Don't Look Back(36)

“Yes, I talked to him while you were missing.” He leaned forward, dropping his hands between his knees. “Do you have any idea why you two would go up there at night? As familiar as Cassie and you were with the terrain, it would’ve been dangerous. One slip...”

I swallowed hard. “I really don’t know why, and I’ve been trying to figure it out all day. Lauren... Lauren Cummings said she was upset. Maybe we went up there for some girl time.” Girl time sounded stupid even to me, but I was out of ideas.

“I’ve also spoken to Lauren, but from what I could gather, it wasn’t like either of you spend time at the lake during the night— at least not this time of year.” He paused, meeting my eyes. “Now, you said you had this... feeling of falling when we talked and that you had heard the water. Do you think it’s possible that you were near the waterfalls?”

“I guess so, but I don’t even know where the waterfall is . . . now. Or how to get to the lake.”

His head tilted to the side as his gaze dropped for a moment. “Do you remember anything else? Even if it seems like a minor detail, it could be helpful. And you want to help, right?”

“Yes.” Realizing I was holding the pillow like a shield, I shoved it aside. “I’ve told you about the rocks. I’ve seen those before, but they’re covered in something that looks like blood, but I’m ... I’m not really sure. I know that’s not much.”

“No. That’s something.” Ramirez smiled tightly. “Anything else?”

I lowered my eyes, chewing on my lip. Telling him about seeing Cassie would most likely make me sound like a lunatic.

“Samantha, anything would help.”

Heavy footsteps thundered through the house, alerting me to my father’s arrival. Detective Ramirez stood, twisting toward the open archway.

Dad came in like a furious storm, cheeks flushed with anger and narrowed eyes glinted at the detective. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s okay, Dad. He just had a couple of questions.”

“No. It is not okay.” He placed his hands on his hips, pushing his suit jacket back. “Do I need to explain the law to you, Ramirez?”

“I’m well versed in the law, Mr. Franco,” the detective replied blandly.

“Is that so?” His voice took on a hard, unyielding edge that I knew I had to have heard before. Probably when I’d driven that car into a tree. “You cannot talk to my daughter without one of her parents present or her lawyer. Ever.”

“Sir, this isn’t a formal investigation, and your daughter agreed to answer—”

“My daughter is just a teenager—she’s only seventeen.” Dad stepped forward, towering over the detective. “Did you tell her it was off the record? I’m sure you did. She doesn’t know how these things work, but I do.”

My brows rose. Knots formed in my stomach. Had I done something wrong by talking to the detective? As I chewed on my thumbnail, my gaze bounced between the two men. “Dad, I was—”

“Do not say another word, Samantha,” he said, and his tone was like an icy breeze on my skin. “If you want to question my daughter, you do so with my permission and with fair warning. If not, the next time you even come within twenty yards of my house, you better have a warrant.”

My mouth dropped opened. A warrant? Why would he need a warrant? I wasn’t a suspect. Suspects got warrants. Panic clawed at my insides as I stood on shaky legs. Was I a suspect?

Detective Ramirez cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he was calm and unaffected by my father’s orders. “I understand, Mr. Franco. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. I know my way out.”

Dad folded his arms, and without another word, Detective Ramirez left. I sat back down, dizzy. “Dad, he was just asking questions. It wasn’t a big deal.”

He crossed the room, dropping down so that he was at eye level with me. “You don’t understand how the police work, princess. You’re a child, and with everything that has happened to you, it would be easy for them to confuse and manipulate you.”

Indignant anger filled me. “I’m not stupid. Just because I can’t remember anything doesn’t make me a helpless child. He was just asking me questions about Cassie. I want to be able to help the police.”

“I know.” He sighed and then reached out, pulling my hand away from my mouth. “You’re still a nail biter. Your mother hates that.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, squeezing my knees with my hands.

He stood and walked to the mantel above the fireplace. His spine was unnaturally stiff. “I know you’re not stupid, Samantha. You’re a clever girl, but I don’t want you talking to the police again, okay? Not without me around. Do you understand?”

“Why? What’s the big deal? I don’t have anything to hide.”

He turned halfway around, smoothing a hand over his hair. “The big deal is that you were most likely the last person who saw Cassie—you were probably with her when . . . when whatever happened to her occurred.”

“I know! And that’s why I need to talk to the police.”

“No. That’s why you can’t talk to the police!” He dropped his hand to his chest, and I was suddenly worried he was going to have a heart attack. My dad looked fit and trim, but I imagined he was under a lot of stress with work ... and me. “The last thing you need to be doing is talking to the police. Right now, if it turns out that she was murdered, you’re their number one suspect.”