Die Job(40)

Rachel burst through the door. At first, I thought she had a black eye, but then I realized her mascara had run because she was crying. Flinging herself onto the love seat, she buried her face in a throw pillow.

“Rachel! Honey!” Mom hurried to her side. “Whatever is wrong?”

Sobs were the only answer. Mom looked at me. “Grace, why don’t you make some tea. Put in some of that lemon honey I got at the farmer’s market last week.”

Mom thinks honey, especially in tea, is a cure for almost any emotional distress. She’d have done well to set up her own hive in the backyard when I was going through my divorce. I hurried back to the kitchen and put on the teapot, listening to Mom’s comforting murmurs. When I returned to the salon, bright yellow mug in hand, Rachel was sitting up, a pile of used tissues on the cushion beside her. Mom sat next to her, patting her hand.

When I handed Rachel the cheery mug, Mom said, “Tell us what’s wrong, honey.”

Blowing her nose, Rachel said, “Mkdz tink,” into the tissue.

“What?”

She looked up with tear-sheened eyes. “The kids at school think I pushed Braden.”

“No way!” I gasped.

“Way,” she said sadly.

Mom put her fists on her hips. “That is the meanest, ugliest, most hateful thing I’ve ever heard. And the most ridiculous!”

“Who said it?” I asked.

“Everyone,” Rachel said. She gulped some tea and coughed. “My friend Willow told me,” she added after Mom pounded her on the back. “Everyone’s saying that I was mad at Braden for, like, breaking up with me and so I pushed him. I was the one who was with him, so I’m the one that did it. Except I wasn’t with him—I was in the bathroom. And I would never have hurt him—I cared about him. He was my friend!” She looked wildly from Mom to me.

“Of course you didn’t do it,” Mom soothed.

“And that’s not the worst of it,” Rachel said. “The police think I did it, too!”

“The police? How did they find out?” I pulled up a hassock and sat in front of Rachel. The magnolia’s branches danced in the rising wind, casting faint shadows across the floor.

“One or more of the kids from the field trip told them about me and Braden breaking up and about how I was, like, his partner for the ghost hunt. They pulled me out of class today and, like, interrogated me for an hour!” She started to breathe in quick, shallow gasps, and I was afraid she’d hyperventilate.

“Deep breaths,” I said, demonstrating.

Beauty sauntered over, looked into Rachel’s distressed face, and jumped onto the girl’s lap. Rachel’s breathing calmed as she stroked the satisfied cat.

“Who talked to you?” I asked.

“Not Agent Dillon,” Rachel said. “Some other agent from the GBI. A woman.”

“Did she read you your rights?”

“No.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. “They don’t really consider you a suspect,” I told her, not sure they didn’t, but wanting to make her feel better. “If they did, they’d have had to Mirandize you.” I had learned a few useful things while married to Hank. “They were probably just trying to figure out where everyone was that night and who had alibis.”

“Well, I don’t,” Rachel pointed out. “I was in the bathroom. I could have pushed Braden, but I didn’t!”

“What were you doing when . . . the night that . . .” I was reluctant to put it in words.

“The night the werewolf smothered Braden?” Rachel asked.

I nodded.

“The GBI agent asked that, too. I told her I was in my room studying. She said I could’ve sneaked out of the house, ridden my motor scooter to the hospital, killed Braden, and gotten back without my folks even knowing I was gone. And, like, I could have, because they were out to dinner. But I didn’t!” Tears welled again and Mom silently offered the tissue box.

Anger snaked its way from the pit of my stomach to my chest and made it hard to breathe. I was going to have it out with Agent Dillon before the day got much older. His agents didn’t need to terrify an innocent teenager to learn what happened to Braden.

“What about the other kids? Do you know where any of them were Sunday night?”

“The party.” Rachel sniffed.

“What party?”

“Ari Solomon had a Halloween party. Everyone went. I was supposed to—I had a Lady Gaga costume—but with Braden in the hospital . . .”

A Halloween party. Costumes. People coming and going. Great. I’d bet none of the kids had a decent alibi. No wonder Dillon was frustrated.