Dial Em for Murder

by Bates, Marni;

  “Listen Vera—”

  But whatever Detective Dumbass said next fell on deaf ears, because my mom was running her hands over me, as if searching for invisible bullet holes or battle wounds. It was like she thought that the press of her hands would magically heal whatever pain might linger beneath the surface of my skin.

  “Emmy?” My name on her lips sounded so fragile. It felt wrong, like I had broken something soft inside her. She stared at me with her heart in her eyes, fear dilating her pupils until the amber brown of her irises were a thin ring of color around a bottomless pool of black.

  “Yeah, Mom. I’m okay.” I raised my arms skyward to show that there wasn’t even a scratch on me. “No harm, no foul.”

  Okay, so that was the biggest lie I’d ever told.

  Detective Dumbass snorted behind me. “Ms. Danvers, your daughter isn’t being entirely truthful with you.”

  My mom clenched her hand tightly into the fabric at the back of my shirt, but otherwise appeared totally calm. She was in her acting mode, which meant that she would control every single facial tic until we were home and she could decompress. It was like watching a master gambler put on a poker face after being dealt a particularly crappy hand.

  “I thought we agreed you’d call me Vera.”

  I wanted to puke. This was the reason I preferred the dialogue in my romance novels to the real world. Nothing that my mom said mattered; it was all about the way she leaned toward the detective, effortlessly displaying a teasing hint of cleavage, as she widened her eyes.

  Put my mom within five feet of an asshole and suddenly there was hair twirling and slow, sly smiles. I wasn’t sure if she even realized how much of her time she spent acting without a paycheck.

  “We believe that Emmy is withholding valuable information about the killer,” the detective’s voice dropped an octave to make it sound conspiratorial. “Information that is essential for her continued safety.”

  “Emmy?” My mom’s grip tightened and I tried not to wince as her fingers clamped down and pinched some skin. “Is this true?”

  “I don’t know why anyone would’ve wanted to hurt me, Mom.” At least that much I could say honestly. I skipped over the whole I-was-handed-a-valuable-piece-of-technology thing. It wasn’t like I’d entered the coffee shop with the intention of walking off with someone else’s personal property.

  “I did some thinking in the lobby, though, and—”

  “Oh, this should be good,” Detective Dumbass interrupted, crossing his arms and giving my mom a look that was a cross between arrogant self-satisfaction and sympathy that she had to put up with me on a regular basis. “I’m glad the precinct waiting room knocked some sense into you. Are you ready to tell us what really happened in that Starbucks?”

  I refused to acknowledge his question. Instead, I kept my eyes trained on my mom’s face. “I’m going to Emptor Academy.”

  My mom looked surprised, but I wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of what I’d said or because Detective Dumbass decided to punctuate that announcement with a whole string of profanity that ended on the worst curse of them all: “Sebastian St. James.”

  Apparently I wasn’t the only teenager on Detective Luke O’Brian’s shit list.

  Chapter 7

  Detective Dumbass clammed up right after that, maybe because swearing in front of a minor and her mother was generally frowned upon in law enforcement circles. Then again, maybe he was afraid that he’d accidentally let something slip. Something even bigger than his own mysterious connection to Sebastian St. James.

  Given that I had known within seconds of my first encounter with Sebastian that he was a rich entitled punk, it wasn’t surprising that he’d also rubbed the detective the wrong way.

  What did surprise me was how quickly the defective detective made the connection between Emptor Academy and the wolf in saint’s clothing.

  “You know Sebastian?” I asked, mentally picturing Sebastian handing the detective one of his business cards before strolling out of the precinct. Free and clear of any charges.

  Detective Dumbass grimaced. “Just met him today. He’s one very creepy kid. I told him that his grandpa was dead and he smiled at me. I’ve never had that reaction before. Not from a kid, at any rate.” He turned to me and his own expression darkened. “You sure that’s who you want to go to school with, Miss Danvers? I wouldn’t pick him to watch my back unless I was trying to get stabbed.”

  My mom audibly sucked in a breath at the same time I said, “Sebastian’s grandfather died?”

  He hadn’t seemed broken up over anything in the waiting room. He’d been irritable and impatient, as if I were holding him up from something far more interesting, but not as if he’d recently learned of a death in the family. I wracked my brain as I tried to remember if Audrey had told me anything about Sebastian right before we had gone to his stupid party six weeks ago. Mostly she’d emphasized that he was Nasir’s best friend, making it painfully obvious that I had been invited in case all of his friends inexplicably decided to hate her. Sebastian’s penchant for lock picking I had discovered all on my own.

  Detective Luke O’Brian folded his arms. “No need to pretend to be so surprised. After all, you were the one to provide a blow-by-blow account of his grandpa’s death.”

  My stomach dropped and I struggled to process all of it. Sebastian St. James’s grandfather was the man I met in Starbucks. Sebastian’s grandfather was my Coffee Thief.

  He was the man who had risked his life to save mine.

  In this case, I was willing to say that the apple fell far from the tree, then rolled down a hill, plopped into a river and floated for a few miles, before bobbing off into a freaking ocean. No way would Sebastian ever consider doing something that selfless for anyone.

  The only similarity I could see between them were those stormy light blue eyes that seemed to look right through a person. Well, that and the way they both radiated a sense of assurance that the rest of the world (like oh, I dunno, me) would just fall in line at the snap of their fingers.

  I kept all of that to myself.

  “Sebastian’s not a killer,” I said, the silence that settled between my mom and the detective unnerving me.

  “Who is this, Emmy?” My mom’s voice held a note of frustration. “And why is this the first time I’m hearing of him?”

  Well, gee, Mom. I’ve only met him once when he was breaking into the liquor cabinet at his own party. So I know for sure that he’s a thief, but the jury is still out on the whole murder thing.

  Not exactly the best way to reassure her.

  “He’s a friend of Audrey’s.” I tried to meet her gaze and not look past her toward the police precinct waiting room, but my eyes still flitted to the exit. A clear sign that I was lying. Ben said it wasn’t fair to play poker against me, considering that the more innocent I tried to look the more obvious my bluff. Even Ben’s little brother Cameron had been thoroughly disgusted with me during our rounds of Go Fish. I just hoped that even if my mom realized something was amiss she wouldn’t bust me in front of a cop.

  “Audrey told me a bit about his school,” I said, racing onward to reach more truthful ground. “It’s got state-of-the-art everything, Mom. Oil sheiks send their kids there. If it’s safe enough for them, then it’s probably a good place for me to wait for this misunderstanding to blow over.”

  My mom turned her big warm brown eyes on the detective in a way that was heartbreakingly fragile. That hint of vulnerability in her trembling lower lip had probably gotten her out of more than a few speeding tickets.

  “What do you think, Luke?” My mom asked, as if his opinion was the only one that mattered.

  His chest puffed up self-importantly. “I think your daughter should cooperate with the police.”

  “I am cooperating!”

  They both ignored me.

  “Emptor Academy is certainly more secure than her current public school, right?”

  “We believe a professional kill
er wants to find your daughter, Vera. That’s not going to magically disappear overnight. So let us know when Emmy is ready to come clean with the police.” He pulled out a business card of his own, scribbling a quick addition in blue ink before handing it over to my mom. “That’s my number. Feel free to call anytime.”

  “Oh, I’ll be sure to do that.” My mom never loosened her grip on the back of my shirt as she propelled me forward to the exit, pausing only to share one last lingering smile with the detective. She didn’t speak a word to me as we walked past the seating area where I’d spoken to Sebastian, or when we crossed the threshold entirely and headed straight toward the nearest subway station.

  I didn’t know if this was one of her acting techniques or if she was honestly at a loss for words, but either way her silent treatment was a whole lot more effective than anything Detective Dumbass had tried in the interrogation room.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you yesterday,” I said, when I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “I thought it was an accident. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

  “We’ll talk about this at home, Emmy.” Her lips were pressed together so tightly they looked like a single thin line slashing across her face.

  “I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right,” she snapped, whirling me around to face her. “You didn’t think, Emmy. I am your mother.”

  That last part came out like a dangerous life sentence.

  “I know, I just—”

  “It is my job to keep you safe. My job. So don’t you dare start keeping secrets from me for my own good. It doesn’t work that way.”

  Well, that was a first. It had been working exactly that way for as long as I could remember. Oh sure, none of the assholes my mom brought home had ever been violent. And if she’d noticed any of them looking at me for even a millisecond longer than she thought they should’ve been, she kicked them to the curb. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t learned not to rock the boat. I was the one who monitored her self-esteem, because when she hit rock bottom she binged on self-help books and began coating the mirrors with daily affirmations like, You are a strong and powerful woman.

  Sometimes protecting her feelings meant keeping secrets.

  Which is why she didn’t know that Henri had stolen money from my piggy bank, or that Kristoff had threatened to make the tooth fairy rot every last molar in my mouth if I ever mentioned watching him try on her high heels. I probably would have forgotten the incident entirely if I hadn’t found his threat so terrifying. My mom thought it was adorable that her new boyfriend had inspired her little preschooler to be such a diligent brusher.

  I’d grown accustomed to the small secrets. They didn’t even feel like secrets anymore. Instead they were a string of unspoken factoids that I didn’t expect anyone to notice. Still, there was something about the way she said, “I am your mother” that had me struggling to bite back a sharp retort. To ask why she cared so much about a stupid accident when she couldn’t be bothered to protect me on a daily basis. I dug a nail into my forefinger to prevent the words from escaping, to keep those old scars tightly boxed with the rest of my baggage. She might believe that it was her job to keep me safe, but it hadn’t actually worked like that in a long time.

  She did her best.

  She always did her best.

  It just sucked that all those good intentions disintegrated around the men in her life.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I choked out. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

  She pulled me in for a tight hug, and I mentally added, because even if Detective Dumbass is right about some psycho Starbucks killer, I’m going to keep him far away from you.

  That’s my job.

  Chapter 8

  Audrey and Ben were sitting on my bed, waiting for me when I arrived home.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise since I’d given them both a spare key to the apartment right after my mom had broken up with Felix and decided to change the lock. I’d asked her to make a couple extra copies, just to be safe. I hadn’t mentioned that the safety feature had nothing to do with locking myself out and everything to do with my friends’ ability to get in.

  “Um, hi,” I said lamely, as Audrey glanced up from her phone and Ben set down his chemistry textbook.

  I quickly shut the door. The longer my mom had to calm down in private, the better. She had maintained an iron grip on my jacket the entire time we rode the subway home, like I was a little kid who required a leash at Disneyland. I hadn’t protested because I could tell that my mom needed to cling, craved the physical closeness, because it meant that her baby was safe. Still, it would’ve been a whole lot harder to fill Audrey and Ben in on the events of the day with my mom breathing down my neck—literally.

  “It’s about time!” Audrey lurched upright on the bed and shot me her best glare of annoyance, which wasn’t particularly fierce. If anything, she looked constipated. “We’ve been waiting and waiting, but did you call? Nooooo!”

  Ordinarily, I would have laughed at the way Audrey had unknowingly imitated her Jewish grandmother who lived up to the nagging cliché with her weekly phone calls: “I haven’t heard from you in ages. But do you call me? Noooo! I could be dead for all you know!”

  Too bad I wasn’t in a laughing mood. Not when I had to find a way to pack my life into a suitcase. I scanned my bedroom, unsure what to take with me to Empty Academy.

  “I was a little preoccupied at the police precinct,” I pointed out. As far as excuses go, it was a damn good one. “And I did send you guys a text.”

  “One!” Audrey scrunched up her nose in disgust. “And all it said was, Fine here. Fill you in later.”

  “Well, I was fine and I’m with you guys now. So I’d say that my text was very informative.”

  I did my best to ignore the irritated look Ben and Audrey traded by tugging out my battered suitcase from the back of my closet.

  “So what did the cops say when you handed over the Slate?” Ben asked. Apparently it was his turn to grill me for information.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing because they were so shocked that you’d been withholding evidence?”

  “Nothing because I didn’t hand it over,” I admitted, yanking my suitcase across the room. Two very strong hands deliberately settling over mine made my every muscle freeze. It was a stupid reaction. Ben touched me all the time. It was no big deal. We had spent thousands of movie nights curled up on a couch together, watching lame action movies. I’d even fallen asleep on his shoulder once. I still remembered lurching upright with a massive crick in my neck, meeting Ben’s incredibly warm hazel eyes, and then glancing down to see a drool spot staining his sleeve that he could have only gotten from me.

  His touch shouldn’t have unnerved me now, but somehow it did.

  “You need to go back to the station, Emmy.” Ben spoke calmly, as if he expected me to jackrabbit out of my own skin.

  “I can’t.” The words emerged hoarsely from the back of my throat. “You don’t understand, the cops won’t listen to me!”

  Ben moved even closer, forcing me to look up and meet his eyes. Those hazel depths weren’t soft now. They looked fierce and, well, kind of pissed off.

  “Did you try talking to them?” he demanded. “Most people are better at listening when someone actually speaks!”

  I crossed my arms. “Thanks for the lecture, Ben. It’s so great that even though you weren’t in the interrogation room you know exactly how it happened. That’s quite a skill you’ve been hiding. Very impressive.”

  It took all my self-control not to yell, Shut up. Stop expecting me to be more than I am. According to my mom’s relationship manuals, true love makes you want to become the best possible version of yourself. Too bad my best self appeared to have gone into hiding and the scared-out-of-my-mind self couldn’t seem to live up to any of Ben’s expectations.

  “What did the cops say to you, Emmy?” Audrey asked.

  “They think
that someone targeted me at the Starbucks.” It was getting easier and easier to say the impossible. By the end of the week, I could probably shake hands with a stranger and say, Hi, I’m Emmy Danvers. There’s a crazy killer who wants me dead. Nice to meet you. “They think I’m involved in the old man’s death.”

  “You are involved in something.” Ben tried to lower his voice, but I could still feel the anger vibrating in it. “And you’re keeping everyone else out.”

  “He’s got a point, Em.”

  Guilt gnawed at me, but their words didn’t change the situation. It was still safer for me to keep my big mouth shut. At least until the panic bubbling inside of me was reduced to a nervous simmer.

  Unfortunately, there was still one detail I had to share with them.

  “The dead guy told me to warn my dad. So if I’m the target, then he is at the heart of it.”

  “Jesus, Em.” Ben sank down to the foot of my bed, rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. “I thought you’d moved past this. Colin Firth isn’t your father. There isn’t a big choreographed group dance number in your future. Real life doesn’t work that way.”

  I instantly felt like an idiot and wished they would take their sarcastic comments, and worse, their pitying looks, and just shove it. Go analyze someone else for a change.

  “I looked for him, Em.” Audrey hugged her knees to her chest, probably because she knew I’d become claustrophobic if she wrapped her arms around me. “I ran a thorough search for Daniel Danvers. I even expanded it to include Danny, Dan, Denny, and Dennis Danvers, just in case he’s been using a nickname. I came up empty.”

  “The dead guy said his name was Morgan.” I couldn’t resist pointing out, before amending myself. “Actually, he said that Morgan would know what to do, but that’s pretty much the same thing, right?”

  “This would be the same dead guy who stole your drink then handed you a Slate? Yeah, you should definitely follow his advice. He doesn’t sound mentally unhinged at all,” Ben snorted. “Seriously, Em, hand it over to the cops and then turn the whole thing into a great college admission’s essay.”