Deadly First Day, page 23
part #1 of Embassy Academy Series
They settle into the chairs across the table.
“Sorry for the wait,” Detective Gupta says, looking me over. It’s clear from her faintly amused expression as she sees me shoving my hands under my thighs in an attempt to hide their shaking that she’s not sorry in the slightest.
I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything wrong. The mantra repeats like a looped cadence in my head.
“Miss Lewis. Thank you for coming to the station. We just have a few more questions for you. This shouldn’t take long.” Detective Cahill’s tone implies she’s having a chat with a buddy instead of interrogating a seventeen-year-old girl. It gives me the heebie jeebies.
I try to force my tongue to move, but it’s not cooperating, so I settle for a nod.
“Your mom works at Wood View Laboratories, is that correct?”
Confusion scrunches my forehead. “My mom?” What does she have to do with this?
“Go ahead and answer, Adrienne,” Ms. Cain prompts.
Be short and to the point, she told me before we came in.
“Yes, she does. She’s a research biologist who studies penguins.”
“And is it true that she brings home items for you, such as pads of paper and pens?”
“Yes.” Over the years, she’s met a ton of equipment sales reps who leave her with a ridiculous amount of company branded pens, pads of paper, and stacks of sticky notes, many of which she brings home for me after they become an unwieldy mound in her desk drawer. “But I don’t understand why—”
Ms. Cain puts a hand on my knee. “That’s enough.”
My pulse ratchets up. I have no idea why they’re asking about my mom’s work.
Detective Cahill crinkles the evidence bag in her hand, drawing my eyes toward it. What’s in there?
“Is it true that you had a Wood View Laboratories pen with you when you moved into the dormitory at the Embassy Academy?”
My missing pen. That’s what this is all about. Cold terror forms in my gut. “Yes, but I lost it. I don’t know when, exactly.”
Detective Gupta smirks. It is not a comforting sight.
“That’s interesting, because we received a package with a pen labeled Wood View Laboratories, just yesterday.” She slides the bag toward me so I can see the contents. It’s a thin, white pen with black lettering. Wood View Laboratories, and the address. There’s a gap in the letters where the second “a” should be. It’s mine.
Then I see the darkened, crusty substance around the pen’s tip. Blood. Someone used it to murder Na, and the detectives think that someone was me. My eyes fly to Detective Cahill’s face.
Her mouth twitches upward, just slightly, as if to say, “Gotcha.”
“We tested the blood on this pen, and it came back a match for Li Na’s blood. This is your pen, isn’t it?”
No. No no no. My mind is screaming. Blood rushes to my head, tunneling my vision and muffling my hearing. This cannot be happening. I clutch the edge of the chair with both hands, my knuckles going white. I’m spinning, and I can’t stop it.
Ms. Cain puts a reassuring hand on my arm and leans toward me to whisper in my ear.
I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on her words and trying desperately to block out the suffocating air in the room, the harsh metal underneath me, the knowing looks Detectives Cahill and Gupta are giving each other.
I lick my lips, make myself speak. “It looks like the pen I lost, but I’m not sure.” A lie.
“Take a closer look.”
I lean over the tabletop, feigning an examination of the pen in the evidence bag. It’s definitely my pen. Unless someone else’s pen has the exact same letter missing, and the same chip in the cap’s clip. “Like I said, I can’t be sure.” I shrug, hoping that sells the story I’m regurgitating like a helpless baby bird.
“Wood View Laboratories hands out hundreds of these to everyone they work for. There’s no way to tie this one to my client, specifically,” Ms. Cain says.
Detective Cahill shifts in her chair. “Do you remember the last time you used your pen?”
I look up at the ceiling. Make a decision. “A friend borrowed it the first day of school, during Professor Rook’s class. I left it there. Have you searched his classroom?” I emphasize his name, hoping they catch it.
Detective Gupta sits up straighter, her interest piqued. “Why would we search Professor Rook’s classroom?”
“I’m just saying that the last time I saw my pen, it was in his class. Maybe it’s still there.” I don’t know if they’re buying it, but now that I’ve begun, I’m committed. I have to stick with this narrative web I’m weaving.
Detective Cahill sits back in her seat. “Fine. We’ll look into it.”
“Is that all, Detectives? I’d like to get my client back to her classes now.” Ms. Cain stands up, not bothering to wait for the officers’ consent. “Come along, Miss Lewis.”
I follow as she bustles out of the interrogation without looking back. Wary eyes follow us as we leave. Ms. Cain leads me to Mikhail’s car and waits as he unlocks it.
“Get in,” she prompts.
I climb into the back seat of the sedan, and she slides in after me.
Mikhail gets into the driver’s seat and locks the doors.
“What was that?” I ask. “Where did they get my pen? You know I didn’t stab Li Na, right?”
Ms. Cain nods. “I believe you.”
“If they think the pen is the murder weapon, why didn’t they arrest me? Ugh.” I lose my words, instead groaning out the fear that has spiked in my veins. Coiling my fingers into my hair, I pull it down on either side of my face, stretching out the curls like the fear coiling in my belly has stretched out and filled the space inside me, crowding out anything else.
My pen was the murder weapon.
I can’t shake the sight of it, crusted in dark red blood, lying in that evidence bag.
“The question is, if the pen has fingerprints on it that proved you touched it during or after the murder, why didn’t they arrest you?”
“There are no fingerprints like that,” Mikhail puts in.
“That’s my guess,” Ms. Cain says. “Any fingerprints on the pen don’t tie you to the murder.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Did you hear how they got it? Someone sent it to them. Why would they do that?”
“Someone sent the police that pen anonymously. Whoever sent it wanted the police to examine it and tie it to you.”
Awareness thrashes through me. “Someone is trying to frame me for Li Na’s murder.”
“It appears so.”
I’m stunned speechless. The trembling in my hands spreads up my arms. I can’t control it.
“My advice to you, Miss Lewis, is to lay low at school. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t talk to anyone about what is happening with the investigation. Do you understand?”
I nod, unable to do anything else.
“Good.” She exits the car and crosses the parking lot to her own.
Once she’s gone, Mikhail twists in his seat to look at me. “Are you going to be all right, Adrienne?”
“I don’t know, Mikhail. I don’t know.”
30
Ordinarily by this point in November, Mom and I are counting down the days until Thanksgiving, but not for the usual reason. Don’t get me wrong; we love turkey and mashed potatoes and biscuits and cranberry sauce, but we love decorating for Christmas even more, and that’s exactly what we do as soon as our Thanksgiving feast for two is finished.
But not this year. Mom is in Antarctica, and I haven’t heard from her outside the few short emails she’s sent me since September. This year I’m slated to spend the upcoming holiday with my father and Mrs. Cavendish-Holt. And Christmas? It feels like it will never come.
It’s been a hellish week, and there’s a knot in my stomach the size of a giant mixing bowl. In the week since Detectives Cahill and Gupta questioned me about my pen, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
To top it all off with a bitter-tasting cherry, Ricardo’s been avoiding me since I put my foot in my mouth about his mom. Whenever I see him in the hallway between classes, I perk up, as if this time he’ll put on the flirty smile and velvety voice I’m used to, and call me the pet name he uses only for me, but it never happens. Instead, I get barely a smile and head nod before he finds an excuse to leave.
As if on cue, Ricardo meets my eyes down the hallway, and then ducks into a classroom, away from me. The knots in my stomach twist tighter, making my face drop. Maybe Charlotte was right; Ricardo toyed with me until he got me to like him, and then he lost interest. Or I simply embarrassed him too much, and he’s gone back to his other, less blabby friends. I can’t say how much it hurts, losing a friend I thought I had.
My shoulders slump. I’ve never felt so alone.
My thoughts circle back to the police interview. There’s one thing I can’t shake about it. One question I can’t answer. How my pen got from Professor Rook’s classroom to Na’s neck, on the floor of the girl’s bathroom.
There are possibilities.
Maybe Na pushed someone too far. She wasn’t exactly a nice person. I could easily see someone snapping under her withering comments and deciding they’d had enough. Rage coiling under their skin. A glance around for something to use to clobber the academy’s resident mean girl. Maybe they saw a pen abandoned on a table and swiped it. Chased, or more likely, stalked Na into that bathroom just as the first bell rang, sending everyone into their classrooms in the three minutes before the second bell chimed and classes began.
It could have been anyone at school.
It could have been Professor Rook, who is no innocent bystander. He was selling Na pills, and I saw the two of them talking that morning. Could they have arranged to meet before class for a transaction? Or maybe Professor Rook asked for more, just like Gul said. Maybe Na refused, and Professor Rook hammered that pen into her neck to shut her up.
Three minutes would have been enough time to wash his hands and get back to class, wouldn’t it?
He’s definitely cold enough. The flash of anger in his eyes when I confronted him about the pills showed me that.
Callahan and Asif are tossing a ball back and forth with their lacrosse sticks when I walk into the eatery. Callahan throws the ball, and Asif goes scuffing over the wood after it, stick held aloft.
Callahan whoops when Asif makes a great catch. “Awesome.” The two of them high five, smiling. Several girls at a nearby table cheer, making the boys grin wider. “We are so ready for this season.”
“Yes, we are.” Asif glances over toward our table. Charlotte is reading something on her tablet. I’ve noticed that she’s been working her butt off since she stopped self-medicating. It turns out that she actually has to do work during the day now that she’s not staying up all hours of the night, hopped up on amphetamines. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, and other than being extra irritated and a little jittery, she’s doing really well. Better than I expected for someone who was used to taking something to help her focus when she needed a boost.
Dali is eating a bowl of the smooth porridge she likes smothered in milk and brown sugar.
Genevieve is twirling a strand of her wavy cinnamon brown hair around a finger, completely zoned out.
Something I can’t quite identify flashes across Asif’s face, but then he swings an arm around Callahan and herds him back to the table. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, all right. I wonder who they’ll get to coach this year, since Rook stepped down. I hope it’s someone good.”
“Me too.” Asif nods along, but he’s clearly less enthused than Callahan, if his slow response is any indication.
“Come on, man. You’ll start this year, for sure. Just make a catch like that at try-outs, and you’ll be set.”
Asif grunts in response. “I’m getting some food. Anyone want anything?” His eyes skim over us before landing on the girl across from me. “Genevieve?”
“Huh? Oh, non, merci.”
He lopes off toward the omelet bar and Genevieve goes back to her staring.
“Who’s she staring at?” I whisper to Dali. Her eyes find mine before looking away. She gestures toward an adjacent table with her spoon. When I follow her direction, my eyes widen.
Genevieve is staring at Ricardo.
My throat tightens. I thought she was over him. She’s been pointedly ignoring him for weeks.
“Him?” I mouth to Dali, whose chin ducks in response.
“Why?”
Dali glances at Genevieve and my stepsister before she leans closer. Her brown eyes meet mine, and she blocks the side of her face with a hand, as if it will prevent Charlotte and Genevieve from hearing her. “They went to the Winter Summit together last year, and they were super cute the entire time. I think she’s hoping he’ll take her again this year.”
It makes sense. Genevieve is gorgeous. Tall, thin, with peaches and cream skin and large eyes. If she hinted to Ricardo that she’d like to go to the dance with him again, I bet he’d at least consider it. The two of them would look fantastic together. Much better than he’d look with me, a mere friend. And a short, thick one at that. Big boned, my mom used to call me. Even though I knew she didn’t mean to fat-shame me, I understood the implication. I was not thin.
I force my focus away from where Ricardo is munching a type of fruit I don’t recognize. “I’m getting some breakfast.” Shoving away from the table, I head for the pastries. I could use an apricot and pistachio croissant right about now.
When I get back, a topic change is in order. I slide my tray onto the tabletop and make eye contact with Callahan. “I didn’t know you played lacrosse. That’s cool.”
“Yeah. There’s no way I’m getting a scholarship for it or anything, but it’s fun. And it gets me out of the snoozefests that are our P.E. classes here.”
I laugh. Our P.E. classes are boring. I thought that maybe, since the academy is so elite and full of posh students, we’d at least study some cool sports like fencing or rock climbing or parkour. But no. We’d done units on running and basketball and tag football, just like we did at Wood View. “Maybe I should take up a sport.”
“You could try tennis,” Charlotte says. “We don’t need any singles on the team, but one of the girls needs a doubles partner. I can talk to Coach. Have you ever played?” Her intensity makes my eyes widen.
Callahan laughs. “She was kidding, Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s eyes swivel between us. “Oh. Fine. If you do decide to try tennis, let me know. We can play practice matches.”
“Thanks. So, Callahan, you said Professor Rook used to coach your team?”
“Yeah. He was pretty good. He actually played in college.”
“What happened?”
Callahan shrugs. “He hurt his shoulder, and he said that was it for him. We don’t know who’s going to take over yet.”
I worry my lip, wondering if I can get away with asking him what I really want to ask, even though Charlotte is sitting so close by. Maybe if I frame it with innocent curiosity, she won’t mind.
“Coaches on TV are always yelling about winning. Was Professor Rook pushy like that?”
“What do you mean pushy?”
“Did he put pressure on you guys to win?”
At the end of the table, Charlotte’s finger hovers over her tablet, poised to swipe to the next page of whatever she’s reading, but it’s as if she’s frozen. She’s listening to Callahan and me.
“I mean, yeah, sometimes. But every coach does that. Most of them think it’s not fun unless you’re winning every match. Nothing unusual.”
I’m about to follow up when Charlotte cuts me off.
“Yeah, that seems totally normal. Coaches are always pushy, Adrienne. Haven’t you ever tried a team sport before?” Charlotte gives me a look that couldn’t mean anything other than, Shut up or I will shut you up. She’s afraid I’m going to ask Callahan about Professor Rook selling pills to him and his teammates. I frown. Despite Charlotte’s brusque nature, I’d never out her to her brother. I promised.
I suck my lips in between my teeth. “No, I’ve never played a sport.”
“Well, it’s normal. Take my word for it.” With one more weighted look, Charlotte returns her attention to her tablet.
Dali’s elbow taps my arm. “Hey, I heard you were pulled out of class yesterday afternoon. What was that about?”
I sigh. “I have to go to the bathroom. Want to come?”
“You just sat down. Couldn’t you do that before you came downstairs?” Charlotte asks.
“I didn’t have to go then, but I do now.” I smile, surprised that I was able to shoot that reply back to her. My mouth is getting better at this whole bantering thing.
“Whatever.”
Dali follows me into the bathroom and waits while I check to make sure we’re alone.
Once I’m satisfied, I stand next to her in front of the bank of spotless white ceramic sinks. “The police brought me in for questioning again.”
“What? Why?”
My stomach churns as I remember the sight of my pen covered in dried blood. “They found the murder weapon. Do you remember that pen you borrowed from me that first day in Diplomacy?”
Dali’s face drains of color. “Yes.”
“Someone used it to stab Na in the neck. They wanted to know if it was my pen.”
Dali utters something low in a language I can’t understand. When her eyes rise to mine, they’re skittish. “I’m so sorry. That sounds awful. Is there anything I can do?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but no. They didn’t arrest me, so my lawyer thinks the pen didn’t have any fingerprints on it.”
“So someone wiped it down?”
“That’s what she thinks.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
Dali turns toward the sink and washes her hands. Then she uses the futuristic-looking hand dryer. The loud blast of it fills the bathroom, making conversation impossible. After, she turns to me. “What are you going to do?”
