OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD…
Why is there a freaking bloody turtle in my laundry hamper?
Police say she was brutally beaten with a blunt object.
I think back to the bookshelf in Dawn’s house. The bookcase filled with turtle figurines. And then, of course, there was a gap in one of the shelves. Where something was missing. The detective even asked me about the missing object.
Something roughly the size and shape of this ceramic turtle. Oh God.
There’s dark red material caked into the shell of the turtle. My first assumption was that it was blood, and I can’t think of any reason to think otherwise. If this came from Dawn’s house, and there was blood all over her floor, it stands to reason that the missing turtle from her bookcase would have blood on it.
That part makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is why is this thing in my laundry hamper?
This is bad. Detective Santoro already thinks I’ve done something terrible to Dawn—how am I supposed to explain why I have this turtle in my house? I can’t come up with anything that makes sense. Someone put it here. But who would do that?
Police say she was brutally beaten with a blunt object.
Of course, the answer is obvious. Whoever killed Dawn smashed this ceramic turtle over her head, and then they brought it to my house and planted it here. To frame me.
It makes perfect sense to me. But I’m not so sure Santoro will be convinced.
I need help. I don’t know what to do.
It surprises me that the only person I want to call right now is Seth. Caleb is my boyfriend, but he was already freaking out about having to lie for me. I get the feeling if I asked Seth to fudge an alibi, he wouldn’t have any qualms about doing it. I told him to get lost earlier, but the truth is, I trust him. He cares about me. He was the only person today who didn’t seem to think I was some coldhearted bully. And even though it’s not entirely convenient, he loves me. I believe him when he says that.
If I tell him about the turtle and explain that I don’t know how it got there, he’ll believe me. He’ll help me.
Just as I’m about to go back into the living room to retrieve my phone, the doorbell rings. The ceramic turtle slides out of my fingers and topples to the floor. The impact causes it to crack, splintering loose a triangle of bloody ceramic turtle.
Crap.
For about five seconds, I stand there in my hallway, not sure what to do. I don’t want to deal with whoever is at the door. Hopefully, whoever it is will go away.
And then the doorbell rings again.
I stuff the pieces of the turtle back into the laundry hamper. I push it all the way down to the bottom and cover it up with clothing. My hands are sweaty but don’t have any blood on them, at least.
I swear, if this is somebody selling Tupperware or dictionaries or the word of God, I’m going to lose it.
It’s only when I get close to the front door that the single flashing red and blue light outside my window become visible. It’s an unmarked police car.
Oh no.
