“What about him?” Did she notice the high pitch of my voice?
“What was their relationship like? How often did they spend time together? Did they hang in your room, his? Were they sexually active? If so, how often?”
“Whoa.” I stop short halfway across the quad. Round on the detective. “Are you really asking me about my friend’s sex life?”
“It’s standard procedure, Miss Winters. If there was a disruption in the regular rhythms of their relationship recently, I need to know. Sex is a powerful motive.”
I answer perfunctorily and try not to squirm. “Emma was spending the night at Tyler’s on a regular basis. No major change. I didn’t pry into the more scintillating aspects of their relationship. It wasn’t my business.”
It wasn’t, but that wasn’t really why. Emma was having sex, I wasn’t, and it was awkward. Emma went to Margot or Sierra about sex stuff. She stopped sharing, and I stopped asking. It was fine. But I don’t like what Cataldo is implying.
“If you’re trying to slut-shame Emma…”
“I’m not.” Cataldo is quick to defend herself. “I want to get a clear picture. So, what about the nonsexual aspects of their relationship? Was he a good boyfriend? Did Emma ever complain to you? I’ve asked your other friends the same questions, but I want to hear it from your perspective.”
I can only imagine what Avery had to say about Tyler and Emma. Cataldo’s brown eyes are wide, oddly warm for a hard-boiled detective. Really, she’s kind of soft, but I wonder if that’s an act she’s putting on to set me at ease. I hedge.
“They were great. Kind of obnoxious about PDA, but it was a perfectly normal relationship. Two hot, smart, warm-blooded teens who liked each other.”
Cataldo’s eyes narrow at my glibness, but she doesn’t call me on it. “They liked each other? Weren’t they in love?”
I fuss with my backpack strap, cursing myself for being too honest. Cataldo can tell she’s got something from me. I huff air through my nose, savoring the warmth it blows onto the lower part of my face. “Emma thought undying teenage love was Shakespeare bullshit,” I say. “It wasn’t her thing.”
“Not a fan of Romeo and Juliet, then?”
I shake my head. “They were fine. Just…most people don’t take their high school relationships past high school. They weren’t forever or anything.”
Cataldo hmms under her breath. “You clearly don’t attend anything like my high school. Plenty of people took those relationships to forever. Or at least their first divorce.” She laughs to herself.
We start walking again.
“I thought Tyler had been cleared,” I say, testing the detective.
Cataldo’s eyebrows lift. “Who told you that?”
“Katherine Montfort told Avery.”
Annoyance flits over the detective’s features. “Then, yes, you heard accurately.”
“So why ask me about them?” She squirms, and it occurs to me: police tactics. Sex is a powerful motive, she said. Does she think I was into Tyler? I nearly laugh at the thought. But any amusement fails to spark, dying against the steely truth: I’m still a suspect.
Cataldo’s next statement does nothing to disabuse me of the notion.
“I read some of your text exchanges. You and your friends.”
She lets it hang. I don’t respond.
“You don’t seem to fit in with them,” she says. “Girls like us…it’s not real. They let you hang around when it’s convenient to them, but you’ll always be outside looking in.”
“They’re my friends.” I grit my teeth so hard I fear I’ll chip an incisor. “I’m not like you.” If I say it often enough, forcefully enough, maybe it will be true.
And she fucking hmms again.
“Well, if I were you, I’d watch my back. I’m assuming you didn’t tell them about your Harvard admission?”
The Georgian red brick of Austen looms above us. I stop short and drop my voice low. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m a detective, Miss Winters. Give me some credit.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Weren’t you telling me you suspect your friend Avery killed Emma because of her Harvard admission?”
When she says it like that, it sounds moronic. And paranoid.
“And did you use the same loophole your friend did? Your rule-breaking college counselor?”
I sigh. “I wish I’d never done it. It was stupid.”
Cataldo tilts her head. “You regret getting into Harvard? Why? Because you got something your friend wanted? You think you owe her?”
I squirm under her gaze. Have to remind myself she is a police detective, not my friend. She doesn’t know me. She suspects me.
When it becomes clear I don’t plan on responding, she moves on. “What about Mr. Tipton? He’s kind of cute, huh?”
“Isn’t he a bit young for you?” I quip.
“How old do you think I am?”
I shrug. This is dangerous territory. “Older than he is, for sure.”
“Is he too old for you?”
“Ew. Yes. I’m not an idiot. Twentysomething dudes who hit on teenagers are gross.”
“Right answer.” She nods approvingly.
I very strongly wish to end this conversation, so I turn and make my way up the brick stairs and into Austen. The detective follows me into the lobby and hands me her card.
“Call me if you think of anything. Or text. I’m hip like that.”
I barely suppress a groan. She’s kind of embarrassing. I shove the card into my coat pocket with my gloves.
“Detective Cataldo, what a pleasure.” Headmistress Fitzgerald’s tone indicates otherwise. But she’s appeared for a reason. Fitzgerald casts an appraising eye on me, and I take my cue to scoot back. I linger just out of Fitzgerald’s eyeline, pretend to check something very important on my phone.
“We’re going to need you to return Emma Russo’s cell phone and laptop to our office within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Excuse me? Those items are logged into evidence, and my team—”
“Your team is a two-bit country outfit, which I hear hasn’t been able to crack a simple laptop password. The board has called in a favor with the FBI. The Russos are in agreement. We need the devices back so the FBI can take over.”