Perfect Little Murder

By Yawatta Hosby

Franco was my brother, my best friend, my protector. He never missed any of my ballet practices.

Until Kina...killed him. I don't care how many times she denies it. I know she killed him. And for that, she'll have to pay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dream Snatcher Press
• Release date: May 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386508526

Yawatta Hosby

With a desire to escape every day life, Yawatta Hosby creates stories. She's always had a fascination with psychology, so she likes to focus on the inner-struggles within her characters. Yawatta is also an avid reader, favorite genres: mystery, thriller, horror, and women's fiction.

Book preview

Chapter One

Present Day

Have you ever regretted something you did?

I’m sitting in a cold, dreary interrogation room. No doubt officers make these rooms empty in order to trick criminals into confessing, in order to convince them to get to a more comfortable place faster. I’m sitting at the left side of the table by myself, facing Detective Moreno and my parents. Mom is in tears, and Dad is hugging her. I see the pain in his eyes, but behind that pain is doubt. I’ll use that to my advantage.

I’m daddy’s little girl, after all.

Detective Moreno flips his yellow notepad to a blank page. He holds an expensive pen in his hand. Something he probably views as his prized possession. The only special thing he’ll ever get, not realizing it’s an afterthought gift from one of his kids.

Loren Carey, your parents are here because I have questions for you. If any of you feel the need to contact a lawyer, I’ll stop the questioning immediately and will allow your mom and dad to make the call. Detective Moreno glares at me with distrust in his hazel eyes. Do you understand?

I nod. What’s your name?

Excuse me?

What’s your name? I mean your first name. Since we’re really gonna get into it, I’d feel more comfortable knowing your name. I smile and keep staring at Detective Moreno.

He lowers his gaze to the table and readjusts his tie. Uh, my name is Jay, Jay Moreno.

I win. Thanks, Jay. I know you didn’t have to listen to my request. I really appreciate that you did, and I’ll tell you whatever you’d like. I smile again, this time showing all of my teeth.

Detective Moreno, I mean Jay, says, Loren, do you know Maria Clinton?

Yeah. We have a couple classes together.

An eyewitness reported that you and Miss Clinton had an argument in the school hallway last week. Is that correct?

I bite my fingernail and look sheepishly at Dad. I can’t act too calm, or he may get suspicious. Argument is a pretty strong word. It was more like a minor disagreement. I scoot up in my seat. You see, we had an assignment together in history class, and she thought I should do the entire project by myself since I’m book smart. I didn’t think it was right to put all that pressure on me.

Sounds reasonable enough. Our history teacher, Mr. Patterson, did give us class assignments, and Maria and I were really teamed up. Who cares if I get some facts wrong? It’s not like Maria’s awake from her coma to tell her side of the story.

The real reason we argued was because she couldn’t mind her own business. Who was she to lecture me on how I was treating my little sister? Who was she to tell me that I needed counseling? I don’t need counseling! I need my brother back! If Maria would’ve minded her own business, she wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed in a coma. Maybe I should pay this eyewitness a visit to make sure they back up my story?

Who’s the eyewitness? Someone from school? I ask with curiosity, making sure not to let the underlying threat escape my voice.

At this time, the identity isn’t important—,

Dad interrupts. Hold on, Detective. I think it’s important. What if this ‘eyewitness’ has a vendetta against my daughter?"

Sir, I can assure you that my source has no hidden agenda.

Pardon me if I don’t take your word for it. Let me hear from my daughter’s mouth that she doesn’t have any problems with this secret person. The only way to do that is by revealing the name.

Jay clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. It takes all of me not to smirk. I knew Dad would fight for me. I knew he’d have my best interests at heart. I knew he’d do anything to protect me. That’s what loving parents do. In about a minute or two, Mom will butt in, not taking my side.

It’s okay, Dad.

He shakes his head like one of those exaggerated cartoons. No, it’s not, Loren. This isn’t sitting right with me. He’s withholding information. Dad frowns and searches Mom’s cold, heartless eyes. Maybe we should call a lawyer after all.

Jay says, Sir, it’s your decision, but I only want to question Loren, as I’ve done with other students who know Miss Clinton. I need loose ends explained to connect the dots.

With suspicion in his voice, Dad asks, Then why are we in a police station? Why couldn’t you have talked to my daughter in the principal’s office?

Mom puts her hand on Dad’s arm to calm him. Ever since my brother’s death, Dad has been taking anti-anxiety medication. I don’t know if he’s embarrassed or what, but he’s hid this fact from me. I found the pill bottle stuffed inside a sock in his dresser by accident; my feet had been cold, so I wanted Dad’s warm, fuzzy socks to keep my feet cozy.

Mom says, Honey, please calm down. Let Detective Moreno investigate. We need to get to the bottom of this.

I glare at Mom for a split second, but then I catch myself. Now I see where my little sister, Kina, gets her bitchiness from. Or should I say got her bitchiness from. If Dad wasn’t here right now, I would let Mom think she was getting the better of me, before letting her have it. I’d taunt her with the fact that Kina is gone and she’ll never find the body.

Lately, my parents have been arguing about Mom not trusting me. They usually wait until they think my sisters and I are asleep, so we can’t hear them, but I always sneak into the hallway and put my ear near their bedroom door. Dad wouldn’t appreciate Mom’s attitude today. Not even a little bit. I can tell he’s frustrated with her because he just removed his comforting arm from around her shoulders.

Dad rubs his chin roughly. He gives me a sympathetic look before glancing at Mom again. What do you mean ‘get to the bottom of this?’ Of course, I want the same thing, but there has to be a better way. Loren wouldn’t lie to us.

Mom keeps quiet, seething inside. I was never her favorite.

Mr. Carey, should I give you two a moment to discuss things? I don’t mind stepping outside. I want you guys on the same page. But, before I go, please understand, I have no suspicions of your daughter. I just want to clear some things up.

Dad, it’s okay. I don’t mind answering his questions. I have nothing to hide.

Dad reaches across the table and strokes my hand. Are you sure?

I close my eyes, because I appreciate his gesture, and nod.

Dad glances at Jay. Okay, you can proceed.

The atmosphere in the cold room shifts. Jay is cocky now that everyone’s on board with his interrogation. I don’t appreciate his arrogance, and I don’t like the way he keeps glancing at his watch as if he has to meet a deadline. If you get ten confessions in ten hours, then you get a cookie. I definitely need to knock him down a few pegs. Sooner rather than later. That moment will be glorious.

I raise my hand, as if I’m in class waiting for a teacher to let me speak. When Jay nods his permission, I say, I have a question. Will you tell me your source? Or are we moving away from that?

For now, let’s move on, but we can always revisit that later. He clears his throat. Loren, when was the last time you saw Miss Clinton?

Oh man, this is where I have to incriminate myself. I can’t lie. There are too many people who will tell the truth. I can’t look like a liar during a criminal investigation. At the bowling alley. It was my friend’s birthday party.

Does your friend have a name?

I nod. Yeah, Gregory Case.

Is he friends with Miss Clinton, too?

I hold back a gag. Yeah. Everyone is friends with Maria. She’s really nice.

So, you had a minor disagreement at school. Then you saw Miss Clinton again at the bowling alley. Was that awkward for you? Did you two argue again?

We mostly ignored each other. I was surrounded by my friends, and she was with hers. There was no point in messing up Gregory’s special day. I smile hesitantly and glance over at Dad.

Do you know if Miss Clinton had any beef with anyone else?

I have no idea. I shrug. I’m sorry. I don’t know any school gossip. I choose to mind my own business.

Loren, where were you Wednesday night between eleven p.m. and one a.m.?

In my room, watching TV. Of course, I conveniently don’t include crawling out of my bedroom window and climbing down my tree. I’m sure there are no witnesses to that, so I can get away with this lie.

She was definitely home, Dad says. I picked her up from the party.

Mom glares at me. I hope Jay didn’t pick up on that. Being bored with this conversation, I decide it’s time to turn the tables on Mom. It’s time to make her sweat.

My gaze never leaves Mom’s glare. You can ask Kina. I watched a movie with her. Mom, have you talked to Kina today?

Mom folds her arms across her chest in a defensive stance. Of course, I have. She’s at home dong her school work. She’s going to help Mrs. Wilson fix dinner afterwards. She looks at Jay. Kina is always helping around the house.

Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Mom’s a lying liar who lies. She couldn’t have talked to Kina today. Kina can’t be doing homework right now. Kina can’t be helping our neighbor cook later. Kina can’t even breathe. She doesn’t have a pulse. She’s six feet underground, figuratively speaking.

I killed her this morning on the way to school.

Let the games begin...

Chapter Two

A Month Earlier

Iloved my brother Franco. We were close. Very close. He was only one year older than me, and he didn’t treat me as if I was some dumb kid. He let me come to all of his soccer practices. I never missed a game. No way, and Franco never missed my ballet practices. He never missed any of my concerts, either, and I’ve been dancing since I was seven! He always told me I would get a spot in Juilliard.

Dancing was my life. I felt invincible with Franco by my side. He was the only one who I’d let take me to practice. We would ride the bus—public transportation, ugh—to my dance studio after school, then Mom or Dad would pick us up afterward. Franco was my hero, and he was my protector. When he rode the bus, no one dared picked on us. Franco was only fourteen, but he looked like a grown man with his height and broad shoulders.

Everything was perfect