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Before they go, Dunagan’s gaze flashes upward, landing unerringly on me. I’m so startled that I move back quickly, bumping into the wall and almost taking down a painting that’s hung right behind me.
The detective’s eyes narrow, and he gives me an assessing look that seems tinged with something else too. Pity?
Fuck. I don’t want his sympathy. Especially because it probably means he knows something I don’t.
I don’t know what the police were looking for when they searched Mom’s apartment or her car, but whatever they found in the car was considered important enough to seize the vehicle as evidence. I don’t understand how that’s possible though. If she’s innocent, why is it taking so long to prove that? Why does the detective keep sniffing around her life like a bloodhound on the scent? Like he’s certain that if he keeps poking at things, the ugly truth will pop up like the dead rising from the grave.
All of this might—might—make me question for a second whether everything I thought I knew about my mom was a lie, if I hadn’t seen with my own two eyes the man who did this. And it was a man, I’m sure of that. Even in a black ski mask and dark clothes, the figure was obviously tall and somewhat broad-shouldered. My mom is only slightly taller than me.
The detective’s gaze never leaves me, even as Mr. Black steps outside to join him at the top of the stairs. My mouth opens like I’m about to blurt something out, but before I can say anything, the door closes behind the two men.
I clamp my jaw shut, exhaling sharply through my nostrils. Goddammit. What the hell was I gonna say anyway? I already blabbed everything I know the night he took my mom, and he didn’t believe a word I said.
Who the hell knows what he’s asking Mr. Black? And who the hell knows what Linc’s dad is telling him?
My gut twists around and around itself as I stand with my hands on the balcony railing, staring down at the door.
They arrested my mom based on a “credible tip”, and after searching her car and her apartment, they still haven’t let her go. That means they have something on her—something connecting her to Iris’s murder.
Even though they shouldn’t.
Even though no such thing should exist.
I’m up early on Thursday, and I shower again and throw on a soft green sweater and jeans before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs.
As far as Lincoln knows, I’m not planning on going to school today, but I still want to minimize my odds of running into him by leaving before he does. And besides, I need to get an earlier start than usual since the bus takes more than twice as long as driving.
My textbooks sit like lead weights in my bag, and I know I’m going to be painfully behind in all my classes. Not only have I not gone to school since last Friday, but I haven’t even done the homework that was due on Monday. And knowing the teachers at Linwood Academy, there’ll be several more assignments that I’ve missed while I was gone too. I’ll have to do some serious begging to get extensions on any of it.
I wonder if any of them have ever heard this excuse before. Not “my dog ate my homework”, but “my mom was arrested on murder charges”.
Tugging out my history book, I try to make the long bus ride productive by reading ahead a little, catching up to where I’m guessing the rest of the class is. I’m a little motion sick when I finally get dropped off on Newfield Avenue and start walking toward campus. Then again, I’ve felt nauseated off an
d on for the past several days, so maybe it’s got nothing to do with reading on the bus.
I join the stream of students walking toward the front doors of the school, trying to take comfort in how normal it all feels. The bus didn’t take quite as long as I thought it would, so I’ve got twenty minutes before first period starts.
Heading toward my locker, I flip my backpack around to dig for a couple of books. But before I can pull them out, a loud shriek cuts over the soft din of conversation in the hallway. My footsteps skid to a halt, and I glance up to see Savannah staring at me from several yards down the corridor. Trent is leaning against a locker near her, and she’s got an entourage of younger cheerleaders around her. They’re all looking at her with wide eyes, awe and fear on their faces. Her focus is solely on me though, and an ugly snarl curves her lips.
“I fucking knew it!”
She forms words instead of an unintelligible screech this time, but her voice is still harsh and high pitched, barely human sounding.
“You think you can show your face around here, Pool Girl? Just go to class like everything’s fine? Like it’s all okay?” Her long red hair is down, and I swear I can see the strands vibrating with her rage.
Ah, fuck.
I’ve been so focused on my mom, and on doing this for her, that I honestly forgot to even consider what other people’s reactions would be to me coming back to Linwood.
And of course Savannah is pissed about it. She never liked me even when Iris was alive—but after the blonde cheerleader died and her on-again, off-again friend decided I had something to do with it, she cranked the knob all the way up to hate.
My stomach still feels like a cement mixer, and my head hurts, and I don’t really want to get into this shit with Savannah before eight a.m. So I shake my head tiredly.
“I’m still enrolled here. That means I can still go to school here. If Mr. Osterhaut wants to do something about my unexcused absences, that’s between me and him. It doesn’t really concern you.”
She lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh, stepping out of the circle of her riveted posse. Trent straightens, pushing away from the bank of lockers.
“You think anyone cares about absences?” she shrieks. “You’re not welcome here because your mom is a fucking murderer!”
