Take the Fall(57)

He frowns. “Do you have it with you? Can I see?”

I nod, pausing as I pull the zipper of my backpack. Once I hand over the postcard, I could lose control of this very fast. He’s more likely to tell my mother what’s going on than me, and I need exactly the opposite. “The thing is . . . I don’t want my mom to know about this.”

“Sonia, if it turns out to be—”

I rise from my chair. “If you don’t think you can keep it confidential, I’d rather not discuss it at all.”

“Wait, wait, wait—hang on.” He holds his hands up. “Just sit down and let’s talk about this.”

I sink slowly back into my seat.

“Look,” he continues in a more controlled tone. “I know how your mom feels about you going away to school. I know everything that’s happened has made her concerns more intense and made you want to get out more than ever—I get all of that.” He folds his hands on his desk and I falter. I didn’t realize he was so tuned in to our push and pull. “If this turns out to be something she doesn’t need to know about, we’ll keep it between us. But I care about both of you, so until I see what it is . . .”

I close my eyes and exhale. If I don’t show him the postcard now, he might dig around on his own, which will just get more complicated and upset my mom even more. Gretchen always said I needed to work on my delivery.

My hand trembles as I dig through my backpack until I’ve found my history book. I’m careful not to touch the corner of the postcard as I slide it out and hand it over. My eyes stay glued to the red fingerprint.

Sheriff Wood studies it for a minute, taking in every detail of the written words and the picture. “You say you found this in your locker? Today?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the only time you’ve received something of this nature?”

I curl my toes inside my boots, trying to keep my face neutral, but I guess I hesitate a little too long.

He sits forward. “Sonia, if something else has happened, I need to know.”

I clasp my hands in my lap, but it feels like my grip on the situation is slipping anyway. I take a long, slow breath, trying to keep as calm as possible. “Someone left a picture of me and Gretchen in my locker last week. I thought it was just a prank—it might still be.”

“A photograph? Why do you think it was a prank?”

I bite my lip. “Someone had kind of scratched it up. But seriously, it’s probably just some stupid kid at school.”

His brow furrows. “Do you still have it?”

“Yeah . . . it’s at home.”

“I’m going to need to see that, too.”

I study his face. There are lines I don’t remember seeing a few weeks ago, but just this afternoon an easiness has returned to his eyes. “How sure are you that this Alex Burke guy killed Gretchen?”

“You know I can’t—”

“Speculate, yeah. But everyone seems pretty relieved he’s been arrested.”

He sighs. “Sonia, what does this have to do with showing me that photo?”

I stare at the space between my feet. “I just want to know what’s going to happen if I do.”

He sits back in his chair. “I see. This is about your mom too.”

I press my lips together.

“Let’s just back up a moment. You sound pretty convinced these are both just tasteless pranks. Do you have any guesses as to who might be responsible?”

“That’s kind of why I’m here.” I raise my head. “There’s a fingerprint on the postcard.”

He holds it up to the light and squints, even though I know he saw it the first time he touched it. “Yes, there is.”

“Would it be possible to identify whose it is?”

“More likely whose it isn’t.” He digs through his desk drawers. “But I can run it if I submit it into evidence.”

“Can you do that without telling my mom?”

He crosses his arms. “Sonia, I’ve known your mom since before you were born. She can be a little anxious, but she’s only trying to protect you.”

I close my eyes. “I know. But she’s already been through so much these past couple of weeks. She’s having migraines again and just— I don’t want to put one more thing on her mind. Is there any way . . . ?”

He sits back in his chair, his jaw moving like he’s chewing on my words. After what seems like a small eternity, he looks at me with a stern expression. “Okay. I’ll run the fingerprint. If it doesn’t come up as Alex Burke’s and you don’t experience any other ‘pranks’ in the next few days—which you will tell me about, if they happen—I won’t mention it to your mother yet. But I’m going to have a conversation with your principal to see if there have been any similar reports, and I’m including this as part of my official investigation until I’m satisfied there’s no real connection to Gretchen’s death.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Sonia.” He examines the postcard again. “If I didn’t have a guy sitting downstairs all but ready to be charged with Gretchen’s murder, I would be approaching this very differently.”

I think of Reva’s suggestion that someone might’ve hired Marcus to kill Gretchen. Surely this puts her argument to rest and sets him in the clear.