He actually rolls his eyes, which I find a bit rude. “Well, Ms. Harper. You’re actually the first person on my list this morning.”
I scowl at him. “Your list of what?”
“Witnesses.” Cousins looks kind of smug as he smiles at me. “The headmaster is allowing me to conduct interviews in his office this morning. If you’d follow me, please…”
I stay put. Callum already warned me something like this could happen, so I’m prepared for it. “Sorry, but that’s not happening. My guardian needs to be present for any and all interviews.” I smile back, also smug. “So does my lawyer.”
The detective narrows his eyes. “I see. So that’s how we’re going to play it.” He nods curtly. “Then I guess I’ll be in touch with your guardian.”
With that, he brushes past us and disappears through the front doors.
Once he’s gone, my confident fa?ade drops and I instantly look at Reed. “He’s interviewing people today? Who?”
“I don’t know,” he says grimly.
“Oh my God, Reed, this is bad. This is really bad.”
“It’ll be fine.” But his tone lacks its usual confidence. “Come on. We should get to class. Text me if you have any problems today, okay?”
“Why would I have any problems?” I ask warily.
His answer is cryptic. “Natives are restless.”
This entire conversation—and Detective Cousins just showing up out of the blue—didn’t do a thing to ease my worries, and I think Reed knows it, but he still puts on a smile and walks me to class as if everything is A-OK. After a quick kiss, he takes off in the other direction. I can’t shake my concern. It falls over me like a heavy blanket, and by the time I walk into my chemistry class and settle in my usual seat next to Easton, despair is leaking out of every pore of my body.
“What’s wrong?” Easton asks immediately.
I lean in to hiss in his ear. “The cops are here to interview people about Reed.”
Easton is unfazed. “Nobody around here even knew about Reed and Brooke,” he whispers back. “The interviews will turn up nothing.”
I peek around to make sure nobody is listening. “But everyone in school knows about his fights.” Another thought occurs to me. “And Savannah knows about the Dinah thing.”
He frowns. “That has nothing to do with Brooke.”
“No, but they might be able to twist it around.” I wring my hands together as my anxiety returns, even worse than before. “If they find out that Dinah was blackmailing Reed’s brother, they might come up with some crazy theory that Reed went to the penthouse looking for Dinah and killed Brooke instead.”
It’s a ridiculous thought, but it’s just plausible enough that Easton actually looks worried. “Shit.”
“If they talk to Savannah, do you think she’d say anything?”
He slowly shakes his head. “I…don’t think so?”
That’s not good enough for me. Not in the slightest. “We have English with her next period. I’ll talk to her.”
“And what? Threaten to break her legs if she squeals?” His smile is weak and forced.
“No, but I’ll make sure she knows how important it is not to bring up the Gideon and Dinah thing.”
“Sav hates the Royals,” he says in a tired voice. “I’m not sure anything you say to her is going to convince her to keep her mouth shut.”
“Maybe not, but I’m still going to try.”
* * *
After Chem, I race to the second floor to try to intercept Savannah Montgomery before she reaches our English classroom.
Gideon’s ex-girlfriend is the most contradictory person I’ve ever met. She was the one who gave me a tour of Astor Park Prep when I started here, and although she was kind of bitchy that day, she also offered a lot of unsolicited advice about how to survive this school. And even though she kept her distance and didn’t talk to me much in class, she still took the time to warn me about Daniel Delacorte, and then she helped me and Val get revenge on the creep.
So I guess she’s an ally?
Honestly, I don’t really know. She’s hard to read on a good day, and impossible to read every other day.
Today falls into the unreadable category. She frowns when she sees me loitering outside the door, but she does say “Hey” in a voice that lacks hostility.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I ask quietly.
Suspicion flickers in her eyes. “Why?”
I will up some patience. “Because we need to talk.”
“Class is starting.”
“Mr. Winston is ten minutes late every day and you know it. We have time.” I plead at her with my eyes. “Please?”
After a beat, she nods. “Fine. But make it fast.”
We walk silently down the hall toward a bank of lockers that’s squished into its own little corridor. Once we’re alone, I don’t waste any time.