Her First Mistake by Carey Baldwin (books for 10th graders txt) 📕

“It is.” She pulled her damp blouse away from her hot skin.

While he might call this walk-in-closet-sized space an interview room, she knew it was designed to intimidate. Who wouldn’t feel anxious in a bolted-down chair, cornered between the door and the detective, with stark white walls staring you down? Reluctantly, she inhaled, and disinfectant fumes set cold fire to her lungs.

Behind her, she heard a clock. It hung out of her sight, but in ready view of the detective and the observation mirror. She shouldn’t have agreed to meet over her lunch break—she was definitely going to be late getting back to the academy, and if she didn’t forge ahead she might even miss her 3:30 appointment with Alma. The seconds ticked by loudly, the noise amplified, reminding her that even though she couldn’t see a microphone, the room was wired for sound. In the beginning, she’d agreed to allow her interview to be video recorded, but she hadn’t asked about the logistics. Now, she wondered where the unseen camera was.

“Shall we get started?” Detective Samuels was the type who could intimidate without raising his voice or pounding his fist. All he had to do was look at you with those knowing eyes of his.

“Sure.” Despite the frigid temperature of the room, a tiny bead of sweat dripped off her nose. She could really do with a tissue. “I’m afraid I’m short on time, though.”

The detective folded his arms.

She stared, longingly, at the cup of water. Was he going to ask her a question or should she just start talking?

He leaned forward. “You called me, remember? What’s on your mind?”

“I-I saw Celeste at the Piano Man on Friday night.” That wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, but Alma said the police would have questions about what happened at the restaurant so she might as well get that part out of the way.

He kicked back in his seat and put his hands behind his head.

“At the Piano Man, I spoke with Celeste briefly on my way out the door. I simply stopped to say hello to her and to Jane Glasgow, another teacher.”

“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with either Celeste or Jane?”

Like finding Celeste’s keys on the floor?

“You mean their moods?”

“Anything.”

Stop worrying about yourself and think about Celeste. Answer the question.

“Celeste seemed happy. Normal. And Jane, too.” She frowned, concentrating, trying to think of something that might actually be of use. “Oh, but earlier that day at school, not at the restaurant, but at work, I do remember Celeste seemed a little off.”

“In what way?”

“On Friday, around noon, I went into the teachers’ lounge, and Celeste was sitting there, staring at her phone. I don’t know why, but she seemed distracted, worried. Her eyes were puffy and watery, although, I suppose, that could’ve been allergies.”

“Did you ask her if anything was wrong?”

“We’re not close, I’m afraid.”

“So you noticed something was off but you didn’t go to the trouble to ask what was going on. Did she volunteer anything to you?”

Of course he was right. She should’ve asked if Celeste was okay. She’d wanted to, but she’d been too self-conscious to say anything, too worried Celeste would act like it was none of her business. “No. She got up, rather quickly, and left the room, like she didn’t want to be sad or mad or whatever in front of me. I didn’t try to stop her because I assumed she wanted to avoid me.”

“Why would she want to avoid you?”

“She wouldn’t. At least not me, specifically. Sometimes I think irrational thoughts like that, and I need to stop.” She also needed to guard her words more. This wasn’t a therapy session, and Detective Samuels wasn’t Dr. Baquero. He might be a cop, but that didn’t mean she could trust him.

“So, Mia, if you didn’t notice anything unusual that happened at the Piano Man, and you’ve only just now remembered, when I asked you, that Celeste seemed off at school on Friday, why did you call me? You said you had information about the case.”

“I said I might have information.” She didn’t like being misquoted, even if it was only a small deviation from her words, especially when she was being recorded.

“So do you or don’t you?”

She studied her nails, wondering if he’d noticed they were chewed to the quick. Next, she became aware of the rise and fall of Samuels’ chest—the way it seemed to match her own breathing. Was that some kind of interrogation trick or had it just happened naturally? Regardless, it was time to tell him the real reason she’d come here. It would be a relief to leave the whole matter in his hands and never have to worry about what happened at Lacy’s again. “I found a matchbook from a strip club. You remember I fainted.”

This wasn’t coming out clearly, but he’d been there when she passed out, so surely she didn’t need to explain what happened at Pocket Park.

“After you fainted, Angelica took you to Celeste’s apartment to lie down. I remember.”

“Yes. At the apartment, I changed into one of Celeste’s dresses.”

He didn’t balk at that like Aunt Misty had—he’d witnessed the tearing of her blouse.

“And I found a matchbook in her pocket.”

“From a strip club.”

“Lacy’s Gentlemen’s Club. I went there to ask around, and one of the dancers told me she had seen Celeste.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. But the dancer’s name is Shoshanna, and I thought it might be a good idea for the police to talk to her. That’s why I called you. Do you think Celeste’s going to the club has something to do with her disappearance? She could’ve met someone dangerous at Lacy’s.” She hated the way her voice was wobbling, but this was one of the main reasons she’d shoved down all her nerves and come here: to bring the police information that could help them find Celeste. Possibly to help them find a serial killer.

“I think it’s