Читать книгу As You Lay Sleeping - Katlyn Duncan - Страница 14

Chapter 4

Dad and Madison were sitting at the table when I arrived. I was surprised he wasn’t already at work.

“Hey, Carebear,” he said, turning in his chair. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not really.”

Mom and Dad shared a look; something between pity and sadness.

For some reason, it annoyed me. I sat in my chair and tried to ignore whatever psychic conversation they were having.

Madison sniffed and I took a moment to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she stared at her hands. She hadn’t touched her food.

Mom placed a spoonful of scrambled eggs and a slice of toast on my plate. “Were you talking to Katherine?”

I pushed the eggs around my plate with the fork. “Yeah. She and her parents are coming home later today.”

“Well don’t worry about coming into the inn today,” Dad said. “I’m going into work late. Mom took the day off.”

I had no thought of going into the inn for work. “Thanks.”

“Deb,” Dad said to Mom, “I can take the day off, too.”

“You don’t have to,” I said quickly. It was enough that Mom was going to stalk me all day. I didn’t need the both of them on my case. I started to wish I’d never got out of bed. Even in death, Joe was still screwing with me. I immediately regretted the thought. And karma had a quick response, filling my mind with his face again. My stomach churned, even though it was empty.

I managed to swallow a few bites of toast before it settled.

“Cara,” Mom said. “We told Madison about what happened.” She gave me a look that seemed to add, “. . . sparing your delicate fourteen-year-old sister the gory details.”

“Why would he do that himself?” Madison asked. “Is it because you were ignoring his phone calls?”

Three sets of eyes trained on me.

My cheeks burned.

Mom put her coffee cup down on the table. “Cara, is this true? Why were you ignoring his phone calls?”

I blinked. “I wasn’t.”

“Why did Madison say you were?” Dad interjected.

I couldn’t tell them I planned on breaking up with Joe. Why did Madison have to be such a brat? It didn’t help that she blamed me. His death wasn’t my fault but that didn’t stop the guilt from coiling around my stomach and squeezing, unsettling it once again.

I stared down at my plate. “I don’t know. Maybe she should mind her own business.”

“Cara!” Mom warned.

Why were they ganging up on me? I slammed my fork down on the table. “What, Mom? I find my dead boyfriend and you all are accusing me of having something to do with it?”

Dad reached a hand out to me. “We weren’t—”

“You were,” I said pointedly to Madison. “I don’t need to talk to you about this. What do you know about anything?”

She shrank into her chair and tears flowed down her face.

My throat tightened. I could have put it all out there. I could have told them everything about Joe’s and my relationship. About his recreational-drug use and underage drinking. Speaking ill of the dead would only make me feel better. And I was sure another lecture would follow about the possibility of my taking part in those activities. I didn’t, but I wasn’t prepared for that headache.

“I’m going to my room,” I said, shoving the chair away from the table. I didn’t look at either of my parents or my traitorous sister. Tears hovered in the corners of my eyes, making my vision blur.

I entered my room, kicked the door closed, and went over to my desk. I crossed my arms and studied my photographs. The happy, grinning Cara from only a few weeks ago had no idea what turn her life would take. I unpinned the traditional prom photo of me and Joe. To everyone else, we seemed perfect. It was the picture I took two years to paint for the world to see. I briefly wondered if it had been worth all of it.

While I was in the shower later that morning, the doorbell rang. Twice in quick succession. Kat was still on her way home. Maybe it was Rachael and Brittany. I quickly finished up and wrapped a towel around my body. While I didn’t want to talk to my parents about what happened with Joe, I wanted to talk to someone. More specifically, my best friends. I was surprised they came over. Unlike Joe, the girls rarely came over. My house was the smallest out of the group and we found it easier to gossip without Madison and my parents in the next room. Most of the time we met at Kat’s. Her room was the farthest down one of the wings with a view of the pool house, giving us the privacy we needed.

I met Mom in the hallway. Her hands were clasped in front of her as if she were praying.

“Is it Rachael and Brittany? Give me a second to change—”

“It’s not,” she interrupted and lowered her voice. “There’s a detective here to speak with you.”

My heart leaped. “W-why is there a detective here?”

“To ask you questions about last night.”

“I already told the other policemen what happened.” What else could I possibly say?

“He promised it wouldn’t take long. I guess this is normal since you were the one to find Joe.” Mom’s voice hitched. I couldn’t bear more people crying in front of me. “You should speak to him so we can all move on.”

“Alright,” I said, wanting to be done with all of this. “Give me a minute.”

I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top, then pulled my hair back into an elastic. I didn’t waste any more time getting decent. I wanted this over and done with. I paused by my door and took a breath before heading out to the hallway. I wasn’t sure why I was nervous. I had nothing to hide.

The detective stuck out like a sore thumb in our living room. With his dark suit and military-style buzzed hair, he looked as if he had stepped out of a television drama. It was the summer—he must have been sweltering. He was speaking to Mom when I entered the room. He turned around and I was struck by his serious expression. His sharp nose pointed accusingly at me.

He gave me a close-lipped smile sand shook my hand. “Cara, I’m Detective Devereaux.”

I shook back. “Hi.”

The room closed in around me and my head lightened. I fought to keep it together when my brain kicked in.

“Have a seat,” Mom said.

I knew she was talking to the detective but I slowly sank down the couch.

He sat on the loveseat and Mom stood behind me. I assumed Madison was still locked in her room, playing the part of the sullen teen that I should have been.

Detective Devereaux opened a small notebook and held it in front of him. “I know this is a difficult situation, Cara. And the sooner we get your statement, the sooner everything can get back to normal.”

“What about everything I told the other officers?” I asked.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Officers on the scene will take the initial information. And the statement they took wasn’t official, since you didn’t have a guardian present and you are under eighteen. It’s my job to record a more in-depth reporting of what happened.”

“I found his—him in the pool house. Dead.”

He poised his pen over the notebook. “What time did you arrive at the pool house?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t like I was looking at the clock.

“You don’t know?”

“It was after dinner,” I said, glancing at Mom.

“She left around five thirty,” Mom said.

He wrote that down.

“Oh, wait,” I said.

Rachael and Brittany’s text had come in as I arrived. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through the texts.

“Cara,” Mom scolded under her breath. “This isn’t the time.”

“A text came in when I arrived at Joe’s,” I explained. I found the text and read the time stamp. “Around five fifty-five.”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “Did you normally go to the Blair house unannounced?”

I fisted my damp hands in my lap. “He was my boyfriend.”

“Answer the question, please,” he said.

My shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t unannounced. We made plans earlier in the day. I told him I was coming by after dinner.”

“What else did you discuss?” Detective Devereaux asked.

I swallowed. Why did he need to know what we talked about? I tried to recall everything Joe and I said to each other that would have anything to do with his death.

“Let me rephrase,” the detective said. “What was his state of mind?”

I shrugged. “He seemed normal.” I had a feeling I knew where the detective was going with his questioning. I waited for him to ask me outright.

“Was he using at that time?”

“Using?”

“Drugs.”

“I don’t know,” I said quickly. I had an idea he was but I wasn’t looking at him with a joint in his hand. “Maybe.” My neck flushed and I could feel Mom’s stare directed at the back of my head.

“So he may or may not have been using around noon when you spoke with him.”

I let out a noncommittal sound. Why did I feel like I was on trial?

“Did he seem depressed?”

“No,” I said quickly.

The detective’s eyebrows lifted. “You seem sure about that.”

I really wished Mom weren’t in the room. But would that mean they would have to hire a lawyer? Would that make me seem guilty somehow? And I didn’t want Mom to know for sure that I was lying to her about Joe’s extracurricular activities. I decided to come out with it, expecting my parents to question me about it later.

“We were going to break up. Officially. That’s what Joe called me about. He wanted to do it in person, I guess.”

“Who initiated the breakup?”

“Both of us?” I wasn’t sure that was an option in most relationships, but it had been for us.

“So he wasn’t upset about you wanting to break it off with him?”

The detective kept coming back to how Joe was feeling. Did he think the overdose was a suicide? If there was one thing I knew about Joe, it was that he would never willingly end his life. He had too much fun flaunting his wealth and getting away with anything he wanted.

“No, not at all. He wanted to be single for his freshman year of college. And I wanted to be single for my senior year.”

“You didn’t get any idea that he was upset.”

“No.”

The detective scribbled in his notebook again and the silence of the room weighed on my shoulders. I wasn’t ready to look at Mom yet, so, instead, I stared at the scuffed tips of his shoes.

He looked up at me again, his pen poised on the paper. “What time did you speak with Joseph Blair yesterday?”

“Around noon,” I replied.

“The ME puts the time of death between two and four yesterday afternoon,” he said as if he were lining up my story with his.

My mouth dried up like the desert. The question popped into my head again. Could I have saved him if I’d gone over earlier?

A small sound escaped Mom. I couldn’t bear to turn around and see her face. I knew I’d break down if I did.

“When you were in the pool house, did you touch anything?” he asked.

I rubbed my hands against the cushions, thinking of the note burning a hole in my desk drawer. Would I get in trouble for taking it? I didn’t see how it would be relevant to the case. I took a second, pretending to think about it. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He licked his lips. “So you didn’t touch the body?”

My mouth popped open and I stuttered through my response. “Yes, I touched him to see if he was sleeping.”

“So you did touch something at the scene.”

I cleared my throat. “Joe. I touched Joe. That’s it.”

He nodded and scribbled something in his notebook. Probably the word “LIAR” in big, bold letters.

The rest of his questions were similar to the ones I’d answered the night before. I stumbled over some of them as I remembered the feel of Joe’s stiff body under my fingertips and seeing his blank expression. I knew without a fact that I’d never forget last night. Every single detail was branded in my memory. My hands fidgeted in my lap.

Mom must have noticed my discomfort. “How many more questions do you have, Detective? My daughter is clearly distraught.”

While Mom spoke, the detective didn’t take his eyes off me. It was as if he were waiting for me to tell him something he didn’t already know.

He licked his lips and flipped his notebook closed. “That would be all for today.” He gave us a curt nod and stood. “I thank you for your time. I will be in touch. I can show myself out.”

I got up too, keeping my gaze on his. I hoped my expression was calm, even though my heart banged in my chest in time with each step he took.

When the door closed behind him, I sat on the edge of the couch, replaying the answers I gave in my mind. Mom sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me to her. Joe’s death was an accident. So why did I have a suspicion that the detective thought I had something to do with it?