Reputation(100)

“It’s not what it looks like,” I plead. “I didn’t do what you’re accusing me of. But he has motive to kill Greg Strasser. His wife had an affair with another man! His baby isn’t—”

Two officers hurriedly surround me and snap cuffs on my wrists. I struggle at first, but then I realize that resisting only causes the cuffs to dig in further. My shoulder blades ache. This is all wrong.

The crowd parts, and Reardon, the lead investigator in Greg’s murder, presses through the mob of cops. Unlike the others in their crisp blue uniforms, he looks almost rumpled, his button-down wrinkled, his cuffs sloppily rolled to his elbows. I expect him to head for me—maybe he also was part of the hack committee—but instead, he turns to Ollie. “My office. Now.”

Ollie’s shoulders stiffen. “Why?”

“Downstairs,” he says.

The detective’s back is to me, so I can’t see his face, but Ollie lets out an incredulous snort. “You believe her?” He points at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Reardon almost looks like he wants to roll his eyes. “We heard you, Mr. Apatrea. We heard everything you said just now. And . . .” He glances at my face, which I’m guessing has already reddened with a bruise. “Not exactly protocol, Sergeant. So downstairs. Now.”

The blood drains from Ollie’s face. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

For a moment, Ollie seems paralyzed, but an officer behind him nudges his back, and he staggers forward. The rest of the department doesn’t move a muscle until the two disappear, but then everyone disperses at once. That’s when I realize—it isn’t just the police witnessing what happened. A few more figures besides the cops who were restraining me remain. The first is my father, his mouth a slack O. The second two are Kit’s daughters, the blood drained from their faces. Finally, I see Kit, her hand pressed over her mouth.

But that doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t Kit still be in the holding pen? Still in court with the magistrate? She isn’t even handcuffed.

“Kit?” My voice is hoarse. “You’re . . . okay?”

“I was set free,” Kit admits. She looks intensely distressed.

“B-Because of Ollie?”

She doesn’t answer. She seems uninterested in that, actually. But she’s staring at me with intensity, the amazement and disbelief evident. And then it hits me: Kit witnessed Ollie’s claims—that I hacked the school. That I had motive. They heard why, too.

I turn to our father, and Aurora and Sienna, who lurk behind him. By the shock on their faces, obviously they heard, too. They watch me as if I’m an animal they no longer trust.

“Willa,” my father croaks sadly. “Did you . . . the hack . . . ?”

I shake my head, hating how this is being misconstrued. “No,” I blurt. “Or, not exactly, anyway.”

The two officers grip me tightly. “Okay, Ms. Manning. You need to come downstairs, too.”

But then a strange gurgling noise echoes through the hall, and when I turn, I see my father’s knees buckling. “I . . . I have to . . .” he ekes out.

“Dad?” Kit turns to him in panic. “Dad, what is it?”

“Grandpa?” Aurora looks terrified.

“I have to . . .” Alfred Manning points at his chest. His skin has rapidly turned an alarming shade of gray. “I’m . . .” he tries again, but then his neck snaps back, and he crumples to the floor.





44





KIT


SATURDAY, MAY 6, 2017


Just past 8:00 P.M., an ER nurse bangs into the tray by the bed, and I jolt awake.

I blink, disoriented. I’m curled in a chair, bone-cold under a thin, hospital-issued blanket. My body aches, and my head throbs. My wrists still hurt from where I’d been handcuffed hours before.

“Oops!” the nurse cries as she scuttles about. It’s a woman I recognize—Wendy somebody. I think she used to be in the cardiology department, assisting on Greg’s surgeries. I may have even seen her at Greg’s funeral. I wonder if she was one of the women whispering about me.

I stretch, wishing I could have stolen a few more moments of sleep, then immediately feel guilty for that wish. I glance at the immobile shape at the head of the bed. “How is he?” A single, dim light shines on my father’s cheek. I can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Wendy checks his monitor. “I just came on shift, but he seems stable.”

“When is someone going to tell us what’s going on?”

She smiles tightly. “I’ll check.” She clicks something on the computer monitor that stands near the door and is gone.

I turn to my daughters. Sienna looks awake, though perhaps it’s from all the coffee she’s drunk. She’s tapping on her phone. “Who are you talking to?” I ask.

Sienna looks guilty. “Raina. She was worried about Grandpa . . . and you.”

I feel a pinch of irritation, now knowing all of Raina’s secrets. But maybe, in the grand scheme of things, Raina is the least of my worries. Then again, what’s the most of my worries? Dad? Willa? Patrick? I suck in my stomach, thinking of Patrick’s surprising wrath. My heart feels flattened. How could I have been so stupid again?

“I’m going to go down to the cafeteria for more coffee,” Sienna adds. “Want some?”