by Eileen Cook
I paused. Coffee seemed . . . social. “I don’t have a lot of time.” I rocked back and forth on my heels. “I’m supposed to be in school. I shouldn’t be too late.”
“C’mon, I could use some fresh air. And you’ve got, what, just a week or so left until school’s out? You won’t miss much.” Detective Jay headed for the door, leaving me no option but to follow him outside into the spring sunshine. A line of brightly colored red and yellow tulips bobbed in the wind in front of the building. He jerked his head across the street. “I know some people think Starbucks is the corporate overlord, but they do a pretty good latte. There’s another place, but it’s a couple blocks down.”
“No, this is fine,” I said. Closer was better.
He insisted on paying and told me to grab a table while he waited for our drinks. He walked over carefully with the cups in his hand and couple of small bags pinched between his fingers. “I got some banana bread. Don’t tell Chan. He’s got this thing about us cutting down on sweets, but banana bread is practically fruit, right?”
I raised a single eyebrow. “Sure.”
He laughed and nudged the chai tea I’d asked for over to me. “You must be about ready for graduation.”
I sipped my tea, inhaling the spicy scents of cardamom and cinnamon. Suddenly he was my new best friend and hadn’t shown up at my house to rifle through my panty drawer looking for evidence. “Uh-huh.”
“Since you’re staying local, you still thinking about college?” His eyes watched me over his cup, blowing on it to cool it down.
“Nope.” Why didn’t he want to know why I’d called? My stomach was too tight to take even a sip of my own drink, but I picked up the cup and pretended.
“Did you ever think about checking out the community college up in Traverse City? They’ve got some good programs, some practical stuff too that doesn’t take too long. Hairdressing and dental assistant, stuff like that, in addition to a bunch of university transfer options.”
I put my tea down on the table, still sticky from the people who had been there before us. “I appreciate the career advice, but I called you because I had another vision.”
Detective Jay sighed. “Yeah. About that. I should tell you before we go further, I didn’t tell Detective Chan you were coming by, and I didn’t officially log your call. This conversation is just between us, off the record.”
“Why?” Another ripple of unease ran down my spine like a lit fuse, setting each nerve on fire.
He leaned back in his chair and it creaked in protest. “Did you know I grew up on the east side?”
“No.” I pushed the slab of oily banana bread he’d bought me back to his side of the table.
He broke off a corner of the pastry and tossed it up, catching it in his mouth. “Yep. My dad died when I was pretty young, so my mom raised me and my three sisters on her own. Wasn’t easy. There were times when I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through school.”
Was I supposed to express sympathy? Salute him as a brother in arms in the war on poverty? I fidgeted in my chair. “You know what they say—high school isn’t forever.”
He chuckled. “Thank god, huh?”
I pushed back slightly from the table. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”
He sighed. “Chan’s still new to this field. He figures if something doesn’t add up, it equals guilt. But I’m trying to express that I get it.”
“Get what?” I realized I was shredding the napkin he’d given me. There were tiny brown paper scraps all over the table and my lap. I swept them off onto the floor.
“I get that people might tell the police something untrue for all sorts of reasons that have nothing to do with guilt. I understand that it’s hard. Hard to face graduation when it seems like everyone else is moving forward and you feel stuck in place.”
“I’m not stuck.” People at the tables nearby turned to stare, which made me realize I was almost yelling. I lowered my voice. A woman pulled her baby carriage closer to her table. “I’ve got plans. Just because I don’t have the money for New York doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more than what you got. It’s what drives us.” His eyes softened. “But that doesn’t mean you can say or do whatever you want.”
My chest tightened. It felt like I couldn’t get a deep breath. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re not a psychic.”
I blinked. How the hell had he figured it out? My breath came in shallow pants that I fought to get under control. I’d assumed if either of the cops was going to discover the truth, it was going to be Chan. I took another drink of tea to buy time and to keep myself from bolting toward the door in panic.
“You’re not the first person to get caught in a lie and next thing you know it gets away from you, but you have to stop. You can’t keep digging yourself in deeper.”
I nodded, still unable to say anything. It didn’t matter how he’d figured it out; he knew.
“Your mom only wants the best for you.”
My heart locked up in my chest everything, coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait. My mom was the one who told you I wasn’t a psychic?”
He nodded and brushed the banana crumbs from the napkin into his open palm and then ate those as well. “It must be hard, knowing your mom has that ability and you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel special.”
Detective Jay glanced around the café. “I can understand why you made your mom’s initial predictions sound like they were yours. Maybe you thought it didn’t matter who had them as long as you tried to get Paige home safe. Or you thought if people thought you had this ability, you would look cool.”
“My mom told you,” I repeated. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Lucy or Ryan, or even Drew had been the one to spill my secret, but that it had been my mom shocked me.
He nodded. “She came to see me after we searched your place. We met outside the station. She didn’t call you out publicly; she didn’t want to embarrass you or get you in trouble. I’m the only person she’s spoken with about this.”
The thoughts in my head tumbled around like laundry in a washer.
“Detective Chan thinks the predictions have just been lucky guesses,” he said. I didn’t point out that Paige hadn’t ended up very lucky.
Detective Jay wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Lou’s a great detective, but he’s not comfortable with this kind of thing.”
“Psychic phenomena,” I said. The words made him fidget. Jay wasn’t as comfortable as he thought either.
“He likes to rely on facts. Things he can see, touch, taste, feel. That’s partly what makes him uneasy with this situation. Sure, your mom made some things that could be seen as random guesses, but that’s to be expected. She got the cause of death wrong, and the thing about Disney never panned out, for example.”
“I didn’t know any of this,” I said. The milky tea coated my mouth, a sugary sweet slick of fat on my tongue that I couldn’t get rid of.
He smiled at me, like the face you make when elderly people are struggling to make change in the grocery checkout and holding up the line. The face that says you’re trying to be patient, but you also think the other person is the tiniest bit pathetic. “If it makes you feel better, I think you were only trying to help.”
“I can’t believe my mom told you I was a fake.”
“She didn’t say it like that. She wanted me to know that you weren’t involved.”
“But you still think I might be.”
Detective Jay leaned back. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. I don’t think you’ve been a hundred percent honest with me, but no, I don’t think you had anything to do with Paige’s death. It would be better if you and your mom had more than each other as an alibi for the night Paige was killed, but police work isn’t usually that tidy.”
For a split second, it seemed like the entire café went silent. The whooshing of the milk steamer, the clamor of peopl
e in line asking for Venti cups and extra shots of syrup, the clank of the bucket-sized coffee carafes being loaded, and the metal ting of the creamer thermoses on the marble countertop—all disappeared.
“Alibi?”
He nodded. “She confirmed you two were together that night.”
I pushed my chair back. Why would she lie about that as well? She knew I was out that night.
She thought I was guilty. That’s why she told him the visions were hers. She wanted to get his attention off of me. “I guess there’s nothing left to say,” I said.
Detective Jay stood quickly reaching for my elbow. “Hey, I didn’t want to upset you.” He held me in place, staring into my eyes.
“You didn’t,” I said. My lie floated in the air between us, bloated and grimy.
“I wanted to talk to you because it’s important to me that you understand that I get why you did it. I don’t blame you and I’m not mad, but you have to stop. This is a murder investigation.”
The walls of the café, complete with floor-to-ceiling shelves, seemed to be closing in on me. I was going to be buried under bags of dark roast and overpriced coffee grinders.
“Fine.” I pulled back. I was ready to thank him for this touching intervention, tell him anything, just so we could end the conversation.
He let go of my arm. Perhaps they’d taught him in the police academy that holding a teen girl against her will in front of a bunch of witnesses was poor form. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” I gestured toward the door. “I need to get going. Really. I’ve got school.” I hated feeling like I needed his permission.
He deflated back into his seat. “Okay.” He waited until I had the door pushed halfway open before calling out, “You don’t need to tell stories to be special, you know. You’re a pretty neat kid just the way you are.”
Everyone in line, or seated at the tables, looked up to catch this heartwarming after-school-special moment. I closed my eyes briefly, wishing that if I could have a magical ability, it would be teleportation, so I could vanish from this spot in a puff of smoke.
“Thanks,” I said, then practically dove out the door.
Forty-Three
After I left Detective Jay, I walked quickly to school but stopped outside the front door. I should have gone in. I was already late. I’d missed more classes in the past couple of weeks than I had in the entire four years before all of this started. But each step looked a mile high; the door appeared to weigh a thousand pounds. I didn’t have the strength to make it inside. Drew most likely would still be giving me the cold shoulder. Everyone else would be watching me, waiting to see what might happen. I tried taking the first step, but then stopped. I couldn’t do it.
I spun and kept walking until I was outside the Catholic church. The door creaked open and the smell of the place—furniture polish, dusty books, and incense—enveloped me. It smelled like the place where magic potions were made. I crept in and absently rubbed the foot of the stone statue of the Virgin Mary that stood in the back of the lobby.
I slid into a polished pew and stared at the crucifix hanging at the front trying to calm my thoughts.
I shifted on the wooden seat. My eyes traveled around the walls of the church. There were paintings of various miraculous moments, a pregnant virgin, loaves and fishes to feed thousands, Christ floating up to heaven with his arms spread wide. No one saw anything exceptional in those miracles. They were accepted. Normal.
I’d always denied that my mom had any kind of special powers or ability. I made fun of the mere idea.
There were times when my mom had seemed to know things. The day my grandpa died, my mom had mentioned that morning that she dreamt about him visiting her. And there was the time she kept me home from school because she felt like something bad would happen, and that day a bunch of kids in my class got food poisoning from dodgy birthday cupcakes. I’d chalked those up to luck, but what if she was psychic? Maybe the person who wasn’t willing to see reality was me.
The TV was on as I came into the apartment hours later, one of those ballroom dancing shows. The air smelled like a field after a rain, so my mom must have busted out the Febreze. She swept around the living room. It looked like she was doing the tango. She didn’t stop when she spotted me and instead kept time with the music, her arms held out in front of her, embracing a ghostly dance partner.
“The school called,” she called out over her shoulder. “They said you didn’t show up today.”
I should have known the secretary would call. “Sorry,” I said. “Needed a break.”
Mom stopped dancing and wiped the sweat from her brow. “Fine with me. I told them I’d forgotten to call you in sick.”
“Thanks.” I leaned against the wall.
She smiled. “No problem. I remember how hard it is to sit in class, especially when the weather gets nice.”
“I went to the police department this morning.”
She caught my expression and stopped dancing. “Ah.” Mom clicked off the TV and sat on the couch.
I crossed the room and sat next to her. It was easier to talk when I wasn’t looking directly at her. I pulled the afghan onto my lap, even though it was too hot for a blanket. I buried my fingers into the scratchy acrylic yarn. “Detective Jay said he knew I was a fake. That you told him that.”
“You want something to drink?” Mom went out to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of white wine from the box in the fridge. She popped her head around the corner. “You want a glass?” She smiled at me. “After all, it’s after five somewhere in the world.”
“Of wine?” I asked, surprised. She’d never me offered me a drink before, and it seemed like a trick question.
She laughed. “You’re eighteen. I’m not so old that I think this is the first drop of alcohol you’ve had in your life.” She put her hands over her ears. “Not that I want you to tell me.”
It wasn’t my first drink, but she was wrong if she thought I was getting drunk at parties. Other than the time Drew snuck the vodka out of her parents’ liquor cabinet, we hadn’t done much. My mom often confused her wild teen years with mine. Drew and I had been more into Netflix and craft projects than boozy parties.
Mom passed me a glass. “Here’s to good times ahead,” she said, and we clinked.
I took a cautious sip. The wine was ice cold. It must have been near the back of our fridge, where things had a tendency to freeze. “Why did you tell him all the visions were yours?”
She shrugged and then fished out her bra strap to yank it back up. “They suspected you might be involved. Telling them all the visions were mine seemed the easiest way to get their focus off you.”
I took a deep breath. She thought I was guilty. “If you thought I was faking, don’t you wonder how I knew what I did?”
Mom put her glass down on the coffee table on top of an outdated People magazine she’d nicked from the beauty salon. “You have abilities.”
I stared down at my knees. “I didn’t have a vision. Not then, not ever.”
She sighed. “You won’t want to hear this, but your skepticism keeps you from seeing the truth. You have the ability, but you get in your own way.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but she cut me off.
“You were involved with what happened to Paige.”
If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have fallen. For a few beats, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. “What do you mean?”
Mom picked up her glass and drank half of the wine in one long swallow. “I had a vision of the two of you. It didn’t make a lot of sense at first, but I think Paige wanted to disappear and you helped her somehow.”
I was lightheaded, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out all over my body. There was no way she could know. “That’s why you told him we were together the night she died.”
She nodded tersely. She took me by the chin and turned my head so our faces were inches apart. “I wi
ll do whatever I need to do to keep you safe. You are my child. I won’t take even the slightest chance that the police will blame you.” She leaned forward so our foreheads touched for a second. “You’re a part of me. We don’t always get along, but never doubt that I would do anything for you.”
“Even if you thought I killed Paige?”
She closed her eyes as if the words coming out my mouth hurt her, then she kissed me on the cheek. “I don’t need psychic abilities to know you didn’t kill Paige.”
I sagged back on the sofa. My entire body ached as if I’d run a marathon. I hadn’t realized how I’d been tensing my muscles. “I know who did it. It was her dad.”
Mom blinked for a moment and then stood. “This calls for more wine.” She topped up both of our glasses and came back. “Tell me everything.”
Forty-Four
I lay in bed, the covers pinning me in place. I hadn’t been tucked in since I was a small kid, but my mom had insisted. She came into my room, jabbed the blanket under the mattress, and then sat at the edge of the bed. She kept telling me how it was all going to be okay, trying to convince me, or herself. Eventually, she turned off the light and left me there.
I felt hollow, like after you’ve had the flu and everything inside you has been hurled violently out. The rest of the afternoon and evening had been unreal. We sat in the darkening room, our feet tucked under us, making a plan. The wine made my head swim, since I wasn’t used to drinking, but I was still able to lay out, step by step, how the situation started and then unraveled. At times I got confused on what happened when, but I kept circling back until Mom knew everything. How Paige had approached me with the idea. I told her about Paige changing the plan when her dad didn’t pay the ransom. Finally, I told her about the note and the realization that her dad had been involved.
I’d expected my mom to gasp in shock or throw her hands up in the air, one of her typical overly dramatic reactions, but she stayed silent. I could see her mentally taking notes. If anything, she became calmer the wilder my story became.