Page 155 of Summers at the Saint
He gestured at a door with a window in the middle. “He’s waiting for you. We’ll be watching through a one-way mirror on the other side, and recording the interview. We don’t believe Parkhurst is violent, so he’s not handcuffed. But if you feel uncomfortable or threatened, just tell him the interview’s over, and we’ll come in immediately.”
“No handcuffs?” Traci frowned. “What if he…”
“He won’t,” Shapley said. He pointed at the window into the room. “Look at him. He hasn’t slept, won’t touch the food he’s been given. He’s a whipped dog.”
Shapley’s description was apt. KJ was dressed in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit withBONAVENTURE COUNTY JAILstenciled across the front. It was probably the cheapest logoed clothing item he’d ever worn. He was unshaven, his hair greasy and stuck to his head. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and the black eye he’d sported last night, plus the bruised jaw, were turning purplish green.
“Ready?” Shapley asked.
Traci took a deep breath. “I guess.”
KJ had been slumped down in the chair with his eyes closed, but when she entered the room, he sat up straight.
“Hi, KJ,” Traci said. She was so nervous her palms were sweating, her pulse racing. Her voice came out high and squeaky, like a cartoon mouse.
“Mrs. E. You came.”
She sat in the chair across from him at the table and waited.
KJ stared down at his lap. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For everything that happened. You were nice to me. Treated me right. I feel real bad about all of it.”
“All of what?” she said impassively.
“You know.” He raked his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere except at her.
“You mean the fire? At the dorm?”
“Yeah. That and all the other stuff. I’m not like that. Really, I’m not. I’ve never been in any trouble before. Well, no serious trouble.”
Because you’re a Saint—a rich white kid who never had to take responsibility for his actions,Traci thought.
“Then how did you get mixed up with Garrett and Charlie Burroughs?”
He looked up, surprised. “You know about Charlie?”
“Some of it, but I was hoping you’d tell me.”
His cheeks bloomed crimson. “They were blackmailing me. I didn’t have a choice.”
“They figured out you were gay?”
Now he looked right at her. “You knew?”
“I guessed.”
“That bitch Marcie figured it out. She saw me leaving the Back Porch.”
“The gay club in town?”
“Yeah. It was Wild West night. I was just having a little fun. But she spotted me and let Burroughs know. Pretty sure she’s sleeping with him. One day I was working in the boutique, and pricing some really expensive sweaters. The count was way off. When I told her, she said I better mind my own business. That’s when she told me she’d seen me at the Back Porch and I should keep my mouth shut unless I wanted my granddad to know I was a friggin’ faggot.”
The words sent a chill down Traci’s spine. Marcie Meadows had worked at the Saint for at least five years. She was hardworking and efficient, great at merchandising the shop, and fabulous as a saleswoman, and also as a thief, apparently.
“So, it started with the thefts. Clothing from the boutique? What else?”
“Everywhere, really. Garrett sold cases of booze out of the trunk of his car, to people in town. And he’d let his buddies drink free at the Saint, or get them comped rooms at the hotel, so he could eat and drink free at bars and restaurants in town.”
“And Charlie? What was his department?”
