Love, Betrayal, and Murder

Ever King has lead an impossibly hard life. She gave birth at sixteen to a baby she didn't want. Five years later, the same little girl was murdered maliciously. Bad luck follows her wherever she goes. And when someone else she cares about is about to die, she refuses to allow it.

First in the Love, Betrayal, and Murder series.

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10. The Scene of the Crime - Ever's P.O.V.

     I have never ridden in a police car before. Technically, I still haven't. I drove. I don't know what it is with Simon. One minute, he is this big, strong, tough police officer; the next, he is this complete push-over, letting me trample all over him.

     The park has a fence running around it, with only two exits. North and South. No one ever uses the South, though. It leads to the woods.

     Marcy is on the ground. Well, not exactly, just her tape outline, showing where she was found.

     "Amazing she didn't die from blood loss," I mutter to myself. The blood stain on the ground near the outline is incredibly vast. I turn and ask Simon, "Has anyone found the weapon? Knife, I presume?"

     "No and most likely."

     I think harder. What could have happened?

     "You be Marcy."

     "What?"

     "Just do it!" I hiss. Simon is nice, but when he doesn't want to be the rug beneath my feet and worship the ground I walk on, he is as stubborn as a mule made of cheese. And not the good cheese either. "You, Marcy, just told me, the killer, what you know. You are about to leave through the North, just like everyone does. I grab you, and pull you back." I take hold of Simon's arm and yank him towards me. I place my finger on one side of his neck and slide it over, whispering, "I kill you. Or at least I think I do."

     "We've established that."

    "Shut it, Simon. I don't need your criticism. Anyway, you fall to the ground - go on! Do it! - and I think you're dead. But I wouldn't want to go that way." I point towards the North entrance.

     "Why not?" Simon questions from where he was lying.

     "Too many witnesses, even on a Sunday morning. Judging by how much blood is on the ground, I would say the killer would have a fair amount of blood on his or her shirt. Not to mention a knife of some kind. That's bound to raise some eyebrows."

     "Point taken."

     "I would want to go that way." I point to the South entrance. "No one ever goes that way, because of all the rumors about snakes and bears living in the woods."

    "It's not a rumor," Simon mumbles as he gets up and dusts himself off.

     "Let's go. We may even find the weapon," I continue, walking into the woods. Simon catches up.

     We walk on the narrow trail tor forty-five minutes. Simon complains his feet hurt, and screams like a girl in a horror movie at any sound (even though he caused most of them).

     "Let's turn back, Ever. Face it. You were wrong. It happens."

     "I'm not wrong," I shoot back. "It's here. I know it."

     "Ow!" Simon yowls as though I just slapped him. I turn around and find him hopping around, one foot in his hands, screeching in pain. Attached to the bottom of his sole is a black pocketknife. I wrench it out. It has dried blood along one side.

     Simon pulls an evidence bag out his jacket and hands it to me. I drop the knife in. Looking up, I realize that there is something in Simon's eyes. Pride? Admiration? Something else?

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