Page 25 of Defend Me

“Sure, I guess.” I don’t want to fight with her on this, but Mike is one of those guys who had posters of women in bikinis suggestively sprawled out on hot rods in his room when we were teens. Marion Everton was not his type.

I see Von writeMike?on her notepad and wonder if maybe I’m wrong. What do I know? It feels like the world I’d been so sure of is slowly unraveling.

“Did Isla tell you about?—”

“Mom confronting the stalker at the party?” Von says. “Yeah.”

We both pause for a moment. I wonder if Von is thinking the same thing I am. Wishing Marion had just told someone aboutthis guy. There were cops at that party. The sheriff could have done something.

“And you didn’t hear anything?” Von presses. “Or see anyone acting strangely?”

“Everyone was pretty drunk by that point,” I say.

“Including you?”

I shake my head. “I drove so I stopped drinking a couple hours before I left. I was training to be a deputy then and I kept a pretty rigid schedule. Plus, I wanted to get home to Pop.”

“What time did you leave the party?”

“I think a little after eleven thirty.”

“And how long was the drive back to your house?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes. I got home, took Penny out, brushed my teeth and went to bed.”

“Okay,” Von says, and my pulse kicks up a notch. “Now let’s talk about the morning she died.”

I knew we’d get here eventually but I still haven’t decided what exactly to say to Von about it.

“What time did you wake up that morning?” Von asks.

“Five am,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s early.”

“I told you. I was training to be a deputy. I knew I would be working graveyard shifts. I was constantly pushing myself, acclimating to lack of sleep, that sort of thing. Usually, I’d wake up and go for a run.”

Her eyes narrow. “Usually.”

I shift in my chair and Penny gives my knee a comforting lick. Pop told me to tell the truth. Which, I mean, obviously. I just wish it wasn’t Von I was telling the truth to. I don’t want to see that judgy look on her face.

Besides, I’m not sure anyone saw me outside that bar. So even if I do tell her the truth, I don’t know how that will be helpful.

But I’m not a liar. So I may as well get this over with.

Suddenly, I’m spared from answering by the arrival of theAsian man I saw in the courtroom yesterday. He’s impeccably dressed once again, in a dark blue suit and peach colored tie, and he steps out onto the deck then turns back to where Pop is standing.

“Thank you, Mr. Patterson,” he says.

“Can I get you a coffee, Mr. Ling?” Pop asks as he places a mug with the words#1 Grandpaon it in front of Von.

“That would be great,” the young man says with a Cheshire Cat smile. Pop disappears back inside, and the man turns to me. “God, it’s a fucking nightmare outside your house. Reporters everywhere. Hi. I’m Grayson Ling.”

He extends his hand and I shake it.

“Noah Patterson,” I say.

“Obviously.” He glances at Von. “Does he know about the papers?”

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