I wanted to tell him, if he found my head, he'd see I had short, straight hair. That one on Steven's shoulder belonged to Kelly.
That night I got murdered, Kelly was snuggled up to my husband, leaving behind that little souvenir.
I hadn't been home for three days and my husband hadn't even tried to find me. Last time we argued about Kelly, I crashed at my best friend's place for a few days. He just assumed I was mad again and didn’t want to deal with it.
Then Kelly called him, her voice trembling. "Steven, there's supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight and I'm so scared. Can you come stay with me?"
I saw Steven's grip on his phone tighten and loosen. He said, "I'm married, Kelly. It's not really convenient for me to come to your hotel."
Just when I thought he might be showing some common sense, he added, "But you can come to my house. She's not home."
Even Kelly was surprised. "Steven, are you sure? What if she suddenly comes back? We wouldn't be able to explain ourselves."
I snorted. She knew exactly what she was doing and here she was, playing the innocent.
Steven asked, "What do we need to explain to her? This is my home and you’re my friend. Don’t worry about what she thinks."