The Tell-Tale Con

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ridiculous.  Especially since for all Nate knew, Harrison was there to say hello. 
    Discomfort crept over me, making my skin itch.  It was a feeling I’d learned to trust over the years.  Nate’s house was creeping me out.  “Harrison…”
    He didn’t respond to the caution in my voice.  Instead, he moved farther into the house, heading towards the kitchen.  Everything was open concept in the house, but there were areas I couldn’t see because of furniture or because of kitchen built-ins, like the island.  Harrison stopped where he could see into the kitchen, but I still couldn’t.  My eyes were on the door, and his were on the floor.  When I looked back his way he still hadn’t moved.  He was standing there, staring.  The prickling of my skin got worse. 
    â€œHarrison?” 
    He didn’t respond.  Just stood there, staring down.  Against my better judgment, I crossed the room, knowing the whole time that I was going to be sorry. 
    He didn’t raise his eyes, even when we were practically touching.  Then I kind of wished we were touching, just because I could have used the physical comfort.  I pretended to be unaffected by the world, and generally I was, but I’d never seen a dead person before.  I wished I could have continued that trend. 
    It wasn’t clear to me how the guy on the kitchen floor behind the island had died, but he was definitely all kinds of dead.  He was lying, twisty-limbed, in a big puddle of blood that almost blended into the dark wood floor.  From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell where he was injured.  Until I saw the pinpoint entry wound in his black button up polo.  He’d been shot in the heart. 
    Young, maybe twentyish, he looked like he’d otherwise been healthy.  Before the gun and all.  “Nate?”
    Harrison nodded, his head barely moving.  “Nate.”
    Â 

CHAPTER SIX
    Â 
    Â 
    Rules of the scam #50
    Know when to get out…
    Â 
    I’d spent a lifetime avoiding the police, and as a result I always felt vaguely like I’d done something wrong, even if I wasn’t doing anything at all.  If I was at 7-11 buying a Slurpee and a cop came in, I spent the rest of my time in the store staring furtively like I was debating a major heist when really I was looking for some corn chips.  It had only gotten worse since Dad had been caught selling insurance that didn’t actually exist to old people in Pasadena. 
    But there was no avoiding the police in a case like this.  Harrison had to call them.  Then he had to call his aunt and uncle, who, it would seem, were out of town.  I didn’t envy him.  In fact, I felt sorry for him.  Which was something I certainly wouldn’t have admitted.  I didn’t think he’d appreciate it anyway, and sympathy wasn’t my deal. 
    I just tried to stay out of the way when the police showed up and more out of the way when Harrison’s grandparents showed up, frantic and hysterical.  I felt bad for them, too.  Their grief appeared to be genuine, while Harrison seemed to be in a daze, unaware of what was going on around him. 
    The police questioned me briefly, but after corroborating Harrison’s statement about how we’d gotten here and found the body, they ignored me.  I heard Harrison tell the police that he had something he’d wanted to return to Nate and that’s why were here.  Which was, in a way, perfectly true. 
    There were cops everywhere, but it didn’t take me all that long to peg the two that were in charge.  An enormous Pacific Islander type with a mustache that belonged on a bad detective show and a very small woman in her mid-40’s with a perm that was much too curly.  They moved around the house with authority, picking through Nate’s things. 
    I realized, after perhaps fifteen

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