“Did Josey say where she was going when she left here last night?” Drake works with his handy-dandy notebook and pen, scratching more than just the Carpenter’s answers onto his page. He describes Peter’s white knuckles and balled fists. Susan’s complete disconnect. Cheryl’s grief. But when no one answers, he looks up from his notes and searches the girl’s dreamy stare. “Josey was with you for an hour last night, right? What did you work on?”
“Math.” Susan’s voice is robotic and calm. No inflection. No emotion. “It’s summer, so I have nothing specific to work on right now.”
“She struggles with indices,” Peter grits out. Is he always so angry? Or did he kill a girl, and now he’s mad about the cops sitting in his living room? “Susan has an ASD and ADHD diagnosis. She’s very intelligent, butshe finds focusing difficult in noisy classrooms, so we bring Josey over once a week to work on whatever she couldn’t quite grasp in class.”
“Even in the summer.” Cheryl blows her nose into a ratty tissue. “During the school year, they try to keep on top of things, but when assignments or exams come up, they have to shift their priorities. During the school break, they have the luxury of slowing down and ironing out whatever didn’t stick yet.”
“Indices,” Susan murmurs on barely more than a whisper. “I don’t understand them.”
Same kid. Same.
“She’s really dead?” Cheryl presses. “Is this a joke, or…”
“Not a joke,” Drake answers. “Did she always come to you on a Monday night, Susan? Did the day of the week change?”
“In the summer, sometimes.” Her brows pinch tight and create a wrinkle between her eyes. “During the school year, we always do Mondays unless something crazy comes up.”
“Something crazy?” I question. “Like what?”
“Like, a couple of months ago, Josey was sitting her exams,” Cheryl mumbles. “She needed extra time to study, which means her tutoring schedule sometimes got a little wonky.”
“Josey was thinking about picking up another job for the summer,” Peter rumbles. “She had extra time, she said, and besides her tutoring clients, had no other money coming in. It’s just her and her mom, and her mom works hard, so she felt like she could do a little more to help.”
“Why not pick up more student clients?” Drake questions. “Expand on what she already had set up.”
“Because she couldn’t commit to them once college started.” Gulping, Cheryl’s tear-swollen eyes jump from Banks to me. “She said she’d feel like a jerk for taking on new students only to bail on them again once school started back. I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “Dead? Are you sure you haven’t made a mist?—”
“We’re sure. Girls talk, right?” I gesture toward Susan. “Even when they’re supposed to be studying. Did you ever overhear anything you think might help?”
Peter scowls down at the floor, shaking his head from side to side. “We have a standing five-thirty to six-thirty session each week, and the girls always sit at the dining table. By six, Cheryl’s typically preparing dinner, and often, I’d be working at my computer.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Over there. We’re always around, detectives. We hear what they’re chatting about most of the time, but she didn’t…” He drops his hand and exhales a breathy sigh. “It’s only an hour, so they can’t gossipa lot.When they do, it’s usually just the big stuff. Like how Josey and her friend got tickets to a Lila Royale concert.” White-faced, he brings his eyes up to mine. “The concert is still a few weeks away.”
Guess she’s not going.
“She was a little chattier a few months ago,” Cheryl adds. “In the week or two leading up to her senior prom.”
“She wore a knee-length dress,” Susan inserts vaguely. “She said how most of the other girls in her grade would wear floor-length gowns, but she found a really cute dress at a secondhand store for only ten bucks. It was tight around,” she presses her hands to her stomach, “but then it was poofy around,” she moves them to her hips. “She showed me pictures after prom was over. It was super cute.”
“She didn’t want to waste money on a brand-new dress,” Peter explains. “I heard her telling Susan about the thrift store find, and how she was excited to do her best friend’s hair, and her best friend would do hers. She didn’t sound bitter or anything, but I could hear the things she wasn’t saying.”
“No salon appointments,” Cheryl adds. “Because those are expensive. No professional nails. No five-hundred-dollar gown.”
“It’s not like Josey and her mom were going hungry or anything. But she was intelligent enough to prioritize her spending, and humble enough to enjoy an at-home hair and makeup routine for the big day.”
“I’m certain you understand we have to ask.” Drake looks from one Carpenter to the next. But then he stops on Peter. “Where were you from six-thirty last night until nine?”
“I was here.” He looks Drake square in the eyes. No hesitation. No doubt. “With my wife and all three children.”
“And you had a client meeting at eight.” Cheryl picks at her tissue, sniffling and swallowing her tears. “We ate at around a quarter past seven, so you’d be done in time for your meeting.”
“That’s right. I had a meeting at eight.” Again, he points over his shoulder. “I was pitching a new deal via video call. There were four of them on their end of the line, plus my boss, dialed in from his house. It had to be at eight o’clock, because that’s morning time for the potential clients.”
“Did you land the account?” Drake questions.
“I… uh…” He nods. “Yes. They’d accepted while we were still on the call.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a single vibration, rather than the long, continuous drone of a phone call, so I straighten my leg and pull thedevice out. Catching Fletch’s name on the screen, I bring my focus back up and stop on Drake’s sour expression. “I’ve gotta take this. You finish up in here, then I’ll meet you out front.” I push to my feet and regard the Carpenter family. “Thank you for your time. We’d appreciate it if you stayed available in case we have further questions.”
Turning on my heels, I catch Drake’s “Who is the client?” and as I cross the living room, he adds, “It’s important I confirm your alibi, Mr. Carpenter.”