Page 18 of Better Watch Out

“That’s actually why we’d like to talk to you.” He tries so hard to sound friendly, but I can hear the seriousness in Ramirez’s words. “You live in Illinois, right? Near Springfield?”

I’m already nodding, looking at him in confusion. “Yeah, basically. Did something happen back home?”

“And this is your stepbrother Boone Pryce, right?” Ramirez glances at Boone, then over at the overlook. “And I take it that’s Fletcher Pryce?”

Boone and I trade another look and he nods. “Yeah, detective. I’m Boone, that’s Fletch. Is something wrong? Our parents are okay, right?” I’m not sure if he’s really concerned, but he’s certainly doing a good job of convincing me of that.

“Your parents are fine, Mr. Pryce.” Harding’s words are sharp, cracking like a whip in the cold air. “We’re not here to talk to you or your brother. Could you give us a few minutes alone with Miss Maxwell?”

Uh oh.That feels bad on all counts. Like I’ve done something wrong and I’m going to be dragged away to jail. We trade another look and I fight not to try and sign an SOS to Fletcher. For all that I really don’t like him anymore—and I certainly don’t trust him—it’s undeniable that he’s the best of us in complicated situations.

But he only leans on the rail, elbows braced on it, and stares up at the sky without a care in the world. I’m jealous as hell, quite frankly.

Boone’s footsteps are his answer, crunching down snow as he meanders his way toward his adopted brother. I watch him go, trying not to seem antsy or on edge, before turning to look back at the detectives. “I will totally admit to being nervous,” I tell them with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, but you both have me questioning my life choices.”

Harding looks ready to speak, but Ramirez gets there first. “You really haven’t done anything wrong,” he promises gently. “We just want a chance to talk to you away from…”—his head turns just enough that I can tell he’s looking at the boys—“outside influences. We want to hear your real answers, not the ones you might give around those who know you.”

I can’t help but think that’s an interesting way to say I might lie in front of my stepbrothers, and my heart twists nervously in my chest while I try to work through what they might want to ask. Surely they can’t think I know anything about the murders, right? I have a solid alibi of being intherapythat day. Which I only know because I was in therapy almost every day last December.

“Okay,” I murmur finally, dipping my head in acknowledgment. “That makes sense. Umm. What can I do for you both?” It sounds so cheesy, like it’s out of a movie, but they don’t groan or crack a joke. Harding doesn’t even attempt to smile like her partner does.

“You attended Southern Illinois University, correct?” The question catches me off guard, and I look at Ramirez with confusion plain on my face.

“I…Yeah, umm. I graduated a year and a half ago.” There’s nothing there I could’ve done wrong, I don’t think. And if I had, surely it would’ve caught up to me before now. But I still can’t help shuffling through my memories to figure out what this might be regarding.

“We saw that in your school records, they noted you had to leave for a few weeks during the spring of your senior semester. That you might have sought inpatient medical care.” Harding’s words are sharp and pointed, pricking me like thorns as I turn to look at her with my shoulders hunched protectively.

“Right,” I agree quietly. “That uh, that happened.”

“Could you tell us about the incident?” Ramirez tries to sound soft, concerned and comforting. Instead he just sounds manipulative.

“Why?” I’m starting to dislike the two of them, especially Ramirez and his act of amicability. I almost prefer Harding, with her refusal to pretend to be a nice cop. “Look, I…I dealt with it, okay? And since you’ve read up on me, you’ll know I was in an inpatient psychiatric center for two weeks that spring, and I’ve been in therapy ever since.” My words are just as sharp as Harding’s, and I clench my hands in my pockets as I watch them.

Surprisingly, Ramirez lifts his hands in friendly surrender, smiling in a way that makes my stomach turn. “You’re right. We have no right to dig around in your past. Especially a past that clearly still affects you.”I hate him.“We’re only asking becausethe victims from last year’s murder here attended SIU as well, around the same time as you. Do you know anything about that?”

Again I shake my head. “No.” My tone is flat, and certain. “Look, after I had to take a break that spring, I just wanted to get out of there. I dropped most of my friendships, you can ask my therapist. I worked hard on just focusing on my grades to graduate on time. It was difficult after being gone for a few weeks.” It hadn’t really been difficult, but I figure I’ll throw it out there in hopes of garnering some sympathy. “So, no. I had no idea the victims attended SIU at some point.”

But now I’m curious as hell, and I can’t help the prickle ofsomethingthat travels up my spine. Why would Fletcher and Boone kill people who went to the same college as me?

Then again, why did they break the leg of the boy I had a crush on in high school? There’s probably not a real answer to the question, except to get back at me or hurt me in some way. “What were their names?”

The two of them don’t answer. I’d thought they would, I thought they’d want to see my reaction in case it’s someone I’d met once or twice.

“What are you doing up here today, Miss Maxwell?” It’s Harding that speaks, and when I turn to face her she doesn’t look away or say anything else.

“This is the trail my dad used to take me on the most.” I drop my gaze to stare at my boots. It’s the truth, though not the truth for my reason to be here today. “This was supposed to be the year we reconnected. Before you ask, I left when I graduated high school. Things weren’t so great between us and I felt…alone. He and my step-mom, their mother, planned Christmas up here at the house this year, but their flight got canceled.” I don’t mind telling them this part, because it’s true and innocent.

And it gives me a reason for my actions they surely can’t refute. “I miss Dad. And I was just feeling lonely this morning. This is where I have a lot of good memories.” And some bad ones, like Dad talking to me about my mom who I barely remember. We’d sat in that lean-to and had so many chats while overlooking the lake that I’m sure some of the worn bench is that way because of my butt’s continued visits throughout the years.

“I just feel sort of closer to him here, even when he’s not around.” I give them both a quick, nervous smile. “And they came up here to find me and make sure I was okay. They know shit’s been sort of hard recently.”

“I see.” Ramirez turns to study Fletcher and Boone, and I fight not to look over as well. It would look weird if I can’t trust them just to make eye contact. So instead, I stand there with the cold starting to seep into my skin and discomfort radiating through me. I’m sotired, I realize. Though that’s unsurprising with how my night went.

“I’m hoping we can find time to have a real conversation soon. Maybe after Christmas?” The words make my attention snap back to the two detectives, to find Ramirez is doing that fake-friendly smile of his again. “Maybe somewhere that we can chat without influence. I’m sure it’s hard when you want your family to think the best of you.”

What does that mean?

I’m already nodding as I shift my feet in the snow, trying to avoid an avalanche around the fuzzy tops of them that close in around my calves. I hate having wet socks, and cold socks. My toes will freeze and that’s just a crap reminder of how easy it is to go fromcoldto frostbite. “Whatever you want, detectives.” I’m not faking my confusion as I speak. “I guess…Well, you know where I’m staying. Just let me know what I can do to help?”

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