States of Grace Mandy Miller (top business books of all time txt) 📖

lifted from the gun have been identified as those of Zoe Slim, currently out on bail for the murder of Brandon Sinclair, a counselor at St. Paul’s Prep. Ms. Slim was taken into custody this evening.”

Chapter 28

The guard leaps to his feet and salutes.

“Evening, Counselor,” he says, as my possessions pass through the magnetometer without a second look. “On the late side, isn’t it?”

“Crime never sleeps.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Before proceeding through the arch, I point at Oscar and he nods. “Come on through.”

Given the late hour, I’m processed and locked into one of the attorney’s rooms within fifteen minutes of my arrival, so quickly it takes another ten for Zoe to be brought from the holding cell where she’ll be kept until she’s booked on her second capital murder charge tomorrow morning.

She’s still in street clothes, jeans and an oversized St. Paul’s hoodie emblazoned with a football. “I told you someone’s out to get me!” she screams at the top of her lungs as the guard locks her manacled feet to the bail on the floor. “You have to believe me, I—”

I put a finger over my lips to silence her and leave it there until the guard steps out.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t kill Serena! I didn’t!” she yells, the gold flecks in her eyes incandescent, her face contorted into a mask of abject terror. “You have to believe me. I, I didn’t kill anyone, I—”

I reach across the table and grab her cuffed hands, aware my eyes are bugging out of my head. “Take a deep breath and let’s starts at the beginning.”

She closes her eyes, her breaths shallow and choppy.

“Where were you tonight?”

“At…At home. But listen, there’s something I need to tell you,” she says, her speech pressured. “I didn’t sleep late the day Mr. Sinclair was killed, like I told you before. I was with Joe.”

The speed with which the words come tumbling out leaves me gasping for air, too. “What?”

“I was with Joe. At school. Well, outside. In the parking lot.”

I reel back, taking all of her in—the crazed eyes and disheveled clothing, the utter panicked sincerity of her emotions.

“You were at school when Sinclair was killed? In the parking lot?”

A definitive nod.

“And who is this Joe?”

“Joe Harper. My boyfriend. Well he was. Until—”

“Until what?”

“Until Serena took him. I mean, I know she’s the prettiest girl in school. And Joe’s the school’s star quarterback, so I guess it’s no surprise. But I thought he was a nice guy.” She drops her head to her chest. “And I thought she was my best friend. I’m an idiot.”

“I thought you had a falling out with Serena because she,” I pause, searching for a more sensitive way to say a teacher was molesting a student, if such a thing exists. “Because she was involved with Mr. Sinclair.”

“I never said that!”

I pull back and rerun our meeting at the Everglades State Hospital through my mind.

I look away, chastened by my cynical assumption. “You know what Zoe, you’re right. You didn’t say that.”

I should have asked why their friendship ended, but I was way too busy assuming she was guilty. I had already made up my mind.

Her eyes harden and I can’t help but look away “It’s not fair. But girls like Serena always get what they want.”

I feel lightheaded, like you do when you’ve jumped out of a plane but have yet to open your parachute. I was prepared for murder defense number two, not an alibi defense for murder number one. I take a moment to reframe my thoughts, reconstitute them into a scenario in which Zoe might not be the killer.

“Help me out here. Joe Harper was your boyfriend, and then he hooked up with Serena. But, if that’s the case, why were you with Joe in the parking lot the morning of the murder?”

Silence.

“Zoe, answer the question—why were you with Joe?”

“What does it matter?”

“Because the answer to that question might save your life. And like it or not, as soon as I leave here, I’m going to inform the ASA that you have an alibi, but he will ask who Joe is and why and where you were with him.” I slam my fist down on the table. “Tell me dammit! Why were you with Joe?”

She pulls her head down into the neck of the hoodie, as if hiding her face will protect her from the impact of whatever else she has to tell me.

I will myself to wait, let her answer in her own good time, although I’m tempted to lunge across the table and shake it out of her.

“Joe has a younger brother, Sam,” she says, her voice muffled. “And last year he hurt his knee playing lacrosse and had to have surgery. The doctor gave him pain pills. And then—”

“And he got hooked,” I say, causing Zoe to extract her head from the hoodie.

“How’d you know?”

“Just a good guess. Go on, what about Sam?”

“His parents did everything they could, sent him to rehab a few times, but nothing worked. When school started back after summer, Joe suspected Sam was using again. He said Sam would disappear after school let out, when Joe was supposed to give him a ride home—Sam had lost his license when he got busted the last time for pot. Anyway, one day Joe followed him. And…” her voice cracks.

“And what?”

She shakes her head. “Grace, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Zoe. You are stronger than you think. I am not letting you take the fall for something you didn’t do.” I take a second to catch my breath. “And you didn’t do it, did you? You didn’t kill Mr. Sinclair,” I say without any hint of a questioning tone.

“No, I did not.”

Her words wash over me like a soothing wave, the knot in my gut unclenching for the first time since we met. “Tell me what happened. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

Whispering as if she’s telling me a secret, she continues. “Joe followed Sam