“I’d like to go home.”
“Why do you want to do that?” Detective Katz furrows his brow. “Makes me think you have something to hide.”
Detective Lopez cocks her head to one side, knitting her eyebrows in an aww-shucks way. “We’re just having a conversation here. Why don’t you want to cooperate with us?”
“It’ll be easier for everyone if you just tell us what really happened,” Detective Katz says. “We know you killed Rob Avery. We want to hear your side of the story.”
Something in me snaps. I stand up. “Either you let me call my lawyer, or I’m going home.”
The look of kindness on Detective Katz’s face vanishes. He looks to Detective Lopez, who pushes back her chair and walks toward the door.
“You’re not under arrest, Ms. Ross. You’re free to go at any point.”
37
“You what?” Artie Zucker’s voice booms through the car’s speaker. “What part of never, never, never talk to the police without me present didn’t you understand? Jesus, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t think I’d see them,” I say, cringing. “I was there about my computer getting hacked. I didn’t kill Rob Avery. I had nothing to do with his death.”
“They’re trying to rattle you,” he says in a calmer voice. “That’s all. Get you to say something incriminating. They shouldn’t be talking to you at all, frankly, but because you came in on your own, it’s a gray area.”
“They said they knew I killed him. Knew.”
“Allie, listen to me, it’s important you know that the police are allowed to lie and mislead during an investigation. They have a lot of leeway, and they use it to freak people out and get them to confess. Sometimes people confess to crimes they have not even committed. That’s why I don’t want you talking to anyone without me present. Capeesh?”
“Got it.” I feel slightly reassured by this. The police can lie. It’s all part of the investigation.
“Now, tell me every last little detail, and do not leave a single thing out.”
I recount the whole episode, first meeting with Detective Khoury and then when the other two took his place. It takes the entire drive home, and I’m just winding up the story as I pull up in front of my house.
“Well, at least now we have a pretty good idea of the direction their investigation is going. I think you need to prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“That you may be arrested. Hopefully, I’ll get a heads-up first.”
I sit stunned in my car, shocked to my core. I guess I knew this was a possibility, but to hear him say it so bluntly terrifies me. How am I supposed to prepare myself to be arrested? The thought of what this will do to Cole sends me spiraling down into darkness. I’ve heard about innocent people getting caught up in the criminal justice system, but I never in a million years thought it would be me.
A rap on my window startles me, and I turn to see a scowling Heather standing by the door. I’ve never seen her without an ear-to-ear grin. At once, I think of Sarah. She knows. I get out of the car and brace myself for a confrontation.
“Hi, Heather. I’m guessing you talked to Sarah.”
“Sarah is a mess. I don’t blame her. She showed me screenshots of what you wrote. Allie, how could you? She trusted you. I trusted you.”
“I know it looks bad—”
“Looks bad? Looks bad?” Her voice grows louder as her face turns a mottled red. “Is that what you care about? How this looks?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I did not write those things, Heather. Someone made a fake Facebook account.”
“Ha!” She takes a small step back, a triumphant smile on her face. “Vicki Armstrong said you would say that.”
“Vicki Armstrong doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Rage builds in me at the thought of that woman buzzing around the neighborhood trying to turn everyone against me.
“You know, I defended you,” Heather says, stabbing the air with her pointer finger. “When people said you were having an affair with Rob, I told them no way. To think that I recommended you to Sarah, even to my boss! But I’m done. We’re done.”
She pivots and heads next door to her house.
“Hold up,” I say, catching up to her. I grab her shoulder and spin her around. “Did you photograph the police at my house the other day?” I ask, ignoring the way she dramatically rubs her shoulder as if I’d hurt her. “And post it on Facebook?”
A flicker of something crosses her face. Guilt? “Yes. Yes, I did,” she says, half sputtering. “So what? Aren’t I entitled to know why the police are swarming my block?”
“And what about the pool, Memorial Day weekend?”
“What about it?” She sticks her chin out in defiance.
“Did you photograph me at the pool, Heather?”
She holds up both hands and starts backing away, her eyes wild. “What? You’re crazy.”
“And what about Overton Academy? Do you know someone who went there?”
“Stay away from me. I mean it.”
“Why won’t you answer the question, Heather? What’s your connection to Overton?”
I watch Heather back up to her front path, then turn and speed-walk past a giant inflated jack-o’-lantern and into her house.
It’s probably my imagination, but I swear I can hear the deadbolt lock.
No one is in the kitchen, but the scent of browning meat permeates the air. A quick peek in the oven reveals a roast nestled in a bed of potatoes and carrots. Susan’s doing.
Upstairs, I find Cole lying on his floor, an island amid a sea of colorful LEGO pieces. They’re tiny but can cause a surprising amount of pain when stepped on in the middle of the night.
“Hey, Cole, you know you’re going to have to pick up all these before dinner, right?”
He grunts in response but does not look up.
“Where’s Susan?”
He does not answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the little pieces in his hand.
I walk down the dark hallway to my bedroom. When I open
