be the last thing on your mind. Be good now."

She gets into the car, but as she's about to close her door I grab it.

"Do you need something else?" she asks, the smile vanishing and the irritation coming to the surface.

"Just now you said 'careful, Jerome.' I never told you my name," I say.

Her gaze is intense for a few seconds but then relaxes. "Like I said earlier, I recognize you. I'm a journalist. I do research."