Page 49 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
She gives a quick shake of her head. No. That’s fair. I suppose it mirrors how I feel about this, too. No. Not now, not today, not ever. But like her, I don’t have a choice about it.
“How about we go get some ice cream at the shop downtown?” Mateo suggests.
Paige cuts a glance up at him. It’ll be better if she’s not here for whatever happens next. Better for her to be away from the thick tension in the house.
I’m torn between not wanting to let her out of my sight and not wanting her to be here while I’m being questioned. Interviewed. Interrogated.
Whatever you call it when you’re not a suspect…
But maybe I am a suspect.
“You can get extra chocolate syrup,” I tell her. “And all the sprinkles you want. We’ll be waiting for you when you get home. I’ll wait on the front porch.”
“Do you promise?” she whispers, barely audible.
“I swear.” A small part of me thinks something big might happen. Joe Causey might announce that they have proof I’m responsible for the fire. He might arrest me before she gets back. No, that’s crazy. “Right by the door. I’ll be waiting when you get back.”
Paige hesitates, and so does my heart. I can’t walk away from her if she melts down. And I can’t hold her on my lap while I face Joe Causey.
“Okay.” She takes a tiny step toward Mateo.
He lets out a breath. “Extra chocolate syrup it is.”
“And sprinkles,” I hear her reminding him, her voice only a shadow of its usual strength.
They leave the inn, and I have no choice but to go into the room.
A rectangular table sits in the middle of the room, pulled away from the wall where it normally rests. It’s innocuous, usually. A place to play the chess game that normally sits there. Somewhere to set down a cup of tea while you read a book.
Now it’s become the center of the room with chairs on either side.
It’s a dark-stained wood instead of stainless steel, but I can still imagine it as an interrogation room. Especially with Joe Causey giving me a cool, assessing look over the surface.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mendoza,” he says with fake politeness.
Or maybe it’s real politeness. Maybe I’m overly suspicious because of all the cops I saw dragging children out of their family homes, taking them away from the mothers who were working the only jobs they could, stripping or prostituting themselves or selling drugs, to feed their children. And then the irony is, the government would give money to the foster parents. They wouldn’t help an actual family stay together, but they’d supplement some random alcoholic’s liquor fund if he had a spare bedroom. What kind of system was that?
I saw cops take sixteen-year-olds to jail when what they really needed was a hot meal and a mentor. I saw cops shoot foster kids in the street for doing nothing at all while rich kids were on TV getting off on theft and manslaughter.
Logically I know that some cops are good, but the problem is that when you’re faced with one of them, there’s no way to tell whether this is one of the good ones or not.
“Hello,” I say, my tone wary. I stand at the door.
The first man I notice is Edward Basil, the lawyer who showed up this morning. He has a fatherly air and kind eyes. He sat with me for a few minutes before Causey arrived. Just tell the truth. If you don’t remember something, say you don’t remember. If he asks you questions quickly, you can take as much time as you need to answer. He’ll want it to seem like he’s in charge, but really you run the show, Jane.
It was a nice sentiment, even if I can’t quite believe it.
Beau pulls out a chair for me. In his eyes I find reassurance and a sense of belonging. He may be Paige’s uncle, Paige’s guardian, but he’s my boss. He’ll protect me from this—whatever this is. “This shouldn’t take too long,” he says in a warning tone directed at the detectives.
Only then do I notice the other detective in the room. A woman with short blonde hair and a pinstripe pantsuit watches us. “Of course we don’t want to inconvenience you,” she says, her soothing tone a sharp counterpoint to Joe Causey’s dark gaze. She gives me a small, professional smile. “I’m Detective Nell Moss, and I believe you’ve met my partner, Detective Joe Causey.”
Maybe it’s a good cop/bad cop setup.
I slide into the seat that Beau holds out for me and place my hands on the table. That feels weird, so I shove them onto my lap instead. I can’t help but imagine bright lights on my face and cinder block walls. A camera recording my every move in the corner. And a one-way mirror where a prosecutor watches, ready to press charges. I know the inn is comfortable, cozy, but I can feel none of its warmth as the cops take seats opposite me.
