She was dry, empty. And this time, there was no one to run to. Katie was pregnant. And as for Rafe...
Well, she shouldn’t be considering running to Rafe. The trust still wasn’t there.
It wasn’t even six yet, but her whole class was in place. Instead of standing before their easels, they were sitting still at their desks. Gone were the smells of fresh paint, the sound of brushes dabbing on canvas and the quick intakes of breath as creations developed.
No one complained about the weather or not having enough time to get things done or the price of gas. No one made plans for the weekend. Typically, Amanda’s two interpreters would be joking with each other and watching something funny on their iPad. But they were silent, too. Two of her students, who’d quickly become a couple, should be comparing notes by now, debating whether to use watercolor or acrylic. Instead, they were far away from each other.
From the emails they’d sent her, she knew they all were aware of what was going on. Her re-creation of Derek’s art book was now both local and national news.
Janie no longer answered her cell without checking caller ID. She’d had eight people call to hire her as a muralist. Only one was serious. Six had been thrill seekers wanting gruesome details. One had suggested something Janie still blushed about.
The blinds were closed, per Detective Williamson’s order. Janie could hear the wind outside. It was the only sound in the room.
The detective stood at the front, a stern, silent, imposing man. He wouldn’t recognize a smile if it tapped him on the shoulder. She got the sense he wanted to believe that Derek’s art book was a hoax.
Detective Williamson cleared his throat and her students went still. Then, he began. “I’m Detective Nathan Williamson, and I’m investigating the death of Derek Chaney. Because of his participation in this class, we’re hoping you can help tie up a few loose ends. We’ll be doing interviews with all of you during tonight’s class. If you have something to share, don’t hesitate.”
Janie looked to the back of the room at Rafe. He probably didn’t realize that he could almost pass for a student, one sitting perfectly still and paying attention. Except Rafe’s attention was on her instead of Nathan.
He didn’t glance away when their eyes met.
Something fluttered in her stomach. He was too powerful, too in control. He was unlike any cop she’d ever met. He didn’t shy away from doing what he considered right, and he didn’t care what people thought of him. He tried to keep his word.
So far.
Because of him, his commitment to Brittney and to Janie’s own safety, she was willing to help. Detective Williamson, however, didn’t inspire her at all. He reminded her too much of the cops she’d run into in the past. The ones who believed that a twelve-year-old runaway didn’t know what was best for her.
Williamson was nothing like Rafe. The detective was by the book, impersonal. Her students, almost as one, leaned back in their seats as if distancing themselves from the man.
He started by mentioning Derek’s death and the concerns surrounding it, and no one seemed surprised. He segued into Brittney’s murder and Derek’s connections to it, and finished by mentioning Derek’s personal art books, including the one Janie and Rafe had found in his bedroom.
Everyone stared at Janie. The media hadn’t shared that.
Before he could continue, Janie’s youngest student, Amanda Skinley, who was also from Scorpion Ridge, let out a cry, followed by loud, hiccupping sobs.