Page 90 of Five

“You don’t have to do this, Rory.” Frank is being unreasonably reasonable. He’s got his arm around me protectively and he’s glaring at the police like they have no right to be here.

I ignore him and look at the officer questioning me. “No,” I say. “I do have to do this. Because there’s no way Tera killed herself and I need to get to the bottom of it.”

Frank makes an incredulous grunt.

The police officer taking my statement raises both eyebrows in surprise. “Are you insinuating that there was foul play involved, Miss…” He looks down at his note pad. “Shrike?” And then his eyes brighten. “Hey… you’re not related to that biker dude who used to have that show a while back? What’s his name?”

“Spencer,” I say. “Spencer Shrike Bikes. And yes, he’s my father.”

The officer smiles, about to launch into a million questions, but Frank interjects. “Can we please knock off the pleasantries? Our dear friend just killed herself tonight.”

The officer scratches his temple with his pen and says, “Miss Shrike seems to have another angle on this case, Mr. Fulbright. So why don’t you go take a seat over there while she and I chat?”

His friendly demeanor is gone and Mr. Officer has taken its place. Frank scowls, but the officer says, “There,” as he points to a table in the main Palladium House foyer with the pen.

Frank huffs out some air through his nose. Put off at being ordered around. I bet Frank Fulbright isn’t used to being ordered around. But this is a police investigation and he’s smart enough to get into Princeton, so he’s smart enough to know when it’s in his best interest to do as he’s told. So he goes.

“Why don’t we take a stroll out back, Miss Shrike? So you can gather your thoughts.”

It’s not a question any more than telling Frank to go sit his ass down was a request. So I follow him through the back doors and out into the immaculately landscaped back yard.

“Now,” he says, once we’re a good distance down a pea-pebbled pathway winding through some low shrubbery. “Why don’t you start with why you think Tera Middleton is a victim?”

I don’t trust this guy, even if he is some throwback fan of my father’s long-lived TV reality show. So I just say, “Because she wasn’t depressed. She was afraid of something.”

“Afraid of what?” the officer asks, writing down my answer.

“I don’t know,” I say. I can’t exactly tell him anything about Palladium House. I’ll sound like a crazy person. And that will make Tera look even worse. So I lie and say, “She had a guy stalking her.”

“Who?” he asks.

“I don’t know. She never said. I was away all summer. Maybe someone from the beach. They stay at the Hamptons, so maybe a guy she met there.” But I don’t really want to send him off on the wrong track. So I add, “But… I could be wrong about that. She never had a chance to say anything. She was busy all week, so I didn’t see her until today.”

“I thought you said you didn’t see her today? That she texted you?”

Shit. This guy isn’t gonna miss anything. And why should he? Catching people in lies is his fucking job, after all. I wish I could channel Sparrow and her superpower lying talent.

God, how badly I want to be home right now. With my family and my friends in my quaint, safe town. On the family farm, swimming in the pool and having secret meetings with Five down by Sparrow’s brook or in the grotto behind the waterfall. I’d give almost anything.

“Miss Shrike,” the officer barks. “Did you see her today or not?”

I gulp air. God, I really need to practice my lying. There’s no way this guy will believe me. “I was looking for her this morning but I couldn’t find her. So I didn’t see her until just now. When Mia came banging on my door, screaming.”

“Can I see the text conversation?” he asks.

“I have to get my phone from my room.”

“OK, we’ll get that when we’re done here. Did she mention anything else? Did she give you a name?”

“No, I just told you. I’ve barely talked to her.”

“But you were the one she texted to say”—he looks down at his notes—“she was leaving.”

“We’re best friends.”

“Uh-huh. And I have a conflicting statement from her other best friends. Kallie and Mia?” Jesus Christ. “They say she was depressed. All summer, in fact. They were with her. And she was irrational all week, talking about people watching her. Following her. But they did say that she didn’t have a boyfriend in the Hamptons. So I don’t think your theory holds up, Miss Shrike. In fact, I think you’re leaving things out. They both told me you’re involved with some kind of criminal?” Another glance down at his pad. “Some guy named Rutherford Aston the Fifth. Five, they called him?”

I say nothing.