Chapter 15
The coffee shop meeting with Mira was brief.
She looked tired when she arrived, shadows under her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She ordered her usual and sat across from me, cradling the cup in both hands.
"So," she said. "Detective James came by my house."
My blood turned cold. "What?"
"Two days ago. Asked to talk to my parents and me. Wanted to 'clarify some details' about that Monday." She took a sip of coffee. "He asked a lot of questions about you, Ileh. About when you arrived at the library. What condition you were in. Whether you'd seemed upset or distressed."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth. That you showed up late, soaking wet, and seemed kind of out of it. That you'd texted earlier saying you were running behind." She looked at me over the rim of her cup. "But he also asked if I knew about any problems between you and Chance. If you'd ever mentioned feeling threatened by her, or angry at her."
"And?"
"I said we'd drifted apart. That I didn't know much about your relationship with her anymore." She set down her cup. "I didn't mention the coffee shop conversation. When you got defensive about me asking if you'd seen her."
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me." Her voice was sharp. "I didn't do it for you. I did it because I don't know what's true anymore, and I'm not going to tell a detective something that might be nothing. But Ileh..." She leaned forward. "...I need you to tell me. Did something happen? Because if you're in trouble, real trouble, I want to help. But I can't help if you keep lying to me."
"I'm not lying."
"Then why do you look so scared all the time? Why are you avoiding everyone? Why did you lawyer up?" She rubbed her face. "My mom's a prosecutor. I know what it looks like when someone's guilty. And you look guilty, Ileh."
"Looking guilty isn't the same as being guilty."
"That's exactly what a guilty person would say."
We sat in tense silence for a moment.
"I didn't kill Chance," I said quietly. "Whatever Detective James thinks, whatever evidence he has, I didn't kill her."
It was the truth. Technically. I hadn't killed her, not deliberately. It had been an accident, a shove, a moment where everything went wrong. I hadn't wrapped my hands around her throat or pushed her down the stairs with intent. The marble floor had killed her, not me.
Mira searched my face for a long moment. "Okay," she said finally. "I believe you."
But the doubt was there. I could see it lingering behind her eyes.
We finished our coffee making small talk about homework and college applications and anything that didn't matter. When we left, she hugged me, brief and awkward, and I knew it might be the last time.
"Be careful," she said. "Whatever's happening...just be careful."
I watched her walk away and wondered how many more people I'd lose before this was over.