It Started With a Murder

Chapter Thirteen

Cathie:

The next week passes in a blur. Adrian handed Annabelle’s diary into the police after our chat with Pearl.

Everyone’s being questioned, Adrian first, then Pearl, then me, then Murphy - the police are pretty sure she did it, even though she’s refusing to confess, she says it wasn’t her. A part of me feels sorry for her, she looks so pitiful at the moment, completely lost and alone; even Josh isn’t talking to her.

She’s being kept at her house at the moment, they have some kind of tracker on her that makes a massive commotion if she steps outside her own front door.

Adrian went to visit her a few days ago; it didn’t go so well. Murphy tried to convince him that she didn’t kill Annabelle and Adrian got completely mad, he threw a glass at her (she dodged it) before storming out of her house.

He’s in a really strange mood at the moment, he won’t talk to anyone except Pearl. I went round his house yesterday, his mum let me in and told me that he was in his bedroom. I went upstairs and he was sitting there with Pearl and they both fell silent when I went in and they hardly spoke to me, just sat there giving each other some weird looks.

I left after about ten minutes, it just felt so wrong being with them. I know this sounds selfish, but I feel kind of jealous; Pearl and Adrian aren’t supposed to like each other. I just feel really lonely. I need Adrian, he was helping me get over Annabelle and I was going to help him but Pearl’s taken that job and now I have nothing to do.

Which is the reason why I’m here, at Murphy’s house.

A part of me knows it’s a stupid idea to go and see Murphy, she must hate me - after all I was the one who handed Annabelle’s diary into the police - she won’t want to talk to me.

I ignore the panging fear inside me and walk to the front and knock on it before I can stop myself.

A women answers, she looks like an older version of Murphy except with brown hair instead of Murphy’s green hair; she must be Murphy’s mother.

The woman stares at me with tired eyes for a long moment before growling, “If you’ve come here to chuck something hard at my daughter, I suggest you piss off now.”

I shake my head quickly, “No, I just want to talk to her, honestly, I don’t have anything that I could throw at her.”

Murphy’s mother gives me one last look before grunting slightly and walking away, I wait for a few seconds, unsure of what to do when I hear Murphy’s mum shout, “Come on then and shut the front door behind you.”

Startled, I hurry through the door, closing it gently behind me. “Coming.”

Murphy’s mum leads me into the living room, where Murphy sits hurdled over on one of the armchairs. I look at her a few seconds, taking in the tired, scared look in her eyes, the limpness of her hair and the overall sadness emitting from her posture.

“Hey Murphy,” I murmur.

Murphy looks up at me, wild eyed, “What are you doing here?”

I hold my hands up in a sign of peace and slowly perch myself on the sofa next to Murphy’s armchair, “I just wanted to see how you were, I thought you might want some company.”

“I can kick her out if you want me to,” Her mum steps forward and puts her hands up as though she is physically going to lift me out of the house!

Murphy shakes her head, “No, she can stay. I want to see what she has to say,” She glances at her mum and smiles slightly, “you don’t have to stay.”