Blind Spot (23 page)

I stared at the screen as Jonathan disconnected. How could he mess with people’s lives as if they were nothing?

Slowly I let my breath out.

How could I?

Not anymore. I flipped my phone open and called Detective King.

“You understand,” Detective King said when I’d finished explaining about the fire, “you’re admitting to a crime.”

“I know.” We were sitting in her office with my mother. “I understand.”

“Okay, I’m going to go talk to the fire investigator and the officers questioning Jonathan and your friends. Is there anything else before I go?”

“Greg didn’t steal Jonathan’s car. It was towed from the fire lane. Jonathan knew Greg was there—and he knew the car proved he was at the fire—so he said Greg stole it. But Greg drove his own car to Heather’s—ask Fritz. Greg picked him up.”

“Okay,” the detective said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Mom glared at me as Detective King left the room. “Every time I turn around, you’re in trouble. A fire, Rozzy? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Mom, I didn’t—”

“Save it!” She whipped out her phone and started texting. “Now I need to find someone to work for me. God knows how long we’ll be here.”

Detective King returned fifteen minutes later. “Roswell, you said you didn’t arrive at the apartment building with Jonathan. You took the bus?” When I nodded, she said, “What time did you arrive?”

“I don’t know. The bus dropped me off at the corner around four thirty, maybe? I walked to Heather’s from there. Greg would know. He commented on how late I was.”

Detective King frowned. “That’s the problem. He said you arrived a lot later than he’d expected, and that he had offered you a ride, which you refused.”

I ignored my mother’s snort. “Because we were arguing.”

“Well, unfortunately Jonathan is not corroborating your story. He claims he was with Ethan Baker at ShopCo when his car was stolen. Now, the report didn’t actually come in until after the fire alarm went off, but—”

“Because he was there! Ethan too. They set the fire.”

“No.” Detective King shook her head. “Ethan Baker was working the entire time at ShopCo. His manager confirmed that with his time card. And several people remember seeing Jonathan there too.”

“He could’ve slipped out without his manager knowing!” I said. “And those could be their friends, or people who remember seeing them before or after the fire, and are assuming they were there the whole time!”

“Maybe, but no one saw either boy at the apartment building, Roz, just the Corvette.”

“Well that’s something, right?” I said.

“It would be if he hadn’t reported it stolen.”

“
After
the fire was set,” I said.

“That only means Jonathan noticed it was stolen at that time. With the witnesses placing both boys in ShopCo during that time frame, it looks as if it could have been stolen and the thief drove it to the apartment building.”

“So what’re you saying exactly?” Mom asked.

“I’m saying that while we know Greg Martin did not steal Jonathan’s car, it looks as though it may indeed have been stolen. Which means”—Detective King leaned forward, folding her hands neatly on the desk—“there’s not a shred of evidence that proves those two boys were involved in the fire. Right now, Roz is our only suspect.”

“But I didn’t start the fire!”

“But you confessed to being involved, and because you arrived late, alone, after refusing your friend’s offer to drive you, it’s plausible that you set the fire before entering the Torreses’ apartment.”

“No!” Telling the truth was supposed to set me free; instead I was scrambling to save myself. “Look, I got off the bus and walked to the apartment. It takes at least ten minutes to walk that distance. How could I have had time to set a fire?”

“Which bus did you take?”

“The six. I got on at Park and Renton.”

“That route passes ShopCo, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah?” Her meaning hit me. “I didn’t steal his car! I don’t even know how to drive—”

“We both know that’s not true,” Detective King said.

“No, now that
is
true,” Mom piped up. “She’s blind. She’ll never be able to drive.”

I cringed.
Of all the times to back me up, she picks now?
Detective King was looking at me. “You never told your mother?”

I shook my head as Mom said, “Told me what?”

“I ticketed your daughter a few months ago for driving without a license,” Detective King said. “She wrecked Greg Martin’s car.”

“What?” Mom leaped out of her chair. “You crashed someone’s car? You can’t drive, Roswell! What is going on in that head of yours?”

“Ms. Braylor—Priscilla—please, sit,” Detective King said.

“Okay, so I tried to drive!” I said. “But you saw me! I rammed his car into that light pole! You think I’d try that again? With Jonathan’s
Corvette?
”

“What I saw,” Detective King said carefully, “was you driving—yes, you weren’t doing a good job of it, I can vouch for that—but you
were
driving. For all I know, you could’ve been practicing since then and got better.”

“But—ugh!” I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration and slumped back in my chair. “I didn’t steal his car.”

“Okay,” Detective King said. “Then let’s try to confirm your story. How about the bus. Did anyone get off with you? Did you talk to the driver or any passengers? Someone who can verify where you got off the bus and when?”

I’d been too preoccupied. I barely remembered the ride, let alone any passengers. I could’ve been sitting next to Big Foot and I wouldn’t have noticed. “No.” I slumped farther in my chair. “I don’t remember anyone.”

Mom was shaking her head. “You’ve finally done it. Always bent on doing your own thing instead of what’s best for you. Are you happy with yourself now?” She looked at Detective King. “Are there any special considerations for disabled kids? An insanity plea or something?”

“Mom, I’m not disabled—and I’m not insane!”

“She hasn’t been charged—” Detective King said.

“If her story doesn’t check out, she will be. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible, yes. After all, she did confess. Normally that
would
be enough to arrest her, but”—she turned back to me—“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. You did come to me, and so far, I have no reason to believe you aren’t telling the truth. What I don’t understand, Roz, is why you wanted into the apartment. What were you hoping to find?”

“Proof he’s guilty, like Tricia’s cloak or that photo I saw.”

Detective King took a sip of coffee. “I’m still investigating. Don’t you trust me to find the answers?”

I shrugged. “Dellian’s trying to make Jonathan look guilty. He already has you believing Jonathan sold Tricia drugs.”

“Jonathan isn’t a suspect. He’s a person of interest, but so is half this town.”

“If he’s not a suspect, why did you tell him to get a lawyer?”

“Is that what he told you?”

I stared at her ear, taking in the puzzled frown on her face. “I thought that’s what he said.” Doubt began to take over. I couldn’t be sure of anything Jonathan had said, could I? He’d lied about being involved with the fire, lied about being a suspect. What else was he lying about?

“While you two were plotting illegal activities to find evidence against your teacher, I was following up on information you gave me.” She sat back against her desk chair. “Would you like to know what I found, or would you prefer to break some more laws to get the information yourself?”

“I want to hear what you found,” I muttered.

“First of all, the only relationship Rodney Dellian had with Tricia Farni was as her brother-in-law.”

“Brother-in-law?”
My mouth fell open.

“Yes, apparently he told the officer this when he and Abbey reported Tricia missing, although it never went into the report. I’m not happy about that at all.”

I didn’t care about police reports and missing information. “What about the baby?”

“Tricia’s niece. Rodney and Abbey are separated. Tricia was the go-between to keep things civil.”

What? No, there had to be something between them. “So he had an excuse to be around Tricia. That doesn’t mean they weren’t involved. What about the photo?”

“He claims he’s never seen it, that if there is one, it was created digitally by you and Jonathan to get back at him. It seems you both have issues? You’ve been suspended for truancy, and Jonathan has been benched for grades?”

“He’s lying! I mean, that’s true about our issues, but I saw the photo in his desk!”

“Right now, it’s your word against his. No one else has seen it.”

I sighed, defeated. “I suppose he lied about being there that night too?”

“Actually, he said she did call, hysterical, needing a ride. But he couldn’t find her when he got there; after looking a while, he went to get Abbey. They returned, still couldn’t locate her, and that’s when they reported her missing.”

I sat up. “No! I
know
he found her that night!”

She tilted her head in surprise. “How do you know?”

“Because, you know, he said he knew about the loft thing.” I wanted so badly to tell her the truth, to tell her Dellian had been there when Tricia attacked Jonathan and me. But I couldn’t without admitting I’d lied, admitting we’d fought, and admitting I actually couldn’t remember any of it.

“She could’ve told him that over the phone when she called for the ride,” Detective King said. “It doesn’t mean he saw her.”

“I guess so,” I said. But he
had
seen her. He’d been there for the fight.

I knew why
I
was lying. Why was Dellian?

My first day back from suspension, I tore through Chance High’s usual mob of colors and smells with my war face on, but no one bothered me. Maybe the rumor mill hadn’t been briefed on how I’d set fire to Dellian’s apartment building? When I noticed a glittered wall-length
PROM
!!! sign, however, I figured everyone probably did know and didn’t care. Finding a date before the deadline was more important than fires, burglaries, and a dead drug addict.

I ripped at my locker handle, expecting it to open. My fingers jammed into the locked metal, ripping two fingernails backwards. Dammit! I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find Greg before class.

With my face pressed against the cold surface, I frantically turned the dial. The more I tried to hurry, though, the more I fumbled. Over and over, I dialed wrong.

I snatched my magnifier from my backpack, not caring who saw me. The bulky glass fit over the dial, enlarging the numbers, but I had to remove it to turn the knob.
Ugh!
I threw the glass into my bag and went back to searching out the numbers the hard way.

On about the fifteenth combination attempt, I got it. I threw the door open and tossed my stuff inside. There was Ruth’s yearbook on the bottom where I’d left it. I hadn’t looked at Renny’s picture. I would today, with Ruth.

On the way to first hour, I searched the halls for Greg, even though I knew if I found him now, I wouldn’t have enough time to talk. I didn’t want to be rushed. I still wasn’t sure what to say.

Would he ignore me or lecture me? Lecture, I hoped—a scathing, bruising lecture. I deserved that. But if he ignored me—looked through me as if I didn’t exist in his world any­- more—I couldn’t take that. It would mean he’d given up on me.

The
whoosh
of wheels on tile caught my attention. Fritz. God, how I’d humiliated him. Hanging from Mr. Dellian, helpless and scared. I didn’t deserve forgiveness, but he certainly deserved an apology. I hurried around the corner to catch him.

I ran into Ratner instead. “Roswell, come with me.”

Not again! What now? I reluctantly followed him into his office.

“There are serious allegations against you, most of which are not my jurisdiction. However . . .” He picked up his phone. “Miss Glendale? Please send in the officers.”

Officers? What was going on?

The door opened. Detective King and a man in a gray business suit entered. The man stepped over to me. “Roswell Hart?”

The saliva glands in my mouth stopped working. “Yes?” I croaked.

“You’ve been served.” He handed me a piece of paper. “This is a restraining order. You are not permitted to be within a three-mile radius of Mr. Rodney Dellian. If you and your parents have any questions, the number is printed on the bottom. Have a nice day.” He nodded at Principal Ratner and exited the room.

Restraining order? I stared at the paper blankly, the print too small to read. “What is this for?”

“Unfortunate it’s had to come to this,” Principal Ratner said. “I believe he’s filing charges against you as well.”

“For what? He’s the one—” I looked at Detective King. “Tell him!”

Detective King stepped forward. Principal Ratner held up his hand. “Allow me.” He turned back to me. “As I said before, most of the allegations against you are not my jurisdiction.” He paused. “However, after Mr. Dellian apprised me of this situation, he and I both felt it would be wise to search your locker, to be sure there were no explosives or weapons—”

“What? Why would I have weapons?”

Principal Ratner ignored me and went on. “So this morning we conducted a search of your locker and found this.” He pushed a clear plastic bag toward me.

“What is it?” A small green object was inside. It looked like—

Tricia’s pipe?

“It’s used for smoking drugs. Of course, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I frowned up at him. “But that’s not mine!”

“It was in your locker.” He handed the bag to Detective King. “Given this pipe and your other offenses—truancy, that field trip stunt you pulled,
arson
—I am expelling you.” Ratner nodded at Detective King. “We’re trying to reach her mother. When we do, I’ll send her to the station.”

“Station?” I looked from Ratner to Detective King. “But the pipe isn’t mine! Someone put it there! Probably Dellian, while he helped you search my locker.”

“Mr. Dellian wasn’t there,” Detective King said in a stern voice. “I was. With a warrant.”