Jackson 05 - The Immortals by J.T. Ellison Page A

that she blamed them. She’d been worried about them being targeted herself, but seeing their abject fear gave her a whole new perspective on this tragedy.
    She faced the group and answered the unasked questions. “We’re doing everything we can. Nothing has changed. We don’t have a suspect or a motive just yet. You’re doing the right thing, sticking together. We’ll keep you posted.”
    The murmurs began again, this time tinged with relief. She stepped back into the foyer to get out of their line of sight, and turned to Theo.
    â€œWe’re hoping you can shed some light on what’s been happening. I know you were close friends with Xander Norwood. I’d like to talk to you about him, about everyone who was killed today. Is there someplace private we can go?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. My father’s office is just through here. No one is allowed in there when we, I mean Daisy and I, have guests over.”
    â€œWho’s Daisy?”
    â€œMy sister.” He pointed to a neat blond girl sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. “She’s in there with some of her friends. She’s a junior. They all knew Amanda, and Chelsea and Rachel.”
    There was a knock behind her and Theo started. Poor kid.
    â€œThat’s going to be Detective Wade. McKenzie, do you have everyone’s statements?”
    â€œNearly. A few more to go.”
    â€œOkay. Don’t let me keep you. Marcus and I will talk with Theo.”
    â€œGotcha, boss. I’ll let him in.”
    â€œDetective, sir? Please lock the door behind you,” Theo asked softly. McKenzie nodded at him. She was happy to see that McKenzie had established some rapport with these kids—it would help. In her experience, teenagers were a secretive lot.
    Marcus joined her, and she introduced him to Theo. He shook Marcus’s hand, then led them to a set of closed double doors. He fetched a key out of his front pocket, turned the lock and swung the right-hand door open. He allowed her to enter first, twisted his arm around the door frame to pull the chain on a floor lamp. The warm wooden space glowed in the soft light. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a ladder on rails leaned against the far wall. It smelled pleasantly of paper and leather, without a hint of must.
    Theo turned on a few more lights, then stood calmly by a large rosewood desk with a leather top. He saw Taylor looking at the books, waved nonchalantly toward the shelves.
    â€œMy father is a collector. He owns the Classics Bookstore in Franklin. He does some work with the public, but his passion, his occupation, is with serious collectors overseas. He’s at a conference in Geneva right now. My mom’s with him. They had their eyes on a first-edition Hemingway. They’re supposed to be bidding on it at auction tonight. Dad thinks he can get it for a steal. He’s got a client in Toronto willing to pay through the nose for it.” He broke off. “I’m sorry, I must be boring you. I forget that not everyone is a bibliophile. I’m hoping to take the store over for him one day.”
    â€œActually, that’s not boring at all. I love books. And I’d love to hear more about what your dad does. I’m familiar with his store, actually. But that will have to wait for another time. Can we sit?”
    There were two large leather chairs facing a cognac-colored sofa in the center of the room. Theo nodded, took a seat on the sofa. He hardly seemed like an eighteen-year-old whose best friend had just died. His presence was comforting her.
    Marcus went to the bookcase, trailing his fingers along the spines, and Taylor arranged herself in one of the chairs with her notebook.
    â€œSo, Theo. Xander was your best friend. How many of the victims do you know personally?”
    â€œFrom what I’ve heard about who was killed, all of them.”
    â€œWho have you heard about?”
    â€œJerry King, Ashley