I’m just a girl who minds her own business. That woman was looking at me now. The same woman who had possibly shot two men in cold blood and left taunting notes for the police.
“So you want to write about me. Is that it?” Now that I heard her voice, it was unmistakable. It was the same voice from the video. “You’re not the first person to ask.”
“I already wrote about you.” People were passing me on the sidewalk, so I stepped forward, toward Beth, hoping I wasn’t spooking her. Or spooking her more than I already had.
“Then what do you want?” Beth asked me. Not a hostile question. A curious one.
What did I want? I knew the answer to that. I could feel the blood pulsing in my veins, and my thoughts were mercury-quick, as if I were high. “I want to interview you,” I said. I had one shot at Beth Greer—maybe the only shot in my life. “I want to hear what really happened. I want to hear it from you.” I paused. “I want to know what it was like to be you. Back then. And what it’s like to be you now.”
“You’re asking a lot,” Beth said.
“I know.” I supposed I wasn’t a girl who minded her own business. I dug in my purse, looking for a business card—I’d had some printed once, when I had felt the urge to be more official. Now I couldn’t find any.
I found a flyer instead—one I had found shoved in my condo mailbox, that I’d put in my purse and forgotten. It advertised a local Thai place. I found a pen and wrote the URL of my website on it. Beneath that, I wrote my phone number.
I handed Beth the Thai menu, my cheeks heating. “I swear I’m a professional,” I said.
Beth didn’t look convinced, but she took the menu. She didn’t throw it in my face or tell me to mind my own business. She read what I had written, then folded the flyer and tucked it in her own purse. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She waited a second, then waved a hand. “Go back to work, Shea.”
I stood rooted. I couldn’t move until I knew. “Are you going to think about it, or are you going to throw it away?” I asked her. “Just tell me, so I’m not jumping every time the phone rings. This is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s hard to explain.”
She took her sunglasses off. She had aged forty years, but she still had the eyes of the woman in the YouTube video. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? Are you writing a book or something?”
“No,” I said, because I wasn’t. I had no idea how to write a book or get it published. It wasn’t something that had even crossed my mind. “But, yes, I’m serious.”
“All right, I’ll be honest,” Beth said. “I’ve been asked for a lot of interviews. I’ve been offered money. I’ve never been interested. But you’re not like anyone who has ever asked me.”
I was silent. Was that good or bad? Did it matter?
“So, yes, I’ll consider it,” Beth continued. “Despite how gauche your pitch was—or perhaps because of it—I’ll think it over. Does that satisfy you?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Go back before they fire you.”
I turned and walked back to the office, my mind racing. I didn’t see a single thing in front of me. I forgot that I hadn’t actually had lunch. I’d have to eat the crackers and cheese I’d stuffed in my purse this morning.
At my desk, my gaze moved to the stack of patient files on the trolley that had been wheeled between me and Karen. One of those files was Beth Greer’s.
Was she ill? Was that why she was considering my offer? A sort of deathbed confession?