Behind me, Mikhail sniffs.

  I can’t help but snicker. “I don’t know what to do about Callahan. It’s not really proof of anything, you know? Except that he knew she was stabbed in the neck. I’ve heard much worse around here in the past couple weeks. And he’s my brother. Wouldn’t I be betraying him if I told the police about it?”

  Ricardo slides open the glass case, retrieving a cheese Danish and taking a bite. “So, what’s next? Who else should we follow?” His eyes are alight as he teases me.

  “It’s not funny. The police are looking at me sideways, and I’m freaking out.”

  Ricardo shakes his head. “You have nothing to worry about, chouchou. The police will figure out that you had nothing to do with it, soon enough.”

  His words pull a smile to my face. It feels so good to have someone state my innocence so unequivocally.

  I glance over my shoulder, but besides Mikhail, everyone is gone. They’re all heading to first period. I take a deep breath. There’s something I need to ask him, and somehow I know he’ll give me a straight answer.

  “Dali mentioned to me that there was a girl last year who Na bullied a lot, but she didn’t come back this year. Can you tell me who that was? Maybe she snuck on campus and hurt Na as revenge? I’m grasping at straws here.”

  Ricardo’s head tilts as he chews a bite of his Danish, taking his time.

  Anticipation flickers in my chest. Dali must not have thought it was a huge deal, but to me? It might be. I could be on to something, and if I can prove it, I can get the police off my back. Leaning closer to Ricardo, I whisper, “Well?”

  Ricardo’s eyes brush over me. “You’re less timid than I thought you were. Your witty comebacks could use some work, but you’ve got some guts under that pretty exterior.”

  “I do, don’t I?”

  “Croissant?” He holds a raspberry one out to me.

  “Thanks. These are my favorite.”

  He winks.

  “So, who was Li Na bullying?”

  Ricardo exhales. “It was Dali. She lied to you.”

  “She what? Why would she do that?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.”

  I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I’m even more nervous about the event tonight than I was the first one last week. For some reason, the senator expects me to actually talk to people at this dinner thing. About politics, no less. It’s a good thing he has no idea that I pay as little attention to the goings-on of our nation’s political leaders as possible. Debating the merits of store-bought versus homemade puff pastry is much more my speed.

  Outside the limousine windows, dusk has descended around us, making the trip off campus feel like a secret. Streetlights have begun to flicker to life, their intricate-wrought iron illuminated in the warm glow. Along the street, several houses are decorated for Halloween.

  Charlotte keeps trying to engage the senator in a conversation about efforts by a team of college students to clean all of the plastic out of the ocean, but he merely grunts in response, too focused on the speech in his lap.

  “I ordered everyone the salmon and kale salad,” Mrs. Cavendish-Holt says. “You like salmon, don’t you, Adrienne? The other option was individual beef wellingtons, and all those carbs aren’t good for you.”

  I looked down at my soft middle, wondering if my stepmom was using a general “you” or a me-specific one. Either way, I smooth my hands over my stomach, shielding it from her view.

  Charlotte mouths, Ignore her, and I try to comply.

  The venue where the dinner is being held is a stately colonial with white columns that rise from the porch floor to a curved eave on the second story. Glittering gold pumpkins line the walk up to the front door, which is framed by black and gold garlands.

  The driver pulls up to the curb, and Mikhail gets out of the front seat, opening the door so all of us can climb out. The senator waits for his wife to smooth her dress, before offering an arm and leading her inside. A prick of jealousy punctures my heart. Despite his crusty exterior, he’s really sweet with her. Too bad he didn’t feel like being sweet with my mom after he knocked her up their senior year of high school. Instead, he’d argued that she should put me up for adoption so they could both forget it ever happened. My teeth clench. It’s been seventeen years, but thinking about it still stings. I don’t know if it will ever stop.

  Mikhail waits while we prepare ourselves.

  Charlotte smooths her hair in the car’s side mirror, and I apply a fresh coat of lip gloss.

  Callahan stands stiffly beside me, carefully avoiding making eye contact. His somber demeanor cows me.

  “Callahan,” I whisper, “I’m really sorry about, you know.”

  He gives a curt shake of his head, and walks into the house.

  Charlotte follows him, leaving Mikhail and I to bring up the rear.

  I’ve never been in a house this fancy. My palms start to sweat, so I wipe them on the sides of my skirt, hoping it won’t show. The last thing I need is to walk around this shindig with stains on my dress.

  Mikhail must sense my unease, because he leans over and says in a low voice, “You look lovely tonight.”

  I blush, pleased by his simple compliment. “Thank you.” He escorts me inside, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against my back. My skin warms beneath the slight touch.

  Inside, we’re met by an honest-to-goodness butler, who greets us by name and ushers us into the event. My eyes bug out at the grand ballroom with beautiful parquet wood floors and round tables dusted with pristine white linens. Well-dressed men and women mill about the space, looking like finely plumed birds as they flit between autumnal tree branches in cordial greeting.

  “Ahh, Terrance, there you are. Leslie, you look lovely tonight. Charlotte, Callahan, Adrienne.” Senator Moss meets my eyes with an easy smile.

  My tongue refuses to do my bidding. “Hi,” I finally force out, and then quell the urge to facepalm. Hi? The potential leader of one of the most powerful countries in the world greets me by name and all I can manage is a single syllable? Ugh.

  Mercifully, Senator Moss and my father move off together, talking in low voices.

  “Let’s find our seats,” Mrs. Cavendish-Holt says. “Dinner is supposed to be served promptly at seven.” She leads us between tables until she finds the one with our names written in curved calligraphy on tiny name cards stamped with a grinning golden pumpkin. Not sure when I’ll see my name written so prettily again, I slide the tiny ivory card into my clutch purse.

  Dinner is delicious, even though I wish I’d had the beef wellington rather than the salmon. The senator and his wife excuse themselves to move toward the front of the room, where the speeches will be given.

  Charlotte takes the opportunity to hit the dessert table unmonitored by her carb-conscious mother, leaving Callahan and I sitting in silence at the table, not looking at each other.

  Scanning the room, I catch sight of Mikhail, standing in front of a window, watching. Not missing anything. He smiles when he sees me looking, and I return the gesture.

  Awkward silence reigns over my stepbrother and me.

  I crane my neck toward the dessert table, wishing I had gone with Charlotte when she asked. But I have to make things right with Callahan.

  “Callahan?”

  He sighs. “What?”

  He’s already mad, so I might as well ask my questions. “Why did you lie about the painting?”

  Callahan looks down. “It looked bad, you know? The rumors were that she’d, she’d been stabbed in the neck, and here I am with a painting that shows that exact thing. I didn’t want people to assume I killed her.” His words get quieter until they’re barely a breath in the air between us.

  I remember the way he reacted to the bloody cut I’d gotten on my forehead, and shake my head. “Anyone who knows you would doubt you could have done it. You’d have gotten one look at all that blood and thrown up.”

  “I would not,” he says, looking affronted. “Okay, maybe I would.”

  Then I remember the garbage can outside the bathroom. Maybe he’d made it that far before he threw up. “Why did you paint her with her neck bleeding?”

  Callahan licks his lips. “She was a little obsessed with vampires. Loved the books, the movies. She even wore these fake fangs sometimes. I teased her about drawing her as a vampire, and she loved it. But then she broke up with me. I thought if I painted her like that, she might want to get back together. It was stupid.”

  I remember the photo of them I saw on Charlotte’s laptop. So Na was wearing fangs in it. Hesitantly, I brush the back of my fingers over his arm, trying to give some assurance. “That’s not stupid. It’s sweet, actually, if a little creepy.”

  This draws a half laugh. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

  Here I go. “So, how did you know she was, um, stabbed in the neck?”

  Callahan looks up at me, his eyes sparking. “Is that what this is all about? You think I did something to her? Because the only way I could know was if I’d killed her, right? Because she dumped me? I heard what everyone was saying, Adrienne. I’m not stupid.” He gets out of his chair, swinging his arms roughly as he leaves the room and disappears down the hall.

  My heart is pounding in my chest.

  Callahan doesn’t come back to our table at all, even when the speeches begin. It’s just Charlotte and me, eating the mini cupcakes she brought to share while Senator Moss and our father give their speeches.

  It seems to be going well. The senator is smiling his biggest, whitest, toothiest smile as he answers questions about his stance on different issues.

  But there’s a subtle shift in the crowd. Murmurings are starting at the back of the room.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight as I peer around the sea of faces toward the exit.

  Detectives Cahill and Gupta are standing in the doorway, and both of them are looking straight at me.

  Having caught a glimpse of the detectives, one of the journalists waves a hand in the air, eager to be called upon.

  My head shakes involuntarily as I try to catch my father’s eye. Don’t pick him. Don’t pick him. Don’t pick him.

  My father points at him.

  Crap.

  “Senator, is it true that your daughter is a person of interest in the murder of a girl at the Embassy Academy?”

  I choke on my water. What?

  The entire room goes quiet. It’s as if the air has been sucked out of the space by a giant vacuum, leaving a black hole in its absence. I gasp, not able to get enough air into my lungs. Charlotte starts to whack my back, but I wave her off.

  The senator’s facade doesn’t slip as he looks more closely at the man who posed the question. “First, let me take a moment to express my deepest sympathies to Ambassador Li and his family for their great loss. I cannot imagine what it feels like to lose a child in such a violent fashion. Next, I can say that your question is unequivocally false. Neither Charlotte nor Adrienne is involved in the investigation. They were both witnesses to the crime, and that is all.”

  “Then why are the detectives here to take Adrienne in for questioning, for the third time?”

  My eyes go wide as everyone in the room swivels to look at me. I’m frozen in place, murderous butterflies stabbing at my insides as the chill takes hold of me, all the way down to my bones.

  And that’s when the detectives push off the wall and start their slow walk toward me, never once looking away. I’m their quarry, and there’s no route of escape through the maze of black-draped tables.

  But almost worse than that is the face of the boy standing behind them. It’s Callahan. And he looks utterly heartbroken.

  20

  The air in the interrogation room—I know that’s what it is now—ripples with a lot more foreboding than last time. The first time I was here, I was a witness. All I had to do was tell the nice officers what I’d seen, and I’d be free to go. The second time, it was a little more intense. Tonight, it’s downright suffocating.

  The detectives’ expressions are nowhere near friendly. Detective Cahill sits in a chair across from me, fingering the tab on a manila envelope. Detective Gupta stands against the wall, arms loosely crossed, waiting for her partner to begin.

  Ms. Cain is with me again, ready to take notes on her tablet. It’s clear from the way her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and the rumple of her jacket that she wasn’t expecting to be called on in any official capacity tonight. A faint whiff of garlic reaches my nose, making my stomach clench.

  And that’s before I swivel in my seat to look up at the senator. My father is furious. Steam is practically oozing from his pores at being caught on the spot by that journalist at the dinner. Embarrassment and anger are written all over his face.

  The ride over here was doused in his silent fury.

  He didn’t say a word to me. Didn’t look at me.

  I could practically hear his thoughts. He’d never had this kind of trouble with his stepchildren. Charlotte and Callahan were model campaign props. They hadn’t been thrust into his lap by an old girlfriend. Hadn’t stumbled on a body their first day at the academy. Hadn’t been brought in for questioning by the police. Twice. No, three times.

  Although, now that I think about it, that may not be true. Callahan dated Na for months. The police probably did question him too, but they must not have liked him for this, or he wouldn’t have been sent back to school with Charlotte tonight, shepherded by Mikhail as Mrs. Cavendish-Holt fretted in the background.

  I wish Mikhail were here with me, his quiet presence soothing my tightly strung nerves.

  I lick my lips, my anxiety rolling through me in stomach-churning waves. Should I tell them my suspicions about Callahan? That he’d had an argument with Ambassador Li mere days before the Chinese embassy was broken into? And the poster. I wish Callahan hadn't deleted it from my phone. Who knew where the original was now? If they saw it, the detectives wouldn’t be able to deny the resemblance between Na and the winged girl. Or the location of her injury.

  Telling them about Callahan would at least shed a little doubt on whatever evidence they had that implicated me in this, this terrible, horrifying mess. But could I do that to Callahan? He’d never done anything to me, except yell at me when I’d poked my nose into his business. I had no idea what he’d been doing at that art studio that night, and it wasn’t my place anyway. He was little more than an acquaintance. The only thing connecting us was the tenuous title of stepsiblings.

  I sneak another look at my father, who’s still bristling. His eyes fall to me, and he exhales loudly. With one hand, he puts light pressure on my shoulder. The simple touch is comforting.

  If I tell the police the questions I have about Callahan, it won’t be getting my family out of this mess; it’ll be digging us in farther. Not only will the police be looking at me, they’ll take a closer look at Callahan, too. And even though he’s escaped the “It’s always the boyfriend” stigma so far, I’m guessing a closer inspection by the police would start rumors running. Gul would be all over it, and everyone at school would have Callahan pegged as a murderer before the night was out.

  No, I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it. He may have been sneaking around and making creepy posters of Na bleeding from an altogether too realistic neck wound, but there was no way he killed her. Not if the way he turned pale when he saw the cut on my face is any indication. One creepy poster does not a murderer make.

  Just like that, I know I’ll keep my mouth shut. Answer their questions, but no more. The police will get no incriminating evidence from me. Not tonight.

  “Let’s start, shall we?” Officer Cahill says, pinning her gaze on me.

  Ms. Cain nods her assent, and the senator leans forward, putting the heavy pressure of his hands on the back of my chair. His hot breath feels like fire on the back of my neck. One wrong move, and he’ll immolate me where I sit in a sturdy aluminum chair. My hands twist together in my lap, but I fight to keep from fidgeting. I don’t want to look any more nervous than a normal, innocent person would.

  “The first time we spoke, you indicated that prior to your enrollment at Embassy Academy, you had never met Li Na before, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Detective Cahill frowns.

  My eyebrows furrow together. It was the truth. I had never met her before. Where are they going with this?

  The detective looks at me, canting her head to one side. Waiting. But for what?

  A beat passes, and I squirm in my chair. She must be waiting for me to recant, change my story. But there’s nothing to change.

  “All right then.” Detective Cahill flips open the manila envelope and flicks the corner of a photograph before picking it up. “Care to explain this to us, then?” She slides it across the desk and I pick it up.

  My eyes fix on the people in the photo, but I don’t believe what I’m looking at. I blink rapidly several times, hoping that when I look again the image will have changed, but it doesn’t. There I am in one of my vintage dresses, hair pulled back in a twist to one side of my neck, holding a red solo cup in my hand.

  And standing right beside me?

  Na, wearing a designer dress and sparkling jewelry.

  One glance at the background tells me exactly where we are. The house party I went to with friends earlier this summer. A month before I had dinner with the senator and his new family for the first time.

  With one flick of the wrist, they’ve made a liar out of me.

  How on earth is this possible?

  The senator’s weight lifts from my chair, but I don’t dare look at him.

  “This photograph isn’t real. I don’t know who made this up, but I never met Na before I started at the academy.” Shaking my head, I drop the photo on the table and push it away.

  Officer Cahill picks it up and glances it over before her eyes cut to me. “I assure you, our lab has verified that this photograph is real. We pulled it off social media, just this afternoon. It’s no trick.”

  My heart is having palpitations. I think I’m about to have a heart attack. My head shakes involuntarily. “That can’t be. I don’t—” But then I remember. At the party, some random girl came over and chatted me up. Asked where the bathroom was. If I’d ever been to this place to party before. How much I’d had to drink. It had barely blipped on my radar at the time, but now I realize how intrusive her questions had been. They’d quickly strayed from generic chitchat to personal.

 

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