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Authors: Susan McBride
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to ask you if it’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” She wasn’t going to puke on anyone’s shoes today.
Katie took a seat, and he passed over a photograph. It was the profile picture from Rose Tatum’s Facebook page.
“Did you ever see her around campus?” he asked. “Maybe with another student?”
“No, never,” Katie told him. It was the truth.
“But you
have
seen her before, haven’t you?”
Katie squirmed. “Not in person.”
He cocked his head. “But you did see a photograph?”
Oh, God
. Katie’s hands went cold. Of course he knew about the sex pic. Everyone on campus did. “Yes,” she admitted. She could hardly meet his eyes.
“You know about the party she attended at the headmaster’s house last Saturday night?”
“Yes,” Katie said, though the word seemed to stick in her throat.
“You’re dating Mark Summers.”
The way he said it wasn’t a question.
Katie almost said “I
was
” but caught herself.
“Yes.” They’d been together three months. She’d planned to follow him to whichever university he picked from the half a dozen dangling scholarships. If she had to, she’d attend community college just to be near him. But what would happen now? Would all those plans fall apart?
“What did he tell you about Rose?” the detective asked, watching her so intently that Katie was afraid to twitch. “About what happened last Saturday night?”
“Nothing.” Katie’s mouth was so dry. “He barely knew her. He didn’t even meet her until the party. You should be talking to Steve Getty. He’s the one who snuck her onto campus. He’s the reason Mark blacked out and can’t remember.”
“Uh-huh.”
Didn’t the police believe that Mark was drugged? Hadthey talked to Steve or Charlie? Had they interviewed the other hockey players at the party? Katie needed to know more about what was going on.
“Tell me that at least she was dead before her hand was cut off,” Katie said.
The detective nodded. “It was definitely postmortem.”
“Did you find any fingerprints on the box?” she asked. “Anything to help you solve this fast?” On
CSI
, they were always pulling up matches in a blink.
“All I can safely tell you is we’ve taken your prints out of the equation, as well as Miss Lupinski’s and Mrs. Gabbert’s.” He shifted in his seat. “As for other prints on the box and the wrapping, it’s very much an ongoing investigation. Things take time,” he insisted.
“So that’s it?” Katie said. “Are we done?”
“For now.”
“I hope you find her,” Katie told him, and stood. “And I hope you catch the twisted person who sent me her hand.”
“I intend to,” he said, and tucked the photo back into a manila folder.
Katie started to walk away.
“Do one thing for me?” the detective asked, and she stopped. “Keep your eyes and ears open. If you see or hear anything that might help us, call straightaway.”
“I will.” Katie was determined to find answers, one way or another. She reached for the handle on the French door.
“Oh, and Miss Barton—”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“One of our guys will patrol campus until this thing’s over. So if anything odd comes up, someone will always be close.”
“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.
Katie definitely kept her eyes open, wide enough to see the Barnard cop car roll past Amelia House several times that day and every day after throughout the next week. She was on the alert for “odd” things, too, like the comments on her Facebook page by a few of the school’s better-known jerks, saying things like, u need a hand with ur lit essay? And hey k8e i’ll bet ur bf is a real handyman!
Much as Katie wanted to pretend things were normal, her nerves were on edge.
She slept like crap and woke up in the dark every night, seeing shadows and smelling roses. She went to class, studied in the library (though she avoided the upper stacks), and let Tessa drag her to the student center for bad coffee and
“It’s okay.” She wasn’t going to puke on anyone’s shoes today.
Katie took a seat, and he passed over a photograph. It was the profile picture from Rose Tatum’s Facebook page.
“Did you ever see her around campus?” he asked. “Maybe with another student?”
“No, never,” Katie told him. It was the truth.
“But you
have
seen her before, haven’t you?”
Katie squirmed. “Not in person.”
He cocked his head. “But you did see a photograph?”
Oh, God
. Katie’s hands went cold. Of course he knew about the sex pic. Everyone on campus did. “Yes,” she admitted. She could hardly meet his eyes.
“You know about the party she attended at the headmaster’s house last Saturday night?”
“Yes,” Katie said, though the word seemed to stick in her throat.
“You’re dating Mark Summers.”
The way he said it wasn’t a question.
Katie almost said “I
was
” but caught herself.
“Yes.” They’d been together three months. She’d planned to follow him to whichever university he picked from the half a dozen dangling scholarships. If she had to, she’d attend community college just to be near him. But what would happen now? Would all those plans fall apart?
“What did he tell you about Rose?” the detective asked, watching her so intently that Katie was afraid to twitch. “About what happened last Saturday night?”
“Nothing.” Katie’s mouth was so dry. “He barely knew her. He didn’t even meet her until the party. You should be talking to Steve Getty. He’s the one who snuck her onto campus. He’s the reason Mark blacked out and can’t remember.”
“Uh-huh.”
Didn’t the police believe that Mark was drugged? Hadthey talked to Steve or Charlie? Had they interviewed the other hockey players at the party? Katie needed to know more about what was going on.
“Tell me that at least she was dead before her hand was cut off,” Katie said.
The detective nodded. “It was definitely postmortem.”
“Did you find any fingerprints on the box?” she asked. “Anything to help you solve this fast?” On
CSI
, they were always pulling up matches in a blink.
“All I can safely tell you is we’ve taken your prints out of the equation, as well as Miss Lupinski’s and Mrs. Gabbert’s.” He shifted in his seat. “As for other prints on the box and the wrapping, it’s very much an ongoing investigation. Things take time,” he insisted.
“So that’s it?” Katie said. “Are we done?”
“For now.”
“I hope you find her,” Katie told him, and stood. “And I hope you catch the twisted person who sent me her hand.”
“I intend to,” he said, and tucked the photo back into a manila folder.
Katie started to walk away.
“Do one thing for me?” the detective asked, and she stopped. “Keep your eyes and ears open. If you see or hear anything that might help us, call straightaway.”
“I will.” Katie was determined to find answers, one way or another. She reached for the handle on the French door.
“Oh, and Miss Barton—”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“One of our guys will patrol campus until this thing’s over. So if anything odd comes up, someone will always be close.”
“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.
Katie definitely kept her eyes open, wide enough to see the Barnard cop car roll past Amelia House several times that day and every day after throughout the next week. She was on the alert for “odd” things, too, like the comments on her Facebook page by a few of the school’s better-known jerks, saying things like, u need a hand with ur lit essay? And hey k8e i’ll bet ur bf is a real handyman!
Much as Katie wanted to pretend things were normal, her nerves were on edge.
She slept like crap and woke up in the dark every night, seeing shadows and smelling roses. She went to class, studied in the library (though she avoided the upper stacks), and let Tessa drag her to the student center for bad coffee and
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