Sidetracked-Kobo (6 page)

Laura slumped down at the table across from the detective, her dad on her right. Hands over her face.

“Laura, I know this is hard for you.” The detective kept his voice soft, as if he really cared, which made her all the madder. He didn’t know her, didn’t know her mother. He was just doing a job. The anger rattled around inside her, looking for a way to get out. Then, as suddenly as it came, it melted away, and all Laura felt was a pain black and deep enough to swallow her whole.

“Come on, honey.” Her dad’s voice sounded weathered and old. “He’s trying to help.”

Laura’s heart surged, feeling her father’s grief. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. She nodded. Took her hands away from her face.

Detective Standish leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

How could she talk about this? How could she put into words what she’d seen? Her throat was totally closed up. And once she could speak the words, they’d hang in the air, weight down the room. Echo back in her own ears.

Laura put her hands in her lap and squeezed them together, making them cramp. She forced all her emotion into those fingers until her throat had room to move. When words finally came out, they sounded flat in her ears.

Staring mindlessly at the table, she told them all she could think of. How she’d gotten off the bus and gone inside the house. How the door had been open. The footprints. The foot sticking out from the edge of the bed. The blood and …
everything.
When she was done, she glanced up at her dad. His face was white, heavily tracked with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. He managed the smallest of nods.

The detective watched her intently.

He started asking questions then. What time did she get off the bus? What time did she walk through the door? As if she’d checked her watch during every move she’d made.

“I don’t know. The bus usually drops me off around three-twenty. I walk up the block in a couple minutes.”

Weird things started flitting through her mind. That she wouldn’t be going to the prom. That now Matt wouldn’t ask her, after he heard what happened. And how stupid a prom was anyway, and why had she ever cared? She’d miss a million proms to have her mother back.

“Laura.” The detective laced his hands. “Do you have any idea who would want to do this?”

She shook her head. Her dad said the same thing. Nobody. Nobody would do this to Sally Denton. She was a nurse. She took care of people, and all the patients loved her.

“But you have to find out who it is.” Laura gripped the edge of the table. “You have to find who did this to her!”

“We will. I promise you that.”

As if it would do any good. As if it would bring her mother back. But this was the least Laura could do—see that her mother got justice.

Her dad stared across the room at nothing. “Was anything missing? Maybe it was a robbery …”

“We’re looking at the possibility,” Detective Standish said. “Did you notice anything missing, Laura?”

Yes. Breath from her mom. Blood—supposed to be in her veins, not on the carpet and everywhere.

Laura’s stomach lurched. She did a slow lean to her left—and threw up. Right there on the floor. When she was done she stared at the mess through watery eyes as if it had come from someone else.

“I want to go
home
.”

They had to move to a different ugly room while somebody cleaned up the first one.

By the time the detective was finally done with them, Aunt Nicky, Laura’s dad’s sister, was waiting to take them to her house. Her face looked red and splotchy. She hugged Laura and her dad hard, and they didn’t want to let each other go. The detective gave Laura’s dad his card and said he would be in touch with them.

“Please find who did this.” Dad’s voice was hoarse. “Please.”

“I will, sir. I will.”

Only hours later Laura would be back in that first interrogation room. The floor would be clean, the smell of vomit gone. And the detective wouldn’t be so friendly.

“You want something to drink, Laura?”

The detective was standing in the oppressive little police station room. Laura was sitting at the table in the same chair as before. This time her dad wasn’t with her. Detective Standish had pressed hard to talk to her alone. Said it was best. Would be the most helpful. Laura’s dad asked her if that would be okay. She’d nodded. What difference did any of this make?

“A Coke? Sprite?”

She hadn’t touched the first one he brought her, earlier that day. Why would she want one now? In fact she hadn’t eaten a thing for dinner, even though Aunt Nicky made broccoli and a salad, and Uncle Ted barbecued chicken. Her dad hadn’t eaten either. How could they, ever again?

Laura shook her head. At the moment she couldn’t feel the pain. Only the anger, rushing back out of nowhere. She wanted to hit something.

She clung to the anger. It was easier to feel than grief.

“Okay.” Detective Standish sat down and leaned his arms on the table. He still wore the same dull clothes.

“That’s a really ugly tie.” The words bounced out of Laura’s mouth before she could stop them. “My mom would dress you so much better.”

She stifled a cringe. Why had she said that? Good thing her dad wasn’t there. He’d have been really ticked. She’d never spoken like that to some adult she hardly knew.

Well, so what? She wasn’t Laura Denton anymore. This wasn’t her life. She was some other person filled with emotions that bubbled and flowed inside her like lava. Her veins felt so hot, her head so blazing, she was likely to say anything. How could anyone think when they felt like that? How could anyone be normal?

Maybe the anger wasn’t so great after all. She wished she didn’t feel anything. Better to be dead inside.

The detective didn’t seem the least bit shocked at her words. He ran his left hand down his tie. Laura noticed he didn’t wear a wedding ring. Maybe he was divorced. Maybe he didn’t have a wife to dress him. “Your mom was good with colors?”

Laura nodded. He waited for her to say more. She just stared at the table, pictures of her mom on the floor, all bloodied, running through her head.

At least the blood was now cleaned off her own hands. She’d scrubbed at the area around her nails to get it off. As for the long-sleeved blue T-shirt she’d worn that morning, she’d thrown it away in Aunt Nicky’s bathroom. But then the detective asked her dad to bring the shirt to the station, along with the jeans she had on. Dad had brought them in a plastic grocery bag. Now Laura’s dad sat outside in the station, waiting for her. Wondering what was going on. His face had a grayness that wouldn’t go away.

The detective cleared his throat. “All right. Let’s talk about this afternoon. We checked with the bus driver about what time he let you off. He said it was 3:20, like you told us. He’s sure about that. Said he happened to check his watch when you got off because he had a doctor’s appointment at 4:30.”

Laura kept her eyes on the table. It had a gouge in the wood. She ran a finger over it.

“But there’s one thing that doesn’t quite make sense to me, and I’m hoping you can explain it.”

Like she could explain any of this.

“You said it takes you only two or three minutes to walk to your house. You went straight there. And you said you noticed the front door was open, and you felt something was wrong. You went upstairs and found your mom. Called 9-1-1 right away. How long would you say you were in the house before you made that call?”

Laura closed her eyes, reliving. “A couple minutes.”

“You sure about that?”

She nodded.

The detective leaned back. Scratched the side of his neck. “Okay. Here’s the problem Your 9-1-1 call came in at three-thirty-six. That’s sixteen minutes after you got off the bus. If it takes you two to three minutes to get to your house, and it took another two to three minutes to make the call, that adds up to between four to six minutes.”

Laura could barely follow his logic. Her brain refused to do the math.

“You understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, Laura. What happened to the other ten minutes?”

She looked up at him blankly. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. Who cared about ten minutes anyway? Except that they were ten minutes in her old life. If she could just get them back now, relive them again.
Stay
in them …

“Can you try to remember for me, please?”

Suddenly the answer came. “Oh. I didn’t go in the house right away.”

“Where were you?”

“On the porch.”

“What were you doing?”

“Looking at catalogs of dresses.”

“Catalogs? Where did you get them?”

“From my backpack.”

“Why were you looking at them?”

Laura ran a hand over her face. She didn’t want to answer because it would sound so stupid. He would never understand, this dark man in his ugly tie who didn’t know her mom.

“Laura. This is important.”

“Why?”

He spread his hands. “I need to understand every minute of what happened.”

She sighed. “I was looking at pictures of prom dresses.”

“For ten minutes?”

Had she taken that long? She shrugged. “I guess.”

“How many pictures did you look at?”

How stupid was this? “I don’t know.”

“Why were you looking at them?”

No. Huh-uh. This man did not need to know about her private life. About Matt and the prom and her dreams and everything. How could he possibly understand? He couldn’t even dress himself right.

“Laura. I need you to talk to me.”

She shot him a hard look. “Kylie gave me the catalogs, okay?”

“Who’s Kylie?”

“My best friend.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Russo.”

“Spell it for me.”

Laura spelled it.

“Do you have her phone number?”

Of course she had her phone number, what kind of dumb question was that?

“Would you give it to me, please?”

Laura gave him the number. “You going to call her?”

“I might.”

“Why?”

“I may need to talk to her about giving you the catalogs.”

“Why?”

He patted his fingers against the table. “Let’s just talk about you, okay? Tell me about looking at the pictures of the prom dresses.”

Laura’s neck muscles felt like rocks. She stretched her neck to one side, then the other. “Fine.” She told him about the dresses. He wanted to know more, pushing and pushing. He tried to sound nice, but it ticked her off all the same. Still, in the end she told him. She had to—he wouldn’t let up. She talked about wanting to go to the prom with someone—she wouldn’t say who. And how Kylie and she had talked about dresses and gathered pictures.

“So you stopped on your porch before going into the house, and you looked at these pictures?”

“Yeah.”

“And you did that for ten minutes?”

Hadn’t she already answered this? “I guess. I wasn’t watching the time.”

The detective nodded slowly. “You told me the front door was standing open. And when you saw that it seemed odd to you.”

Laura’s stomach felt so empty. A big cavern that could never be filled. Like the rest of her. “Yeah. Didn’t look right. Mom never leaves the door hanging open.”

Mom never leaves …
She’d said it like her mom was still alive. The thought froze her. How could she start talking in
past tense
about her mom?

“And you went in just after seeing the door standing open?”

“Yes.”

“So … the ten minutes you were on the porch, looking at the catalogs—all that time you didn’t see that the door was open?”

Oh. Laura frowned. “I guess not.”

“Your porch isn’t very big. You must have been close to the door.”

“Yeah. But I was leaning against one of the pillars. Not really facing the door.”

“I see. Why didn’t you tell me this the first time we talked?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”

“You said you told me everything that happened.”

“Well, I just forgot, okay? My mind was a little full.”

He nodded. A long moment of silence ticked by. “Another thing that bothers me, Laura. There was no sign of forced entry on that front door.”

So? The door wouldn’t have been locked. It never was when her mom expected her to come through it from school.

“What do you have to say about that?”

Laura only shrugged. The answer should be obvious.

The detective folded his arms. “Anything else you haven’t told me?”

His voice had changed. Something a little … edgier. Laura eyed him. “No.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t think so.”

He looked at her some more.

“Why? Is there something else you’re thinking about?”

He gestured beneath the table. “The shoes you’re wearing. Are they the same ones you wore to school today?”

Her
shoes?
They were just regular sneakers, one of three pairs she owned. These were blue. “Yeah.”

“You sure about that?”

“Why would I change my shoes?”

“Okay.”

“My dad brought you my shirt and jeans, like you wanted.”

“Yes. Thanks for that.”

Her mouth hardened. “You want my shoes too? And all the rest of my clothes?”

Not that she could get to them. They were in her house—the house she couldn’t even go into.

“I will need your shoes.”

“The ones I’m wearing?”

“Yes.”

“You want to take the shoes I’m wearing off my feet?”

“I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Will I get them right back?”

“I’m afraid I’ll need to keep them.”

What?
Why was he doing this to her? Laura folded her arms. “And just what shoes am I supposed to wear? Since you won’t let me in my house to get another pair.”

“I’ll go in and get you whatever pair you like.”

“I like the ones I have on.”

“I’m sorry, Laura. I know this is hard for you.”

Laura shoved back her chair and thrust to her feet. “You don’t know
anything!
You have
no idea
how I feel! I just lost my mom, and now you want to take my clothes and shoes? What’s
wrong
with you?”