Hell Without You

Chapter 17

"Mike?" she said when she opened the door, revealing the unexpected visitor.

"Hey, Clementine." His expression was unusually sober, his green eyes half-hidden beneath downcast lids.

Now that she thought about it, she'd seen the black mustang parked by Donovan's garage.

"Is something wrong?" Donovan instantly came to mind, though Mike had no reason to know more about his present situation than she did.

"I've gotta talk to you. Can I come in?"

A weight shifted inside her, settling into her heart, and she moved aside, holding the door open for him.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked when he'd settled in a seat at the kitchen table. "There's Dr. Pepper, water, orange juice and milk."

"No thanks." He sat with a rigid spine and bowed shoulders, a complete contradiction.

"What is it?" she asked, taking the chair across from him. The clock above the stove was digital, but she could practically hear it ticking – that was how on edge he had her. Did he know something about the tire iron – who had taken it, maybe?

"That tire iron," he said, echoing her thoughts. "I know who took it."

Her heart leapt so hard and high it hurt. "Who?"

"I did." His mouth twisted in a grimace, and he wiped at his face like he meant to smooth the frown lines away with his palm.

"You?"

He nodded.

Oh, God... Did he have something to do with the murder? Had he taken the tire iron for Robert, maybe in exchange for pay? Sickening possibilities whirled through her mind, dizzying.

"I've been trying to work up the guts to tell you for days. I never meant to let it get this far. Never thought they'd lock up Donovan, let alone keep him there. I..."

"Why did you take it?" She was leaning over the tabletop, practically drilling a hole through him with her gaze.

He looked up, green eyes hollow, haunted. "It was just ... there. First thing I grabbed when I saw him."

A new dread filled her, deeper and darker. "Saw who?"

"That son of a bitch Trevor Grier."

Suddenly, her mouth was dry. She spoke anyway. "You killed Trevor?" It felt strange to even say it.

He nodded. "I came into the shop late Saturday. Had a migraine in the morning, didn't go into the garage until about four, but I figured it didn't matter, since I was the only one working. Stayed late to make up for it. I took a break to grab a drink out of the fridge and he came walking down the sidewalk while I was still there, passed right in front of the shop. Got so mad I walked out there and gave him what he deserved.

"I – I didn't mean to kill him. Not really, I guess. I just saw him and I..."

Mike shrugged, the gesture doing little to illuminate the painful silence. "Knew he was dead when he fell down on the sidewalk and his eyes were open, even though he wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing.

"Nobody saw. No one. You know how Willow Heights is after dark, but still, I could hardly believe it. Threw him in the trunk of my mustang, dumped him in that ditch outside of town. I'd been wearing gloves, like I always do when I paint, so there were no prints. There was a little blood on the sidewalk, but I hosed it off."

"Why?" She'd spent so many years of her life seething because of Trevor, hating him. But why would Mike of all people hate him more, enough to take his life in a fit of rage?