Cataldo doesn’t really know. I indulge her.
“Each of the elite schools can admit only so many Claflin students—two, maybe three,” I say. “The quota’s true of any high school, though Claflin has a higher acceptance rate than most. So, yeah, Avery would have thought Emma took her spot. The school is supposed to stop that kind of thing from happening, but…”
“Stop it how?” Now she’s interested. Her spine goes ramrod straight and she leans toward me. It would be effective at the police station, but the too-wide conference table renders her act ridiculous.
“The college counselor is supposed to only endorse specific students with their recommendation for each school. They can’t stop anyone from applying, but they don’t have to give their recommendation.”
“But…?”
“What?”
“You said but before. What happened with Emma and Avery?”
Shit. I walked right into this.
“There’s a new college counselor this year. He didn’t know the rules. He let Emma apply SCEA to Harvard when he shouldn’t have.”
“SCEA?” she repeats, pronouncing it “skee-uh,” as I did.
“Single-choice early action,” I explain. “It means you’re declaring a preference to the school, the only school you are applying to early, but if you’re accepted, it’s not binding. You can apply to other schools regular decision.”
“The new counselor—that’s Mr. Tipton?”
I nod. She hmms again.
“So Avery and Emma got into a physical altercation. You and Mr. St. Clair intervened.”
I’m not used to hearing Tyler referred to that way. Mister feels much too gentlemanly to apply to him. I confirm after a beat, and Detective Cataldo goes on.
“Did Miss Montfort make any threats?”
I can’t read Cataldo’s expression. Am I giving her vital new information or confirming what she already knows? This game doesn’t work if she catches me in a lie. Liars look Guilty. As. Fuck.
“She was pretty upset,” I hedge. Then I consider: If I tell her what Avery said, maybe the detective will actually look into it. A betrayal could earn me peace of mind. The question of Avery’s involvement has been niggling at me, carving out my insides like a subtle poison. Detective Cataldo could solve it for me. I take a deep breath.
“Listen, she said she’d kill her, but that’s just something you say when you’re really mad.”
Cataldo hums again; the sound is low and musical. She knew already.
“Tell me more about Avery. Your friend-group dynamic. Between her and Emma especially.”
I swallow hard, suddenly desperate for water. “What do you want to know? Avery’s smart, beautiful, rich. Emma was, too. So are Sierra and Margot, actually. We sound like a cult.”
“And you?”
“I’m decently smart and not heinously unattractive.”
Cataldo doesn’t laugh at any of my quips. A professional. “You’re here on a scholarship,” she says.
“Yes. I’m from Maryland. My mom’s a teacher. Uncle’s a cop.” I watch for it, the slight rise of an eyebrow, and yes, she’s impressed. I am more like you than I am like them, I’m telling her. I don’t know why I need her to know that, but I do.
“Is it typical for Avery to fly into a rage?”
“No,” I say, telling the truth. “Everything was riding on her getting into Harvard. She’s a triple legacy, and her mom is…a lot. So not getting in set her off.”
“What other sorts of things ‘set her off’?”
Uh-oh. I gulp. “Uh, nothing in particular. We fight about totally normal stuff.”
What I’m really thinking: when things don’t go her way. That’ll trigger an Avery flounce, pretty consistently. But it’s a huff, a scathing look, some choice words, not a rage. The other night truly was an outlier. Wasn’t it?
“And what about you, Olivia?”
“Sorry?”
“I’m wondering if it’s typical for you to be out of your bed in the middle of the night, wandering around campus.”
Shit.
“You appear on the security footage in front of Whitley Hall at approximately two-thirty a.m. on the night of the murder. The other cameras were out, the ones by your dorm, Bay. Very odd, considering.”
My breath comes fast, my heart pounding. How can I explain without sounding senile? “Considering what?”
“According to the medical examiner, Emma died sometime between one-thirty and two-thirty a.m. We checked the security footage, and there you are. Just you, no one else. The timing is interesting.”
Interesting. The word hangs, rattles around in my skull. She’s confirmed all my worst fears. I could have saved Emma. I should have gone fucking left.
The truth tumbles out of me in a rush. “I had a nightmare. Woke up and saw Emma had never come home. But her sweater was there. Something told me to go outside and look for her. I thought maybe the party had gone late, and she was stuck outside. I got to Whitley and figured she must have stayed over with Tyler, so I went back.” I wait. The detective’s mouth hangs open, and her eyes search my face.
“What about Emma’s sweater?” Cataldo recovers. “Why was that significant?”
“It was the one she had on at the party. So it meant she came back to the dorm and then left again. And the door was open.”
“But you decided she must have stayed over with Mr. St. Clair?”
“I…” I take a deep breath. Why did I change my mind? “It was the middle of the night. I had a bad dream, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was out alone in the freezing cold. I convinced myself it was the only logical explanation. That she was fine. I couldn’t have known.”
Right?
“How did you get out of the dorm? We checked the Bay Hall security footage, the internal feed. You don’t come in or out the front door. Neither does Emma, if she did return to your room.”
Double shit. If I tell Cataldo about the unmonitored window, I’ll ruin it for everyone. But I need an explanation. And isn’t Emma more important?
Cataldo is staring at me. Not like I’m guilty, but not like I’m innocent, either. She’s merely acutely interested. I really want that water now. I swallow hard.
“Listen, I don’t really care how you snuck out, Olivia. I don’t work here. I’m not your keeper. I simply need to corroborate that it happened the way you say it did, when you say it did.”