Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(29)

“But the rest of the family. They’re not giving many details on the news, but it sounds like . . . like they’re all dead.”

She glanced up at me. I didn’t see any fear in the counselor’s eyes. Just grief.

“Yes,” I said.

She exhaled hard and sat, just like that. As if a string had been cut, leading her to collapse. I took a seat on the sofa next to her. The school counselor looked younger than I expected. Maybe late twenties, early thirties. Long brunette hair. Pretty.

“I think the police suspect Roxy,” I murmured low, one neighbor to another. “That she just happened to be gone when this all happened . . .”

“What? That’s ridiculous! Roxy wouldn’t hurt a fly. And trust me, as a high school counselor, I know just what kind of sociopaths masquerade as America’s teens these days. But Roxy? Never.”

“I always saw her out with the dogs,” I offered. “She seemed really good with them.”

“Please, Roxy has practically raised her younger sister and baby brother. She’s one of the most responsible students we have. Ask any teacher in the school. If they could clone a hundred more Roxys, they would.”

I dropped my voice lower. “Are the parents . . . not that involved?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only met them once. They both work a lot. Night nurse at the medical center, an overworked building contractor. My impression is that they’re very busy juggling daily demands. Add to that three kids in three different schools . . .” She shrugged. “Roxy was doing her best to help out, though sometimes at a cost to herself. Last year we had an issue with her being tardy several times in a row. Turned out, she was having trouble getting her younger sister to the middle school on time. Once we figured that out, I followed up with her mother, but the truth is that Juanita isn’t home from her graveyard shift yet, and Charlie is already out on a job site. Meaning the morning churn is Roxy’s responsibility and she’s old enough to legally be in charge. In the end, I had a chat with Roxy’s teachers. Given that she’s never late with homework and pays attention once she’s in class, they agreed to let the tardy slips slide. It’s the best we can do to help a family that’s doing the best they can do.”

I didn’t know anything about these kinds of situations, but I nodded my head in sympathy. “Sounds like you’re very understanding.”

Another shrug. “That’s my job. To help kids navigate school and home and real life. There’s a lot of pressure on teenagers these days.”

“Roxy have a lot of friends?” I asked. “Sounds like she’s very nice.”

“You mean is she popular? No. She’s quiet. Mostly, you see her sitting at lunch with a book.”

BFF123, I thought, not surprised by Roxy’s deception. Especially not as I sat there and continued lying myself. “A big reader?”

“Definitely.”

“Great student?”

“Above average. Reading and writing are her passion. I know she’s been working on an essay series that Mrs. Chula, the writing teacher, can’t stop raving about. She wanted Roxy to enter the pieces in a statewide writing competition, but Roxy refused.”

“Really? What’s the essay about?”

“I’m not sure. Something about the perfect family. I know the first two installments made Mrs. Chula cry.”

“What does Roxy read?” I asked, mostly because I was curious.

“Oh, all those fantasy books, the ones where average kids turn out to have hidden warrior powers and are the only ones who can save the world. Typical hero’s journey stuff.”

This intrigued me. Would Roxy and I have liked each other if we’d gotten to spend more time together? She, a family protector; me, a self-appointed vigilante. I didn’t read books much. Maybe she would’ve held that against me. Plus, in the books, I’m pretty sure, the badass heroines are beautiful, versus my own ragged self with my hollowed-out cheekbones and torn fingernails. But still . . .

“I did have one concern,” the counselor was saying now.

“Yeah?”

“We have this group of Hispanic girls. I’ve heard whispers they’re a gang. They all have beauty marks on their cheeks and a penchant for ripped-up jeans. According to the rumor mill, Roxy’s sister, Lola, has already joined the middle school group. Now, Roxy’s under pressure from the high school girls. I’ve been keeping my eye on the situation; nothing crazy has happened yet. My impression is that Roxy’s playing it smart—she doesn’t directly tell anyone no, just keeps saying later, right now she’s gotta pick up her sister, grab her brother, walk the dogs, whatever. It’s been keeping them at bay.”

“For now,” I said.

“Yes.”

“And if she can’t keep stalling them . . . ?”

One of those shrugs again. “Girls, especially a clique of girls? They can make Roxy’s life miserable.”

“How so? Physical threats, actual beatdowns? I’ve heard girl gangs can be worse than boys.”

“Oh, trust me, it used to be that girls would exchange insults while boys would throw punches. Now, the girls go at it just as hard, often armed with box cutters, razors, you name it. Which is why not so much as a butter knife is allowed on school grounds.”