The Case for Jamie (Charlotte Holmes #3)(36)

The room exploded.

“This is about drugs?” the dean asked, turning to Ms. Williamson. “Drugs? I thought this was about money—”

“Are you also on the E?” My father was studying my face.

Exhausted, the headmistress put up her hands. “Everyone, please. Lena. Are you aware that the issue here isn’t what substances your friend was abusing, but that she had money stolen from her?”

Lena was a genius. An absolute genius. By the time this giant mess she was creating was cleared up, the money would be either confirmed missing or nonexistent, the freshman girl would get help for her drug issue or, at the very least, a stern talking-to—and in the meantime, while the police went after yet another Sherringford dealer, we might have a chance to investigate the situation ourselves.

Beginning with who Anna was working for.

Lena frowned. “You’ll really have to check with her about that? I don’t know. Mostly she was talking about E. Or MDMA? I don’t really know the difference.” She paused. “Maybe she did both? Jamie, you’d take a drug test, right? Neither of us took anything.”

I hadn’t done E, or anything, really, for that matter, except for the occasional drink when I was in Europe, where it was legal. Even if I’d felt some draw toward pills or pot, my personal history with the police was a long and storied one, and I hadn’t really ever felt like adding another chapter to it.

“I’ll totally take a drug test,” I offered. That one, at least, I could pass.

My father’s phone chirped with a text. He ignored it.

“Who was at the party?” the detective asked me, pulling out a notepad. “I need a complete list of names.”

“The curator still wants to talk to you,” the headmistress’s assistant said. “He’s on his way.”

With a sigh she capitulated, stepping out to take the call.

“The party,” the dean said. “Lena. Who was there?”

“Oh.” Lena looked genuinely surprised at the question. “I’m totally not going to tell you.”

“You’re not.”

“Social suicide,” Lena said. My father passed her a cup of coffee. “I just ratted out Anna, and I can, like, feel my stock plummeting. Plus it’s my senior spring. Not worth it. Do you have any milk?”

There was a long silence. The headmistress came back in, frowning. “Why aren’t you taking Lena’s statement?” she asked Shepard, who’d stopped writing.

“I can’t interview her without a parent present,” Shepard said. “Remember? It’s your policy.”

“Everyone is getting snippy, don’t you think?” my father whispered to me. “Caffeine jitters, perhaps?”

“We might have to suspend you if you don’t,” the dean of students said to Lena. “Tell us who was at the party. Not the detective—”

“Shepard can interview Jamie, his dad’s here,” Lena said. “Do you all have any sugar?”

My father passed her the sugar. His phone chirped again. He ignored it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” the dean asked.

“Everyone, please,” the headmistress said. “Again, for the cheap seats—Jamie, who was at the party?”

“I can’t tell you,” I said. If I went to burn this building down with all of us inside, I didn’t think anyone would stop me. We were all already in hell, anyway. “Social suicide.”

“Lena—”

“My dad was talking about donating a new dorm,” she said, idly. “I know you all like the three he’s donated already.”

“This isn’t about the party!” I said. “This is about Lucien Moriarty! Look, I’m doing it right this time. I’m telling you about it. You are literally the authorities. Can we just actually get ahead of this shitshow, for once?”

“All of you. Please.” Ms. Williamson crossed her arms over her blazer. “I am very, very tired. Jamie, I have a curator coming in with a delivery that is about to make your life a lot more complicated—”

“Is that possible, though? For it to be more complicated?”

“—and I suggest you stop telling tales about some Mori-whatever scapegoat and actually cooperate.”

“Ma’am?” Harry said, sticking his head in. “The curator’s here, with his assistants.”

“It is midnight,” the dean said loudly. Her phone was quacking again. “Midnight. I am a single mother. I have four children, and my neighbor is watching them. My neighbor, who I woke from an actual dead sleep. How many more people are we going to pull from their beds because the students are cavorting in the access tunnels again? How is this in the least surprising? Which janitor did you pay for the key code this time, Lena?”

Lena opened her mouth like she was going to answer and then thought better of it.

“We all have children,” Shepard said grimly. “We all have responsibilities. A girl’s been stolen from—”

The dean stepped between him and the headmistress, physically cutting him off. “Really, what is the point, Headmistress. So this boy is having a bit of a nervous breakdown in his senior spring. Stop the presses! It doesn’t make him a thief, or a—a druggist—”