Page 48 of Coram House

“I can’t discuss an active investigation.”

Detective Garcia’s voice is ice, any vestige of patience gone. I have a flashback to that day in the car, leaving Rooney’s house. It’s exactly what Parker said when he warned me off talking to Rooney. Maybe he wasn’t trying to fob me off. Maybe he was trying to tell me they are taking me seriously. I risk a glance at Parker and he gives a tiny shrug, like he’s read my mind. I wish I could melt into the floor and ooze back into the potted plant in the lobby, hide under its yellowing leaves.

“Listen,” Parker says. “Like Detective Garcia said, Jeannette Leroy’s connection to Coram House wasn’t exactly a secret around here, but if it gets out into national news, our investigation is going to get a lot more difficult.”

Detective Garcia leans forward. “The last thing we need is a bunch of reporters getting in the way. And we will absolutely write you up if we find out you’ve said or done anything to compromise this investigation.”

I nod, mumbleyes, of course. The child with the marker, just grateful to be alive.

“Now, if that’s all, we’re late for something.”

Garcia stands without waiting for a reply.

“I can see her out,” Parker says. Garcia nods at him once, a curt thanks. Then she opens the door and leaves without a backward glance.

I cover my face with my hands. Parker clears his throat. “No, don’t say anything,” I mumble from behind my fingers.

“I did warn you to be careful.”

I drop my hands. For the first time, I notice that Parker isn’t in uniform. He’s wearing jeans and a collared shirt. Like he’s going to a party. The sympathy on his face makes me want to throw something at him.

“When you warned me about Fred Rooney, I thought you were just talking about him being”—I wave my hand in the air, trying to summon the right word—“a sketch ball.”

He presses his lips together. “He’s more than that.”

I think again of the way I rushed over here, riding to the rescue to tell them something they already knew. I cringe. “Okay, lesson learned.Can you please escort me out, so I can die of embarrassment in the parking lot where no one can see me?”

He stands and holds out his arm in an exaggerated, gallant gesture. “Right this way.”

I follow him to the side door. But before I can escape into the night, he holds out a hand. “Alex, I think it would be better if you didn’t come by here for a while.”

“Yeah. I got that. Loud and clear.”

“Just…” He pauses and gives me a sticky note with a phone number on it. “This is my personal cell. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

My surprise must show because he gives me a small, tired smile. “I’m your media liaison.”

I smile back, feeling marginally better. “Right. Thanks.”

Then I head back to my car, grateful for the slap of cold air on my hot cheeks.

Back home, I fill the kettle. Then I stab a block of ramen noodles over and over with a butter knife, breaking them apart. While I’m waiting for the water to boil, I sink onto the couch. The wood frame groans like I’ve gained a hundred pounds in a single day. I wait for the horrible feeling of humiliation to pass. I close my eyes, just for a second.

A phone ringing pulls me from a strange dream that I forget instantly, so I’m left only with the impression of dark water, the surface mirror-smooth. The screen of my phone lights up again. Stedsan, finally. I answer, hoping my voice isn’t full of sleep.

“Nice of you to call me back.”

“I didn’t realize it was an emergency.”

He sounds amused, but I hear the admonishment too.I don’t answer to you.I force myself to take a deep breath. “Did you know that Jeannette Leroy was Sister Cecile?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course.”

My anger is a geyser, shooting right up to the surface. “Jesus, Stedsan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That she was here! Or that the dead body I found in the woods four days ago was a fucking nun at Coram House.”

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