“Yes, I guess so.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I didn’t really know her very well.”
“Is that so? A lot of other people thought you were one of her best friends.”
“She liked to tell people that, but like I said, I didn’t really know her that well.”
“So why would she think you were such good friends?”
“I tried to be nice to her, I guess. She’s new to the church, and it can be hard to make friends.”
Detective Boyer leans back in her chair with a wry smile. “So you’re saying the church crowd isn’t too friendly?”
My dad frowns, glares at her. “We accept everyone equally, Ms. Boyer, which is why Emma was extending a kindness to the girl.”
Detective Boyer nods, but the look on her face seems to say, “Yeah, right.”
“I’m sure you can understand how certain people have a tendency to get overly attached to someone like Emma,” my mom says.
Detective Simms jumps in. “Let me ask you something else, Emma. We’re estimating the time of death between ten and eleven,” he says.
Ten and eleven? I had assumed that June was killed just before we found her near midnight. But if she was killed between ten and eleven, that means she’d been lying there for nearly an hour, all alone. It means she was killed while Jackson and I were together.
“Can you tell me where you were during that time?”
Oh god. What do I say? I can’t tell them the truth. Not with my parents here. Not with Jackson’s criminal record. I don’t know what to do. My heart races until it feels like there’s a base guitar strumming inside my throat. I panic. “I was in the bathroom. I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Which bathroom?”
“Um, the one upstairs. In the Kid’s Korner.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth I regret it. It’s a totally stupid thing to say.
The two detectives exchange a look.
“Anybody with you?” Boyer asks.
“No, I was alone. My stomach was upset.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds awful,” she says, and the way she says it makes me feel like a jerk for complaining about an upset stomach when June was murdered. Especially when it’s not even close to true.
“Do you remember seeing June anytime after you guys changed?” Simms asks, but all I can focus on is the blue on his face, now glistening from getting mixed up with the oil on his nose.
“I’m sorry?” I say, not remembering the question he just asked.
“Do you remember seeing June anytime after you changed clothes?” he asks.
“I’m not sure. There were a lot of people there.”
“Three hundred and fifty-six,” Boyer says.
“Okay,” I say.
“There were 356 people there, Emma. Ten adults and 346 teenagers. And the thing is, we seem to be able to pin down where almost everyone was around ten thirty when June was killed. But we’re still not sure about you.”
“I told you. I was in the bathroom. I wasn’t feeling well.” My voice sounds more defensive than it should.
“Hold on now.” This time it’s my dad. “Do we need a lawyer here?”
She doesn’t answer him. “Which bathroom again?”
“The one upstairs. By the Kid’s Korner.”
“Why didn’t you use the one right next to the Youth Center? It would have been much closer.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You skipped a bathroom that was thirty feet out the door, a big bathroom where several other girls were already inside, changing into their pajamas. And then you went up two floors, alone, past the main level where there are at least three adult bathrooms, to use a bathroom where the toilets are child-sized? And you don’t know why? Can you see how I don’t understand?”
“I guess I wanted some privacy.” I pick at my cuticles. “Like you said, it was crowded in there, and it had already been a long day and I wasn’t feeling well.”
“If you wanted so much privacy that night, then why did you even go?”
“I go to everything.” Pastor’s Kid Obligation #3,872.
“Is Emma a suspect in all this?” My dad again.
“We haven’t named anyone as a suspect yet. Like I said, we’re just trying to get all the facts,” Detective Simms says. He’s so bland I want to gag.
“Well it certainly seems like you’re going in a direction that I’m very uncomfortable with. Emma is a good girl. I won’t have you accusing her like this.”
“Like I said, Mr. Grant, this is all just routine,” Detective Simms says.
Detective Boyer pulls a baggie out of a file folder and pushes it toward me. “Do you recognize this?”
I stare at the baggie, tilt my head until my eyes can see past the glare on the surface from the overhead light. Inside is a diamond earring. My diamond earring.
My heart drops into my stomach. How did they get my earring? Why do they have it now, sealed into a little plastic bag like it matters?
“That’s enough,” my dad says, standing up.
“We found it underneath your friend’s body. Any idea how it got there?”
Underneath June’s body? Then it’s not just my alibi they’re worried about. They think they have proof.
“I, I, I don’t—,“ I stammer.
“Don’t answer that, Emma,” my dad says. “We’re not continuing this without our lawyer present. Come on, girls. We’re going home.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“WHAT WAS THAT IN there?” my mom asks, fuming, all her fire in my direction. “The way you were acting…I wouldn’t be surprised if they thought you were guilty.”
We’re in my mom’s brand-new Mercedes ML350, in the parking lot of the police station. They’re sitting in the back to talk to me, one on either side, while the SUV idles, driverless. My dad just got off the phone with a lawyer, who we’re meeting in an hour.
“And that business about the earring?” she asks. “My mother gave those to you. How could you be so careless?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even remember when I lost it. I guess it could have been while I was dancing. Maybe June found it and was holding on to it until she saw me.”
“Of course she could have found it. There are a hundred reasonable explanations,” my dad says. “The police are grasping at straws.”
“She had them on during the processional. I distinctly recall seeing them on her.”
“Wait! I do remember. I took an earring off while we were changing. I was going to put it away so I wouldn’t lose it, but then I must have forgotten about it when June came over to talk to me.”
“So you just left them out where anyone could take them?” my mom says.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so. Perfect.” She shakes her head, irritated.
“Those detectives would just love it if it was her,” my dad says. “It’s a shame what lengths some people will go to in order to discredit believers.”
“Which is why you have to make an extra effort to be flawless, Emma,” my mom says. “You simply cannot make mistakes like that. It reflects very poorly on the church.”
The church. They’re not worried about me at all, they’re worried about themselves. My parent’s love is a shallow sort of love, a supposed-to love that I didn’t really understand until I felt how Jackson loved me. To them, I’m like a handbag or a designer watch, the perfect accessory for the church power couple. Perfect grades, perfect smile, perfect me.
It’s easier not to say that, though; always has been. “I’m sorry,” I say instead.
“Is there anything else we need to know?” my mom asks. “Before we talk to the lawyer?”
“It’s very important that you tell us the truth right now. If you were in that bathroom like you said, then fine. We’ll figure out a way to deal with it. But if not, it’s important we know. There’s nothing you could do to make us stop loving you.”
I’m pretty sure there
is. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of things I could do, one of which I’ve already done.
“I told you everything,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “Don’t you worry, honey. We’re not going to let them treat you like this. Our Heavenly Father entrusted us with your care, and we take that very seriously,” he says. Sometimes my dad forgets that he’s not on the pulpit. I wish, especially right now, that he’d drop the act.
“I know,” I say. It’s too warm in here. I want them to crack the window, but I don’t ask.
“Why don’t we pray?” my dad says.
We close our eyes and bow our heads. They put their arms around me, and I want to push them off but I don’t. I count the seconds instead, count the fingers on my hands, count the whorls in the walnut console.
“Dear Jesus, we ask You to guide the detectives in their search. We ask You to bless them with Your infinite wisdom, that they may first cast out the beam in their own eye before attempting to remove the mote in another’s. We ask You to reveal to them the true devil who entered Your house, oh Lord, that he might see Your justice. And we ask You to protect our baby girl. Cover her with Your love, shield her with Your mighty presence. Turn the swords against her into plowshares and show her, through all of this, that You are always by her side.”
I wish he was sometimes, I really do.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. The way I see it, they’re fishing.” The lawyer’s name is Terry Graham. “The girl herself had access to the earring when they were changing. She could have taken it. And there were a lot of people who could have gotten into the choir room.”
There was no question about who my parents would call. Mr. Graham is lean, but has a face like a pit bull. He reminds me of a British movie gangster, only without the accent. We’ve known him forever; he’s on the church board, and his grandson, Andy, goes to elementary school at Summit Christian, where I’m a senior.
We’re in Mr. Graham’s office, which is modern and covered in sleek wood paneling. Where there’s not wood, the windows overlook the streets of downtown Denver from twenty floors above, the mountains hovering in the background like sentries.
“I called my guy in the force. All they have is opportunity and a very, very weak motive. They don’t have any witnesses. They don’t have a weapon. They really have nothing, which is why I’m guessing no one’s been formally charged.”
“Can they do this, then? Treat her like this?” my dad asks. My mother reaches out for his hand. I don’t think she’s eaten much of anything since June died. She’s always been thin, and now she’s starting to look drawn, like a guitar string pulled to snapping.
“Unfortunately, yes. This is the way it goes. They’re pressing everyone extra hard, not just Emma. Sounds like this Detective Boyer is known as somewhat of a bloodhound. They say she’s pretty relentless.”
This is not making me feel better. Maybe I should tell them everything. Now, before this goes any further. Then I think of Jackson. I told him I wasn’t going to say anything, and I have to stick to that, at least until I speak to him first.
“She’s already managed to narrow down the suspect pool considerably. It looks like there were only seven other people not in the two main rooms at the time of the murder: Chuck Rand, Pastor Pete, Hope Crowley, Paige and Michael Kent, Nicolas Lawson, and June herself.”
“They don’t seriously think it could be someone in the congregation, do they?” Mom asks. “Especially one of the kids?”
“That detective, that Boyer woman? She has a chip on her shoulder about religion. I can tell you that,” my dad says.
“I’m getting the same sense about her, Pastor. But there were no signs of forced entry. So whoever did it either had a key, was already there, or got let in by someone who was.”
“What about picking a lock?” Dad asks. “I’ve heard about some very sophisticated devices out there.”
“It’s possible, but they’re not seeing any signs of it, so they’re pursuing what they have. Which leaves us with that list. Everyone else at the lock-in has multiple witnesses for their whereabouts because they were in groups, some playing basketball in the gym and the rest either playing Red Rover in the Youth Center or watching it.”
I remember coming in at the end of the game, racing in feeling like I would burst with happiness. By then, June was already dead.
Mr. Graham says, “Pastor Pete, whom I’ve spoken with personally, was disciplining Chuck about some disturbance he had made shortly before.”
“He lit his fart on fire.” It sounds stupid once it comes out of my mouth, and totally the wrong thing to say, but it’s true. They stare at me, not sure whether to chastise me or let it go. “Sorry. It’s true. I saw him do it. Then Pastor Pete and Miss Hope took him out.”
“Yes. They took him to Pastor Pete’s office, after which Chuck and Pastor Pete had a discussion about his behavior, which each of the three verifies.” It was a dumb thing to do, but Chuck is always doing dumb things like that. I’m surprised he’s not caught more often.
“There’s also Nicolas Lawson, the girl’s boyfriend. He says he was looking for June, whom he hadn’t seen since ten or so. Several witnesses report him asking about her whereabouts, but none can pinpoint exact times so he hasn’t been totally eliminated. However, I know the Lawsons personally, and I think it’s unlikely the boy is responsible.”
Everyone who knows Nicolas would feel this way. He may be a little on the know-it-all side, but he’s farm-boy innocent and soldier honorable, the kind of guy older girls want to mother and younger girls want to be protected by.
“Which leaves Paige and Michael Kent, who were together getting cases of soda from the coffee shop pantry on the main level.”
Paige. I didn’t even register her name on the list. And the fact that it is on there? It’s totally my fault. I’m the one who asked her to do that. Then I remember something else.
“The police kept asking me about whether or not we were going swimming later,” I say. “Did your contact say anything about that?”
“Yes. He did. Apparently the girl was wearing a swimsuit when she died.”
“But I saw her. She was fully clothed. She was wearing a sundress and tennis shoes and—“
“The swimsuit was under the girl’s clothing,” he says. “They’re not sure what to make of it. She may have been using it as undergarments.”
Was she? Do I remember seeing her in the changing room? I can’t be sure.
“But that’s for the police to figure out. What’s important right now is that we get all the facts. “He gives me his most stern look. “I understand you were alone at the time of the murder? In one of the Kid’s Korner bathrooms?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Emma, this is the time for complete honesty. And I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“But it’s true.” I’m defensive because it’s not true, not at all. If I admit I lied about this, it will make me look so much guiltier. It feels like he knows I’m lying so I stick to the lie harder, force him to believe. I can see it’s not working.
“Why would you do that?”
“I just…,” I sniffle, for real, frustrated with all of this. I had nothing against June, and I had nothing to do with her death, so why should I have to explain myself like this?
“I get overwhelmed sometimes. And I was feeling sick because I ate too much at the ball and then slammed a Red Bull. It had been a long day, and everyone was there, and I just wanted a few minutes to myself. Sometimes I go up there to be alone. No one’s ever there during youth group stuff.” Some of this is true, and I’m hoping it will make the not-true bits sound true too.
“The thing is, and they haven’t made this common knowledge just yet, but they think they have you gone from the party for more than a few minutes. They think it was nearly two hours.”
“That can’t be right,” I say. It is right.
Mr. Graham seems to soften a bit. “I think I unde
rstand, but do you understand how it looks to the police? What would help, what would really help, is if you saw anything while you were away from the Youth Center.”
“I can’t think of anything.”
“Any weird sounds or lights on where they shouldn’t be? Anything out of place? Any cars driving around in the parking lot?”
Then I remember the noise. I remember feeling like someone was there, watching me. Watching us. But what can I say? I was supposed to be across the entire church from where I saw them. What if I said something about it and made it harder to find who really did it?
“No. Nothing.”
“This is ridiculous,” Dad says. “Why should Emma have to defend herself here? It’s like they’re not even considering her as anything but a suspect.”
“At least she’s still a minor,” Mr. Graham says. My birthday is on May 31, five weeks away. “They can’t question her without your presence until she’s eighteen, which is good. You did the right thing calling me. I don’t want you talking to anyone about any of this without me there. Anyone, okay?”
I nod.
“No texting, no calls, no friends, no outside family, no teachers, and especially no police. They show up for ‘just a quick chat’ you call me, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” I can see that he likes it when I call him sir. He was worried before, but now I’m the girl he always thought I was. Polite, contrite, spotless.
“Your job is to stay quiet until this all gets cleared up. Keep your normal routine, though. We don’t want you to look like you have anything to hide. Go to school, go to church, then go home.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. He beams.
“We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you, sweetheart, okay? You’re a good kid, and everybody at church knows that. You have nothing to worry about.”
Only I am worried.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AT SUNDOWN THAT NIGHT is June’s vigil. There are over a thousand people there, holding candles in silent respect of June. Most of them I don’t know. There are a lot of reporters, a lot of cameras, and a lot of what I suspect are strangers coming out to gawk at tragedy. They all feel like intruders, like gossips holding cups to our door so they can listen to our pain and feed off it.
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