Professor Mackerlie is also on the town committee and he welcomes Cameron, before moving onto Shakespeare. Cameron doesn’t glance at me during class; however, I can’t take my eyes off him. He‘s fascinating and at the same time frightening. Who is this guy that digs up graves in the cemetery? Who speaks up for me in class and writes the most beautiful words? Who is from New York, just like Asher?
A coincidence? For some reason, I don’t think so.
***
My next class is about as uneventful as watching paint dry. I’m about to head to my third and last class of the day, when I’m waved into the main office by the secretary.
She holds a finger up while she continues talking to a slender woman with blonde hair, a sharp nose, and glasses framing her narrow face. Her hair is tight in a bun and she sports a pinstriped pantsuit. I drop down in a chair and wait.
“Yes, I know, but I don’t see why you have to do it here,” the secretary, Mrs. Finnelly, tells the woman.
The woman leans on the counter. “Can you just check again?”
Mrs. Finnelly sighs and types something on her keyboard. She rolls her chair back to the corner filing cabinet and takes out a thin manila folder. “Here you go, Beth, but I don’t see how her file is going to help. In fact, she’s right here, so it might be better just to talk to her.”
Beth turns around and her blue eyes promptly darken with abhorrence. “Ember Edwards, I’m detective Crammer.”
My lips twitch. “Okay.”
She motions to the counselor’s office door. “Why don’t we go in here so we can talk more privately.”
I follow her into the counselor’s office, which is packed with plants and family photos. There’s a bag hanging on a coat rack in the far corner and the air smells like pumpkin and spice. Detective Crammer takes a seat in the office chair and I sit down in front of the desk.
She opens the file with my name printed on it. “You excel in English… but your math grades look a little weak.” She takes off her glasses and tosses them on the desk. “Well, I’ll get straight to the point since we only have the office for a few minutes.” She rolls forward in the chair, and overlaps her hands on top of the desk. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Laden Miller disappeared last night. Now, the last place he was seen was a party you were at. Is that correct?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “But a lot of people were.”
“Just a simple yes or no will suffice,” she says snidely. “Now, as I’m sure you’ve also heard, Laden Miller’s car was found down at the bridge in a very similar situation as how your father’s car was left after his disappearance three years ago. You were the only one ever investigated for his disappearance—the police never had any more leads.”
I brazenly cross my arms. “The charges against me were dropped.”
She pulls out a small notepad from the pocket of her jacket. “I pulled up your father’s case and it said that they got a call right before your dad disappeared. The call was from you and you said he was going to be murdered.”
“No, I said he was going to die. There’s a huge difference.”
“Huge difference or not, it’s highly suspicious. And then you ran away right after.”
I opt for silence, knowing from experience that fewer words mean fewer opportunities to twist what I say around.
Her eyes narrow at me and then she jots something in notepad. “It’s such a strange case. Raven feathers, an hourglass, the bright red X on the road. And of course there’s the blood.”
“They’re all symbols of death,” I say. “I told the police this last time.”
Her eyebrows furrow as she reads over her notes. “Hmm… no one ever made a note of that.”
I shrug indifferently. “Well, it’s true. Except for the X , they all represent death. You can Google it if you want. It’s pretty common knowledge.”
“Did you do that before or after your dad
A coincidence? For some reason, I don’t think so.
***
My next class is about as uneventful as watching paint dry. I’m about to head to my third and last class of the day, when I’m waved into the main office by the secretary.
She holds a finger up while she continues talking to a slender woman with blonde hair, a sharp nose, and glasses framing her narrow face. Her hair is tight in a bun and she sports a pinstriped pantsuit. I drop down in a chair and wait.
“Yes, I know, but I don’t see why you have to do it here,” the secretary, Mrs. Finnelly, tells the woman.
The woman leans on the counter. “Can you just check again?”
Mrs. Finnelly sighs and types something on her keyboard. She rolls her chair back to the corner filing cabinet and takes out a thin manila folder. “Here you go, Beth, but I don’t see how her file is going to help. In fact, she’s right here, so it might be better just to talk to her.”
Beth turns around and her blue eyes promptly darken with abhorrence. “Ember Edwards, I’m detective Crammer.”
My lips twitch. “Okay.”
She motions to the counselor’s office door. “Why don’t we go in here so we can talk more privately.”
I follow her into the counselor’s office, which is packed with plants and family photos. There’s a bag hanging on a coat rack in the far corner and the air smells like pumpkin and spice. Detective Crammer takes a seat in the office chair and I sit down in front of the desk.
She opens the file with my name printed on it. “You excel in English… but your math grades look a little weak.” She takes off her glasses and tosses them on the desk. “Well, I’ll get straight to the point since we only have the office for a few minutes.” She rolls forward in the chair, and overlaps her hands on top of the desk. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Laden Miller disappeared last night. Now, the last place he was seen was a party you were at. Is that correct?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “But a lot of people were.”
“Just a simple yes or no will suffice,” she says snidely. “Now, as I’m sure you’ve also heard, Laden Miller’s car was found down at the bridge in a very similar situation as how your father’s car was left after his disappearance three years ago. You were the only one ever investigated for his disappearance—the police never had any more leads.”
I brazenly cross my arms. “The charges against me were dropped.”
She pulls out a small notepad from the pocket of her jacket. “I pulled up your father’s case and it said that they got a call right before your dad disappeared. The call was from you and you said he was going to be murdered.”
“No, I said he was going to die. There’s a huge difference.”
“Huge difference or not, it’s highly suspicious. And then you ran away right after.”
I opt for silence, knowing from experience that fewer words mean fewer opportunities to twist what I say around.
Her eyes narrow at me and then she jots something in notepad. “It’s such a strange case. Raven feathers, an hourglass, the bright red X on the road. And of course there’s the blood.”
“They’re all symbols of death,” I say. “I told the police this last time.”
Her eyebrows furrow as she reads over her notes. “Hmm… no one ever made a note of that.”
I shrug indifferently. “Well, it’s true. Except for the X , they all represent death. You can Google it if you want. It’s pretty common knowledge.”
“Did you do that before or after your dad
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