Blitzed by the Billionaire

by Alice Ward

  “I know,” I agreed, covering my mouth to muffle the sob that wanted to escape. “How far has the news spread?”

  “The story was already trending online before I took the case. Most of the major national networks, news and sports have already run segments,” he replied matter of factly.

  “So even if I somehow manage to keep my teaching license, I’m basically unemployable?”

  Damn it. I love Ethan. But there are definitely disadvantages to living in the spotlight.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Emily. For now, let’s just concentrate on the task at hand.”

  We stepped into the parking lot and I was relieved to find it photographer free. Frank ushered me into a black Cadillac SUV and turned toward the police station.

  “What did you tell the cops while you were in custody?” he asked.

  “I said I would cooperate fully, but not until my attorney was present.”

  “That’s it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “No professions of innocence or polite small talk that could possibly be misconstrued?”

  “A female officer offered me coffee a couple of times. I said no. That’s the extent of it. It was hard to keep my mouth shut,” I confessed. “Especially when Detective Dickson started suggesting that I’m some sort of psychopath. But I kept my cool.”

  “I wish all my clients had your restraint. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, Emily. When we sit down with Dickson, just follow my lead. I promise to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible so you can get back to your life.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Miss Kinkaid, Mr. Upton, thank you for coming back this evening,” Detective Dickson greeted us as he stepped into a larger interrogation room. This one had the two-way mirror and I couldn’t help but wonder how many people were watching us.

  “We have every intention of cooperating with this investigation,” Frank replied, shaking the detective’s hand. “Please don’t take Miss Kinkaid’s earlier silence personally. She was instructed not to speak to anyone until I was here.”

  “You’ll be happy to know she barely uttered a word,” he said, his lip curling in disgust. “This is my colleague, Detective Masterson.”

  A short, pale man with curly red hair stepped into the room behind Dickson, filling the room with the sickly sweet aroma of chewing tobacco.

  “Detective,” Frank greeted him with a nod.

  Masterson glared back at him, not offering a handshake as his partner had.

  Shit. If Dickson is the good cop, we’re in for a long night.

  Masterson leaned against the wall while Dickson leaned back in the chair across from us. He kept his tone casual and started the interrogation.

  “Miss Kinkaid, can you tell me when and where you purchased the trail mix you gave to Alfie Hollis?”

  “I bought it at Valley Health on Cross Avenue. I’m not sure of the exact date, but it was sometime in August. If I looked at my calendar, I could narrow it down. But it’s in my classroom and I’m not allowed on school grounds.”

  “I’ll arrange to have your things picked up tomorrow,” Frank promised.

  “Did you buy anything else that day?” Dickson pressed.

  “Yes, I did. The Hollis family provided us with a list of foods the kids were allowed to eat. We provided all of the other parents with the list in a notice we sent home explaining the Hollis twins’ situation. I wanted to have plenty of allergy-friendly snacks on hand, so I stocked up on most of the nonperishables the Hollis’s suggested. I bought the trail mix, dried fruit, and some coconut honey clusters.”

  Detective Dickson scratched in a notepad while Masterson continued glaring at us from against the wall.

  “And do you provide snacks for all of your students or just the ones with special medical considerations?” the detective pressed.

  “I bring donuts for breakfast on the last day before Christmas break and the last day of school, just as a little extra treat for the students. Other than that, I don’t give the kids snacks. The parents are allowed to bring in cakes and cookies on their children’s birthdays. I knew some of them were bound to forget about Alfie’s allergies and I didn’t want him to be left out while the other kids had treats. So I went to the health food store and stocked up on things he could eat.”

  Dickson nodded, still gazing down at his notepad. “And after you bought the food, what did you do with it?”

  “I left the bags in my trunk and carried them into my classroom the next morning. I put them in a drawer and they’ve been there ever since.”

  “How many times have you provided Alfie Hollis with one of these special treats?”

  “Again, I’d have to look at my calendar. But if I remember correctly, we’ve had six birthdays so far this year and none of the parents provided allergy-free alternatives.”

  “And did you have permission from Mr. and Mrs. Hollis?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Was I unclear?”

  I blushed and looked away from his gaze. “No… it’s just… no, I didn’t have specific permission to give Alfie an allergy friendly treat if the other parents failed to provide one. But they understood that the other parents would occasionally bring snacks.”

  “Did you have permission from the school officials to provide Alfie Hollis with these allergy friendly alternatives?” Masterson finally spoke.

  My face flushed hotter. “No, I didn’t have specific permission to give Alfie anything. But I wasn’t breaking any school policies, either.”

  “Miss Kinkaid, is it true that you recently ended a long-term relationship with one of your colleagues?” Dickson continued.

  “I was involved with Ben Simmons for a year. We broke up a few months ago.”

  I don’t see what that has to do with any of this.

  “Would you call that break up amicable?” he pressed.

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Detective, I don’t see what my client’s relationship history has to do with this case,” Frank broke in.

  Detective Winston shrugged. “You know how this works, Frank. At this point, we don’t know what might be relevant. For instance, if Miss Kinkaid went through an embarrassing, public breakup with one of her coworkers, she may have felt motivated to revamp her image a little. The little boy has a scare, she saves the day with the Epi-pen, and suddenly she’s everyone’s hero.”

  “That’s preposterous,” I snarled.

  Frank put a calming hand on my forearm and glared at Dickson. “That’s a terrible, insulting accusation. And it’s one you have no grounds for. Emily has admitted she bought the trail mix and gave it to Alfie. Believe me, if I doubted her innocence for a second, I wouldn’t have allowed her to tell you that much. She didn’t poison Alfie Hollis. But someone did, and my client is more motivated than anyone to figure out who that was. We want to cooperate, but I won’t sit here and let you insult her.”

  “I’m just trying to get to the truth,” Dickson said with another shrug.

  “Maybe your theory is a little off, partner,” Masterson said. He spat into a Styrofoam cup and finally sat down next to Dickerson. “Maybe the old boyfriend wasn’t her motivation. Maybe it was the new one.”

  I don’t know what’s more offensive: what they think I did, or why they think I did it.

  Dickson cocked an eyebrow. “That is a good idea. McAlister gets a lot of airtime, doesn’t he? And the fans don’t like you too much. They think you’re a distraction. But if your hero scenario had played out the way you planned, they’d have never said another word against you.”

  “Gentlemen, my client has had a long day and this is starting to get ridiculous. If you have any other questions, please get to them. If you’re just going to throw wild accusations around, we’ll be leaving.”

  “The accusations aren’t so wild,” Masterson warned. “If there were ever a slam dunk circumstantial case, it’s this one. Emily admits that the food was in her possessi
on from the moment it left the store. Everything in that drawer tested positive for traces of dairy. And every single package had been opened. Our forensics expert did a preliminary examination and believes the perpetrator folded a cloth over the bags and resealed them with a straightening iron. Tell me, Miss Kinkaid, do you own a straightening iron?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but my hair is straight as a board all on its own.”

  Masterson glared at me, but pressed on. “We’re comparing the prints we took from you today to the ones we lifted off of the snack packages. When they match, this case is no longer circumstantial.”

  I’d had enough of the angry detective’s condescending threats. “Of course my prints are on the packages. I imagine you’ll also find some from health food store employees, other customers, hell the person who boxed them up at the distribution center probably left at least one fingerprint. Will you be harassing them as well, or just me?”

  The detectives had no smart ass retort to my question. The duo stared at me with equal amounts of anger and disgust; Frank smiled beside me. I tried to remind myself they were just doing their jobs. If I had been guilty, I’d deserve all of their hateful comments and then some. I hoped that when the real culprit was caught, he or she would be treated a hundred times worse than I’d been. But I still resented the fact that they thought I was capable of doing such a terrible thing.

  “Miss Kinkaid, I understand that you had a difficult childhood. You lost your parents as an infant and moved a lot while you were growing up. It’s not uncommon for people with that type of history to develop emotional or mental deficits. Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?” Dickson asked.

  I stared at him, unable to believe he just asked that question. I shook my head. “My childhood wasn’t perfect. But I’m not damaged. I could never hurt a child, Detective.” I cleared my throat, swallowing the emotion that surged up. “I hope that as your investigation continues, you’ll be able to see that.”

  “We would like you to meet with our staff psychologist, just the same,” Masterson countered.

  Frank slid his paperwork into his briefcase and rose to his feet. I pushed my chair away from the table and stood as well, thankful he was calling an end to the interview.

  “Nice try, but you know no good defense attorney would ever agree to that. The prosecutor’s office has already called Miss Kinkaid’s mental health into question. She’ll show that she’s sane, competent, and incapable of committing such a heinous act. But she’ll do it with an independent doctor of the court’s choosing, not one connected to the arresting precinct. It’s getting late and Miss Kinkaid’s been through enough for one day. If you have any other questions for her, please contact my office.”

  “Remember the judge’s warning and don’t stray too far, Emily,” Masterson called after me as we stepped into the hallway. “I’d hate to have an excuse to throw you into a cell.”

  ***

  “Here kiddo, have some more mashed potatoes,” Uncle Walt insisted. He scooped a spoonful onto my plate and covered them with pan gravy.

  “I’m not sure I can eat another bite,” I protested but loaded my fork anyway.

  “This is wonderful, Walt,” Frank offered, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. “Exactly what I needed after such a long day.”

  Frank and I had arrived at Ethan’s to find his kitchen table loaded with chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, fresh biscuits, and salad. Growing up, my uncle had emphasized the importance of eating healthy. We ate a lot of grilled chicken, brown rice, and steamed vegetables. But when comfort food was in order, he pulled out all the stops.

  “You were right, back at the courthouse,” Walt confessed. He folded his napkin over his empty plate and leaned back in his chair. “I feel helpless. I thought feeding you two was the least I could do.”

  “It really was delicious, Walt,” Ethan agreed. He draped an arm over the back of my chair and cleared his throat. “I know we all want to ignore the elephant in the room. But now that we’ve finished eating, I think we need to talk about what happened after you two left the courthouse, and what we’re going to do to clear Emily’s name. Claudia and I set up a workstation in the library.”

  “Ethan’s right. I know you’re scared, kiddo. But I also know if we all pool our resources, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Why don’t the rest of you head that way? I think I could use a drink.”

  “There’s a fully stocked bar in the library,” Ethan told him, rising to his feet. He held my hand as we walked down the hallway, but there was an odd stiffness in his body. He was moving more like a robot than a person, but I chalked it up to a long, traumatic day. I was feeling pretty tense myself.

  “It’s nothing fancy,” Ethan warned, opening the heavy oak door. He flipped on a light and we stepped into an empty, gloomy room. One wall was covered in dated wood paneling, the other three with built-in bookshelves. The same shag carpeting that covered the rest of the house ran wall to wall, and a Tiffany-style chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. A large, short wooden table sat beneath it, laden with boxes of ink pens, stacks of legal pads, and a cup of yellow highlighters. Mismatched couches and loveseats were arranged around the table and, as promised, a rolling bar cart sat nearby. A small television had been set up on a filing cabinet and turned to one of the twenty-four-hour news stations.

  Uncle Walt walked straight to the bar while the rest of us arranged ourselves around the table. Ethan and I settled down on one of the loveseats, but his body never quite relaxed.

  “I wasn’t sure what all you’d need,” he continued. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned against the armrest. “If there’s anything else you could use, just let me know and I’ll have it delivered.”

  “Thank you, Ethan. But honestly, I don’t think this is necessary. There’s more than enough room at my office for us all to meet there,” Frank insisted.

  Ethan nodded toward the muted TV. “The less Emily leaves the house, the better. I understand you’ll work primarily from your place. But I think it’s best that you come here to speak with Emily instead of vice versa.”

  “I completely understand,” Frank agreed.

  He’s acting weird. But he wants me to stay here. That has to be a good sign.

  “So what do we do to help our girl?” Walt asked.

  Frank shifted his weight and looked awkwardly from my uncle to Claudia. “Claudia, you know I love you. But if this ends up going to court, you’re going to be at the top of the prosecution’s witness list.”

  “I know I can’t be here,” she agreed with a sigh. “I was just hoping you would forget. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” Walt said. He grabbed her hand and gave it a quick peck as she walked by. She gave him an affectionate pat on the head and continued to the hallway. When the door clicked shut, Frank cleared his throat.

  “Look, guys, I appreciate that you all want a plan of action in place as soon as possible. But right now, there’s not much we can do. The prosecutor’s offices will be required to share anything their investigation uncovers. The school has a video camera mounted about ten feet down from your classroom door. My guess is the cops will see someone in the footage who’s not supposed to be there, and this will all be over.”

  Walt raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying we shouldn’t do anything until after the cops are finished reviewing the footage?”

  “I know that’s not what you want to hear, Walt. But yes, I think that’s our best course of action. We all know Emily didn’t do this. The cops have jumped the gun because there are two justifiably outraged parents on the other side of this demanding justice for their son. As soon as the evidence points at someone else, so will their rage.”

  “But what if the footage doesn’t clear Emily?” Ethan countered. “Don’t get me wrong. I know she’s innocent. But if the real attacker is someone who works at the school, the cops might not question them going into Emily’s room.”


  “You think this was Ben,” I realized out loud.

  “Who else would have done this?” he snapped. Uncle Walt stiffened his back and Ethan quickly dropped his tone. “I’m sorry. But he cornered her at the school when the team and I were there speaking to the kids. Did she tell you about that?”

  Walt shook his head and turned his disapproving gaze to me. “No, she didn’t.”

  “I haven’t heard this story either,” Frank announced. “Is this something I should know? Who is Ben? And why do you think he’d do something like this, Ethan?”

  “Ben is Emily’s ex-boyfriend,” Ethan explained. “He teaches PE at The Day School. Their relationship ended—”

  “My relationship with Ben ended when I caught him in bed with one of the student’s mothers,” I interrupted.

  I didn’t relish recounting the story, but it wasn’t Ethan’s place to tell it.

  “Ben was a cheating shithead,” I continued. “And yes, he cornered me at school after Ethan and I started dating. I think he was jealous. But he’s not sadistic. He’s not capable of hurting a child. And even if he were, he wouldn’t risk his career. He cares way too much about himself, and he’s terrified of failing again.”

  Walt turned back to Frank. “Will you have access to these surveillance videos? The cops might not recognize something suspicious the way Emily would.”

  “We’ll get copies, but it will take time to review them,” Frank warned.

  “I seem to have an abundance of that at the moment,” I replied dryly.

  “I can help too,” Walt offered.

  “Great. I’ll let you know if and when they’re turned over. In the meantime, I’d like you all to start thinking of other people who may have a motive to set Emily up. I know you don’t want to believe your ex is capable of something like this, but I’m going to check him out anyway. What’s his full name?”

  “Ben Simmons,” Walt answered for me.

  Frank scribbled the name onto his notepad. “Does anyone else come to mind?”