Pivot Point (Pivot Point, #1)(43)

He leans forward, obviously pretending to inspect the picture further. “Oh, yeah, I guess I do know her.”

“She’s dead, Mr. Paxton.”

Even though I already know, I flinch with the announcement, but he hardly reacts at all. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was made to look like she killed herself.” The table screen flickers, probably changing the image, but Poison doesn’t even glance at it. He looks straight at the camera and says, “Maybe she did.”

I fall back a little. His eyes scare me. They’re hard and unafraid. He’s sitting at the Bureau being interrogated for a murder, and he’s not scared. Is it because he’s innocent? But if he was, wouldn’t he ask for a scan to prove himself? They’d need more proof to force a scan on him. It’s obvious why they sent this tape to my dad—he’ll know if Poison is lying.

“We think you did it, Mr. Paxton,” the voice says.

“You can’t pin her murder on me just because we were together. It was consensual. She was using me for the dr—”

The sound of the garage door opening rumbles in my feet. I jump up, turn off the television, and shove the DVD into its case and back on top of the TV just in time for my dad to walk in.

“Hi, Daddy,” I say too enthusiastically. He’ll know I’m up to something just by the tone of my voice. It’s his ability. I pull out my phone and pretend I’m reading a text. I’ve tried lying to him before with no success.

“What’re you doing, kid?” he asks.

I want to ask him about the interview, about Poison and what his conclusions are. But I know he can’t tell me. I remind myself to ask Laila tomorrow about any missing girls on the news. “Oh, just texting with a friend.” Really? I had to actually admit to something? I could’ve just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Nothing,” which would have been the truth in that moment.

My dad stops midstride and lowers his brow. Unfair. I quickly type, Lie detectors suck sometimes, and hit Send. Laila will get a kick out of that. I hold up my phone for him to see. “Just texting,” I repeat. This time it’s the truth.

“Sounds exciting.” He resumes his walk toward the hall. “I’m going to go change.”

“Okay.”

My phone chimes, and I look at it. The text is three question marks, and it’s from Trevor. How did that happen? Then I realize that I just assumed Laila was the last person to send me a text. But she wasn’t; Trevor was. He had texted me last night to ask what the homework assignment in Government was and we ended up texting the rest of the night.

Sorry, that was supposed to go to Laila.

What did you mean by it?

It’s what we call my dad.

Oh. Your dad giving you problems?

Yeah.

I’m inviting the gang over to my house tonight. You up for it?

Am I one of “the gang” now?

You did successfully complete the bobblehead retrieval mission. I think you’re in.

Let me ask. I walk down the hall to my dad’s room. His door is not quite shut, and just as I’m about to knock I hear his voice through the crack. He must be on the phone.

“How did you get this number?” A pause. “I don’t take kindly to threats, Mr. Paxton.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Just tell the truth, and you won’t have to worry about my input.” Another pause. “No, actually it’s not a subjective ability; my findings are conclusive and binding. Good-bye, Mr. Paxton, and this will go in the report.”

I count to ten, trying to return my breathing to normal, and then knock.

“Come in.”

I start to pretend like I didn’t overhear what I just did, but my heart is pounding and I’m sure he can read fear all over my face. “Are you okay, Dad? Who’s threatening you?”

“Eavesdropping?” His voice is perfectly calm, but for a moment I see tension tighten his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He lightly brushes my hair with his hand. “It’s okay. And I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” Sometimes I wish I were a lie detector too, so that I could determine if he were telling the truth. But, I remind myself, my dad doesn’t lie to me. His eyes drift down to my cell phone clutched in my hand. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, yeah. Trevor invited me to his house for a movie. There’ll be a bunch of us.”

He loosens his tie. “Like a party?”

I plop onto his bed and lie back. “No, like ten of us.”

“Are his parents going to be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they are, you can go.”

I feel lame asking, but I know my dad will know if I don’t. I hold the phone above me and type, My dad wants to know if your parents are going to be home.

My dad’s tie lands on my face. I wad it up and throw it after him as he retreats to his closet. It doesn’t make it very far, uncoiling and snaking to the ground. He laughs at my attempt.

My phone chimes with Trevor’s answer. Yep. And my little brother too.

He’ll love that. Text me directions and I’ll see you in a while.

“His parents and little brother will be home,” I tell my dad.

“Okay, have fun.”