"I don't know anything for sure," she forced herself to say, "But one of the police officers was a were," she explained, "He tried to find a trace of her scent, but couldn't." She kept her back turned to him in order to assure that he couldn't see her tears. "I don't know all of the details. Just what he told me." Her head hung as she continued speaking, knowing that even if she had a letter from Caitlin there would likely be no containing her anger at herself.
She wished she had another knife, or possibly something to hit. She hated feeling like a stupid little girl. It was so much easier to just hit things until you felt better. "Goddammit," she croaked, "I hate chick flicks." She tried to laugh at her joke hoping that she could force herself to feel better. Maybe she would work on her car later. That always helped.