Truly, Madly, Deadly

Chapter Seven

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive, Sawyer. I’d be happy to run you home,” Detective Biggs said.

“But I have my car.”

Nurse Tucker made a dismissive motion with her hand, her mob of tiny bangles clinking as she did. “The detective is right. You shouldn’t be driving. You can lie down in my office for a while to calm down if you’d like.”

Sawyer looked from Nurse Tucker to Detective Biggs, the array of shattered glass and broken roses on the floor behind him. “I think I’d like to go home now, please.”

Detective Biggs kept silent as they left the administration building and walked out to the parking lot. Sawyer was grateful for the silence; every time the detective sucked in a breath and looked like he was about to speak to her, her skin tightened, every muscle in her body seemed to collapse in on itself and she had to look away. Biggs seemed to get the message and repeatedly just cleared his throat.

He gestured toward his car, and Sawyer stood at the passenger side door, hands hugging her elbows, until he clicked the lock.

Detective Biggs drove a big, gray, unmarked cop car that smelled like cigarettes and McDonald’s. Sawyer wrinkled her nose when she got in.

“Sorry,” Detective Biggs said, a hint of sympathy in his voice, “my partner is a smoker.”

Biggs cleared the passenger seat of a stack of coffee-stained files and crumpled fast food wrappers and Sawyer sat down, her body stiff, her hands clutching the straps of her backpack.

They pulled out of the school driveway and onto the street when the rain started to fall. Heavy droplets thunked against the hood of the car. Sawyer liked the sound, thought it was soothing. She liked the way the rain marred the windshield before the wipers took it away. If she squinted, she could pretend they were somewhere else, that she was someone else.

“I hate the rain,” Detective Biggs said.

“Take the Old Oak highway, please.”

“Oh, right.” The detective nodded, puckering his lips as if considering something. “So, I guess Kevin was pretty popular at school.”

Sawyer hiked her backpack onto her lap and wrapped her arms around it, her hands disappearing in the long sleeves of her sweater. “Uh-huh.”

“Done much unpacking?”

Sawyer looked at the detective, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were focused hard out the windshield, guiding the hulking car over the slick black highway.

“Not really.” She vaguely wondered if he knew about the shoes—maybe he had a spy or a bug or something. She tightened her grip on her pack. “Not since you were there.”

“Tragic about what happened with Kevin. I really hate to see something like that.”