Forty-Two

I couldn’t just call the police and tell them to check out the judge. I needed to give them a reason. Trying to figure out a psychic vision that would lead the police to Judge Bonnet was tough. The best readings are vague. You guide a person part of the way with a half-formed idea and let them take it the rest of the way to the finish line. You mention that you see a man, maybe older, and then allow them to ask if it is their long-departed grandfather, or dad, or brother. I didn’t want to run the risk of sending the police after just anyone, but I worried that if I was too specific, it would raise their suspicions further. It was a tricky balance.

I tried out different scenarios in my head until I decided it would be best to keep it simple. I’d say I kept seeing Paige and her dad and that the image gave me a sense of dread. I’d insist that I didn’t know what it meant, but that I was certain it was somehow important to what had happened to Paige. Maybe it would force them to look at Judge Bonnet more carefully. He must have made a mistake somewhere. All I needed was for them to find it and start unraveling his story.

Detective Jay met me in the waiting room. I stood and moved toward the back where the interview room was located, but he stepped front of me. “Let’s get a cup of coffee instead,” he said. He winked at the receptionist, who was ignoring us while sorting a huge stack of files. “The stuff here isn’t bad, but going out gives me an excuse to stretch my legs.”

I paused. Coffee seemed . . . social. “I don’t have a lot of time.” I rocked back and forth on my heels. “I’m supposed to be in school. I shouldn’t be too late.”

“C’mon, I could use some fresh air. And you’ve got, what, just a week or so left until school’s out? You won’t miss much.” Detective Jay headed for the door, leaving me no option but to follow him outside into the spring sunshine. A line of brightly colored red and yellow tulips bobbed in the wind in front of the building. He jerked his head across the street. “I know some people think Starbucks is the corporate overlord, but they do a pretty good latte. There’s another place, but it’s a couple blocks down.”

“No, this is fine,” I said. Closer was better.

He insisted on paying and told me to grab a table while he waited for our drinks. He walked over carefully with the cups in his hand and couple of small bags pinched between his fingers. “I got some banana bread. Don’t tell Chan. He’s got this thing about us cutting down on sweets, but banana bread is practically fruit, right?”

I raised a single eyebrow. “Sure.”

He laughed and nudged the chai tea I’d asked for over to me. “You must be about ready for graduation.”

I sipped my tea, inhaling the spicy scents of cardamom and cinnamon. Suddenly he was my new best friend and hadn’t shown up at my house to rifle through my panty drawer looking for evidence. “Uh-huh.”

“Since you’re staying local, you still thinking about college?” His eyes watched me over his cup, blowing on it to cool it down.

“Nope.” Why didn’t he want to know why I’d called? My stomach was too tight to take even a sip of my own drink, but I picked up the cup and pretended.

“Did you ever think about checking out the community college up in Traverse City? They’ve got some good programs, some practical stuff too that doesn’t take too long. Hairdressing and dental assistant, stuff like that, in addition to a bunch of university transfer options.”

I put my tea down on the table, still sticky from the people who had been there before us. “I appreciate the career advice, but I called you because I had another vision.”

Detective Jay sighed. “Yeah. About that. I should tell you before we go further, I didn’t tell Detective Chan you were coming by, and I didn’t officially log your call. This conversation is just between us, off the record.”

“Why?” Another ripple of unease ran down my spine like a lit fuse, setting each nerve on fire.

He leaned back in his chair and it creaked in protest. “Did you know I grew up on the east side?”

“No.” I pushed the slab of oily banana bread he’d bought me back to his side of the table.

He broke off a corner of the pastry and tossed it up, catching it in his mouth. “Yep. My dad died when I was pretty young, so my mom raised me and my three sisters on her own. Wasn’t easy. There were times when I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through school.”

Was I supposed to express sympathy? Salute him as a brother in arms in the war on poverty? I fidgeted in my chair. “You know what they say—high school isn’t forever.”

He chuckled. “Thank god, huh?”

I pushed back slightly from the table. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

He sighed. “Chan’s still new to this field. He figures if something doesn’t add up, it equals guilt. But I’m trying to express that I get it.”

“Get what?” I realized I was shredding the napkin he’d given me. There were tiny brown paper scraps all over the table and my lap. I swept them off onto the floor.

“I get that people might tell the police something untrue for all sorts of reasons that have nothing to do with guilt. I understand that it’s hard. Hard to face graduation when it seems like everyone else is moving forward and you feel stuck in place.”

“I’m not stuck.” People at the tables nearby turned to stare, which made me realize I was almost yelling. I lowered my voice. A woman pulled her baby carriage closer to her table. “I’ve got plans. Just because I don’t have the money for New York doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more than what you got. It’s what drives us.” His eyes softened. “But that doesn’t mean you can say or do whatever you want.”

My chest tightened. It felt like I couldn’t get a deep breath. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re not a psychic.”

I blinked. How the hell had he figured it out? My breath came in shallow pants that I fought to get under control. I’d assumed if either of the cops was going to discover the truth, it was going to be Chan. I took another drink of tea to buy time and to keep myself from bolting toward the door in panic.

“You’re not the first person to get caught in a lie and next thing you know it gets away from you, but you have to stop. You can’t keep digging yourself in deeper.”

I nodded, still unable to say anything. It didn’t matter how he’d figured it out; he knew.

“Your mom only wants the best for you.”

My heart locked up in my chest everything, coming to an abrupt stop. “Wait. My mom was the one who told you I wasn’t a psychic?”

He nodded and brushed the banana crumbs from the napkin into his open palm and then ate those as well. “It must be hard, knowing your mom has that ability and you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to feel special.”

Detective Jay glanced around the café. “I can understand why you made your mom’s initial predictions sound like they were yours. Maybe you thought it didn’t matter who had them as long as you tried to get Paige home safe. Or you thought if people thought you had this ability, you would look cool.”

“My mom told you,” I repeated. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Lucy or Ryan, or even Drew had been the one to spill my secret, but that it had been my mom shocked me.

He nodded. “She came to see me after we searched your place. We met outside the station. She didn’t call you out publicly; she didn’t want to embarrass you or get you in trouble. I’m the only person she’s spoken with about this.”

The thoughts in my head tumbled around like laundry in a washer.

“Detective Chan thinks the predictions have just been lucky guesses,” he said. I didn’t point out that Paige hadn’t ended up very lucky.

Detective Jay wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Lou’s a great detective, but he’s not comfortable with this kind of thing.”

“Psychic phenomena,” I said. The words made him fidget. Jay wasn’t as comfortable as he thought either.

“He likes to rely on facts. Things he can see, touch, taste, feel. That’s partly what makes him uneasy with this situation. Sure, your mom made some things that could be seen as random guesses, but that’s to be expected. She got the cause of death wrong, and the thing about Disney never panned out, for example.”

“I didn’t know any of this,” I said. The milky tea coated my mouth, a sugary sweet slick of fat on my tongue that I couldn’t get rid of.

He smiled at me, like the face you make when elderly people are struggling to make change in the grocery checkout and holding up the line. The face that says you’re trying to be patient, but you also think the other person is the tiniest bit pathetic. “If it makes you feel better, I think you were only trying to help.”

“I can’t believe my mom told you I was a fake.”

“She didn’t say it like that. She wanted me to know that you weren’t involved.”

“But you still think I might be.”

Detective Jay leaned back. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. I don’t think you’ve been a hundred percent honest with me, but no, I don’t think you had anything to do with Paige’s death. It would be better if you and your mom had more than each other as an alibi for the night Paige was killed, but police work isn’t usually that tidy.”

For a split second, it seemed like the entire café went silent. The whooshing of the milk steamer, the clamor of people in line asking for Venti cups and extra shots of syrup, the clank of the bucket-sized coffee carafes being loaded, and the metal ting of the creamer thermoses on the marble countertop—all disappeared.

“Alibi?”

He nodded. “She confirmed you two were together that night.”

I pushed my chair back. Why would she lie about that as well? She knew I was out that night.

She thought I was guilty. That’s why she told him the visions were hers. She wanted to get his attention off of me. “I guess there’s nothing left to say,” I said.

Detective Jay stood quickly reaching for my elbow. “Hey, I didn’t want to upset you.” He held me in place, staring into my eyes.

“You didn’t,” I said. My lie floated in the air between us, bloated and grimy.

“I wanted to talk to you because it’s important to me that you understand that I get why you did it. I don’t blame you and I’m not mad, but you have to stop. This is a murder investigation.”

The walls of the café, complete with floor-to-ceiling shelves, seemed to be closing in on me. I was going to be buried under bags of dark roast and overpriced coffee grinders.

“Fine.” I pulled back. I was ready to thank him for this touching intervention, tell him anything, just so we could end the conversation.

He let go of my arm. Perhaps they’d taught him in the police academy that holding a teen girl against her will in front of a bunch of witnesses was poor form. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I gestured toward the door. “I need to get going. Really. I’ve got school.” I hated feeling like I needed his permission.

He deflated back into his seat. “Okay.” He waited until I had the door pushed halfway open before calling out, “You don’t need to tell stories to be special, you know. You’re a pretty neat kid just the way you are.”

Everyone in line, or seated at the tables, looked up to catch this heartwarming after-school-special moment. I closed my eyes briefly, wishing that if I could have a magical ability, it would be teleportation, so I could vanish from this spot in a puff of smoke.

“Thanks,” I said, then practically dove out the door.