White Rabbit(64)

Sebastian thinks about this for a moment, looking for a counterargument; but he knows the players even better than I do, and he has to realize that I’m right. With a troubled sigh, he finally concedes. “Okay. Fair enough. So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.” I look out the window, watching the fog thicken as we draw nearer to the water again. “Back at square one, I guess.”

I’m still pondering this—thinking about Race and Peyton, the only remaining suspects we haven’t spoken to a second time—when we pull up in front of the police station again. It’s a destination we’ve gambled on, hoping against hope that we can catch April before Peter and Isabel take her home, and so I’m relieved to see her standing outside—alone. Leaning against the building’s brick frontage, away from the lights of the overhang, she is at first only discernible in the darkness by the orange glow of a cigarette she holds in the fork of two fingers.

“Hey,” I call out softly, after Sebastian has parked the Jeep and we’re approaching her through the shadows of the almost empty lot. She still looks pale and drawn, but far more relaxed than she was when we first dropped her off. “What happened in there? Where are Peter and your mom?”

April drags on the cigarette for a long moment, the ember glaring as she evaluates us with strangely careful eyes. As she exhales, she pushes a hand through her auburn locks and states, “They’re still inside. Talking to the cops. Or to the lawyer, maybe—I don’t know. She’s a total bitch, by the way.”

“But what happened?” I repeat impatiently. “What did you tell the police?”

“What we agreed.” She flicks some ash off her cigarette, her expression unreadable. “They kept saying my story ‘didn’t match up’ with the one you guys told, but they wouldn’t be more specific. I figured they were bullshitting.”

It’s a question, I realize. “They were. They must’ve been. I said exactly what we talked about, and then Peter sort of intervened, so the detective didn’t get much of a chance to cross-examine me. I don’t know if he believed it all, but I stuck to the script.”

“I told them who my dad was, and they basically just took down what I said and thanked me for helping,” Sebastian puts in. “The officer I spoke to played hockey for the Catamounts my dad’s first year at the university. Being the son of Dominic Williams has its upsides. Sometimes.”

“Well, anyway.” April blows out another cloud of smoke. “I was in there for more than a fucking hour, saying the same stuff over and over again until they finally told us I could go because they didn’t have enough evidence to arrest me. Yet.” She looks down at her hands. “I’m not supposed to leave town, though. It’s so fucked up. This whole thing is so fucked up.”

“Somebody burned Fox’s house down,” I blurt at last, wondering how long we have before Peter and Isabel come out and our time to confer is officially over. “Apparently it happened while we were going around and talking to everybody. As far as they know, you were still at the lake house, so they can’t tie it to you.”

April stares at me. “What?”

“And Arlo’s dead,” Sebastian adds. Her head swivels sharply in his direction, her eyes popping open wider. “We found him at his house. I guess he and Lia went back out to South Hero after they left the first time, and Arlo must’ve seen what happened to Fox. We think he was planning to blackmail whoever did it, only—”

“Then that’s why they let me go.” April gazes up at us, astonished. “It has to be. I mean, I was practically in jail—there’s no way I killed Arlo and did whatever to Fox’s house when they had me locked up in there. All that ‘don’t leave town’ stuff was probably because they didn’t want to admit they were wrong! Does this mean it’s over?”

“Maybe.” I can see hope making a desperate break for freedom in her expression, and I really don’t want to be the guy to point out that relief is a little premature. There’s no question in my mind that Fox’s and Arlo’s deaths are tied together, but who knows how long it could take the police to establish that fact—and to realize that April couldn’t have been responsible? “Don’t forget that what happened to Fox is technically in the jurisdiction of the South Hero police—”

“The Grand Isle Sheriff’s Department,” April corrects glumly. “They only mentioned it to me, like, eighteen times.”

“Well, we’ll probably have to speak with them, too—all of us—before they’ll even think about officially clearing you.”

“Awesome.” April nods sarcastically, letting out a puff of smoke. Her eyes play over me, then narrow. “This is an interesting look. What happened to your other shirt?” Her tone is neutral, but I can see curiosity waking up in her eyes as she gestures at the jersey I’m wearing. There is, of course, actually a reasonable explanation for why I had to change, but I fumble my chance to give it; my first instinct is to look over at Sebastian, my cheeks turning pink with heat, and April reads deftly between the lines. “Wait. WAIT. No. Way. No way! You two aren’t … I mean, are you?”

“It’s not— Look, I had to change my shirt because—”

“It’s cool, Rufe,” Sebastian says quietly. “I told you I’m okay with it.” He faces April, looking about as relaxed as a cat drowning in a toilet. “Um, yeah. Actually, me and Rufus are … you know. Um … together.”