If they get there before me, Article 31.

The text was from an unknown number. Was Miranda playing a game?

It first came up not long after we started dating. Article 31 started as a joke. Would we cover for each other if one of us ever fell foul of the law? Nothing serious – misdemeanour type offenses that could result in a fine. Of course. A white lie to the police to save the trouble. It needed a code name, and so Article 31 was born.

Two hours later Miranda breezed through the door.

“Have they been here?”

“Who?”

“Good.”

“What is going on?”

A knock at the door. The police.

“Can we come in?”

“Sure.”

Miranda served them coffee. Her hand lowered the cup to the table in a calm and smooth sweep. If she was nervous she hid it well. I pressed my hands between my knees.

“Where were you tonight?”

“Home here with Derek.”

The older of the two officers looked at me. “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyone else who can verify?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

The officer turned back to Miranda. “When was the last time you were in Springfield?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been.”

“Never? It’s an hour down the road and on the way to the city.”

“I have passed through.”

I cleared my throat. “What is this in relation to?”

The younger officer leaned forward, “We ask the questions. Witness saw a blue Prius on Olive Parade at 9pm tonight. That wasn’t you?”

Miranda shrugged. “There’s a lot of blue Prius’ out there.”

“We got a partial plate too. And a neighbour of one of the victims saw the suspect. Blonde, slim, around 25. All a match.”

“A partial plate leaves room for doubt no? And I have my alibi.”

The older officer took a sip of coffee. “Derek, is it? You’ll sign a statement to verify her alibi?”

I nodded. They put the paper in front of me.

The officers stood. “We’ll be in touch. Don’t do anything stupid like leave town.”

After they left Miranda placed her palms on my cheeks and kissed me. “You were great.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. It’s a case of mistaken identity.”

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere. Is there any pasta left over?”

I went upstairs early. I googled what I knew. Springfield, multiple victims, Olive Parade. And then it came up. Couple stabbed to death in their home. The article didn’t name the victims, but it wasn’t hard to find elsewhere. One of the names was familiar. Chris Marks. Miranda had mentioned him, I was sure of it. Something from her past she didn’t get into.

Had she killed two people tonight and got me to cover? She thought ahead enough to text me from a different phone. Was this a long con? And what now she had my signed alibi? Am I next?

I can hear footsteps on the stairs. She’s coming up.