Page 71 of Good Girls Lie
“You think she killed herself?”
“Didn’t she?”
Silence fills the room, and a chill moves down my spine. What is going on here?
Becca says, “Wait, you think someone killed her?”
“We don’t know anything yet. Dean, can we speak with Camille’s other friends?”
“Certainly. Ash, do you feel comfortable going back to your room?”
“Unfortunately, Dean, we need to spend some time in the deceased’s room, have our evidence techs go over it,” Sheriff Wood says, and the implication is clear. They don’t believe me. They are going to take apart the room, my life. My heart begins to thunder in my chest. I run through the items in my closet and drawers that could get me in trouble. The cigarettes. The bag with the calamine. The note. Oh, God, the note.
I cast a panicked glance at Becca, who draws me close.
“She can stay with me tonight, Dean. I’ll make her a bed on my sofa.”
“Oh, thank you, Becca. That’s a great help. I’ll see you two in the morning. No wandering now, straight to bed with you both. Becca, I trust you can get the remainder of the seniors to their rooms, as well?”
The dean practically throws us out the door. I follow Becca. I’m almost to the hallway when the female detective says, “Hey. Hold on.”
I stop. “What?”
“Your shirt. Come here.”
I have seen this cold, calculating look in a law enforcement officer’s eye once before. When the police sat me down for a chat about my mother’s death.
“Were you aware...?”
“Are you sure...?”
“Why didn’t you...?”
“Come with us...”
The detective spins me away and I can feel a hand on the hem of my pajama shirt. Lifting it.
I fight the urge to bolt, though I’ve done nothing wrong. Are they going to arrest me? Handcuff me? Is this all over already?
“What is it?”
The dean’s voice sounds weird, strangled, hushed. “Ash. How did you tear your shirt?”
44
THE PREDICAMENT
I try to look over my shoulder. “What do you mean? It’s torn?”
“There’s a piece missing from your shirt.”
The tone of the room has changed. I face the police and the dean, all three of whom are leaning toward me.
“I wasn’t aware there was a rip in my shirt.”
“Where, exactly, have you been tonight?” This from the detective, who has gone on alert, enhancing her resemblance to a raptor. Becca squeezes my hand even tighter.
“You two an item?” the detective suddenly asks.
