Page 53 of Don't Say a Word
She told them, not knowing why this was important.
“And then?”
“I started walking home. I had to pass the school. I saw police cars, so I called my friend Gina. She picked me up and I went to her house for dinner. She took me home around eight. We sat in the car for a while talking.”
“Gina Martinelli,” Mrs. Webb told the two detectives.
Great, the police were going to talk to Gina, and then her mom and dad, and maybe they wouldn’t let Angie come over anymore. This day, thisyear, couldn’t get any worse. Chris went to college, Elijah was killed, and her last remaining friend would be forbidden to see her.
King said, “Did you see anyone when you were leaving Mrs. Clark’s office?”
“I told you. Mr. Borel. And there were some kids hanging around in the courtyard, but I don’t know who. And the people coming in when I was leaving, I didn’t see them. One might have been Mrs. Clark—I heard the jingle of jewelry or something, she always wears a lot of necklaces and bracelets and stuff. But I didn’t talk to her.”
King and Chavez exchanged a look, then King said, “We may have more questions, but you can go now.”
Angie grabbed her backpack and left as fast as she could without running. Had she just made everything worse?
She didn’t want to go back to class. She walked out, ignoring Mrs. Villines calling after her. She walked down the street to the bus stop.
They thought she killed Mrs. Clark. King didn’t like her, that was totally obvious.
Well, she didn’t care. Angie wasn’t going to take back anything she’d said.
She didn’t know what to do. Maybe she shouldn’t have talked to the police at all, but she didn’t think she’d had a choice. Could she have refused? Asked for a lawyer or something? She almost laughed. With what money? They hadn’t arrested her or read her any rights. That had to mean something.
She didn’t know. She didn’t like crime shows; they were depressing. She liked to read, but mostly fantasy. Nothing real.
Nothingfeltreal right now.
The bus came—it wasn’t the one that went straight down to the Central Library, but Angie got on it anyway. It was too hot towait for the right bus, so she’d have to transfer, but that would give her time to think.
Angie pulled out her phone and saw a series of text messages from Chris that she had ignored last night.
Call me.
You’re being stubborn. I know you don’t want to be my girlfriend anymore, I get it even if I disagree with all your reasons and think you’re wrong. But I’ll always be your friend. Call me, tell me what happened to Elijah.
Then, late last night, he texted:
omg I just heard about Mrs. Clark. Angie, are you awake? Please call.
An hour later he sent a final message.
I still love you—even though you are totally stubborn and impossible to communicate with. I hate when you ignore me. If you don’t want to talk to me, call Benny—he’s your friend too.
She leaned back in the corner of the bus and thought about Chris, Benny, Elijah, and how everything fell apart.
She’d do anything to go back six months to when she thought her life was nearly perfect. Before her mother brought home yet another asshole to live with them. Before Elijah started working. Before she told Chris they had to break up.
Before Elijah died and Mrs. Clark was murdered.
Chapter Seventeen
Margo Angelhart
Lenny’s has a classic diner vibe with lots of stainless steel, clean black-and-white-checkered floors, and red vinyl seats. They only did one thing: burgers. And they did them really, really well.
I arrived first and ordered for both Rick and me—one thing about Rick was that he was predictable about his food. We’d eaten here together dozens of times over the years and he always got the Cowboy Burger.
