“You’re not bugging me at all. I just want you to stop stressing about this and try to live a normal life,” he says. “And while we’re on the phone. How’s the texting from that reporter? Did he stop?”
“Yeah, he did,” I say, standing up straight and collecting my bag from the floor. “Thanks for getting that restraining order put on him.”
“Anytime.” There’s another pause and I know what’s coming before he says it. “What about Mira Price’s son? Have you talked to him at all since I brought him in for questioning?”
“Not really.” My chest starts to tighten, my lungs constricting and sucking away the air. Stop it. Turn it off.
“I think that’s for the better,” he says. “At least for now.”
I get what he’s saying, but it feels so wrong. For the better? If this is for the better, then why does it hurt so badly? “I have to go,” I say. “It’s time for my next class.”
“Okay,” he says. “And remember, call me if you need anything.”
But clearly he means call me only if you need something that doesn’t have to do with checking in.
After I hang up, I pull myself together and walk out of the bathroom confidently, ready to move on from the conversation and go fishing—a distraction. But the moment I step into the pond, I feel deflated, thinking about how much I’d rather be trying to drown myself instead of standing out in the campus yard, looking for a sucker. The longer I search the crowd, the more I just want to bail and deal with whatever punishment Preston’s going to give me. I’m not feeling it and I’m about to give up when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket.
I take it out and unlock the screen. A text from an unknown number. Not surprising. It happens all the time anymore.
Unknown: I know what happened to your parents.
And let the games begin. I shake my head, thinking of Stan, and some of the other calls and texts I’ve gotten since the news went public. I consider what I should text back.
Me: Yeah, I think everyone does anymore u moron. They were murdered. Thanks for reminding me though. That was super-duper nice of you.
I move to put my phone away but it buzzes in my hand. Sighing, I open the incoming message.
Unknown: But I know who did it.
I stop breathing as I read it over and over and for a brief, very gullible moment on my part I actually wonder if this person might know something, like maybe about Mira or the other person that was there that night. But at the end of my analysis, I decide that it’s probably just some god damn ass**le, like Stan the reporter, and a few other one’s I’ve sporadically met during my few trips to the police station. I even received one phone call with someone bribing me with their information in exchange for a few gory details of what I saw that night. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that a reporter new more than the police and I do, so I told him where he could go f**k himself.
I’m about to text back and call the person out on when I hear someone say, “Are you Violet?”
There’s a guy standing in front of me and my entire body tenses as a million different thoughts race through my mind of who he could be. A reporter. The police. The other person who was there that night my parent’s where killed, although he looks too young for the latter.
He’s wearing a fancy pinstripe shirt with the sleeves rolled up, along with a pair of name brand jeans, and shoes shinier than my lip-gloss. “You are Violet, right?”
Despite my alarm, I don’t miss a beat, even though my heart does. “Why? What’s it to you?”
His lips spread to a slow smile as he sticks out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Roy. Preston told me I could probably find you down here and that you could hook me and some of my colleagues up.”
“He did, huh?” I say, relaxing. Preston knows my routine a little too well, I guess. Still I don’t appreciate the unannounced ambush. “Yeah, I’m her.”
His smile broadens, but his brows furrow when I won’t shake his hand. “Good, come with me.”
I don’t budge from my spot underneath the tree. “Yeah, I’m going to need to check with Preston before I go anywhere with some random dude who looks like he could be a lawyer and who could be setting me up.”
His smile falters, but then he relaxes and bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Totally. I understand.”
“Give me a second.” I walk away from him, dialing Preston’s number when I reach out-of-hearing range.
“Hey beautiful.” Preston sounds like he might be high and having a party with all the background noise. “I was expecting your call.”
“Why? Because you sent some rich douche down here without telling me?” I say, glancing back at Roy who has his attention focused on a girl in a skirt bending over to pick up a paper she dropped and who’s totally flashing the entire campus yard.
“I was testing you,” he says simply. “I want to make sure we don’t have anymore screw ups in our future.”
I roll my eyes. “So did I pass or fail?”
“You passed,” he says and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Which means only good punishments for you tonight.”
My heart withers a little more—soon there won’t be anything left of it. “If it’s okay with you, and you’re test is over, I’ll get back to fishing.”
“No, Violet, you need to go with Roy,” he says, talking loudly over the music.
I press my finger to my ear so I can hear better. “Why? I thought it was a test?”
“A test yeah, but Roy has a connection to this underground poker game place in one of the more upper ends of Laramie and if we can impress him he might just make us his permanent dealers. Which is a good thing. Trust me. We’re getting in with the big timers.”
I try not to freeze up at the mention of underground poker, because I know Luke likes to hangout at those kinds of places and big timers are a lot different than dumbass college guys who think with their dicks. “I’m not sure I want to do this deal.”
“Violet, don’t f**k this up for me,” he says, his anger rising through his voice. “This is a great opportunity and if you’ll just act like your normal self, I know you can dazzle the shit out of them. Just make sure to give them whatever they want.”
“I’m not a whore,” I say, getting pissed. “I’m not going to f**k anyone.”