“Oats? Hmph!” I stuffed the rest of my pancakes in my mouth to prevent my saying something I’d later regret.
CLIMBING THE STAIRS to the entrance of the Dunston police station, I felt a little uneasy as I considered the fact that Carson was incarcerated somewhere in this building. The last time I had been here I’d come to collect Trey, and now I had to give a statement detailing how a man had tried to kill me.
Thankfully, I spied Sean leaning against the reception counter, and the sight of him lifted my spirits as if they were inflating with helium. I knew his desk was on the other side of the building, and that meant he was only in the lobby to meet me. He looked up and, upon seeing me, cut off his conversation with the receptionist. He strode over and took me by the elbow. This small physical connection did wonders. It was as if Sean knew that my world had come unbalanced last night and would offer whatever help he could to force the ground to level out beneath my feet again.
“Lila,” Sean said, his voice a caress. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, now that I’m with you.” I smiled feebly. “But mostly I feel like an overcooked piece of spaghetti.”
“That’s to be expected, considering what you’ve been through.” His fingers curled more possessively around my arm. “Come on back. My chief said we could use her office to record your statement. The interview rooms can be a little unnerving.” He nodded at the receptionist as he led the way. “Vanessa will bring us some coffee.”
Inside the chief’s office, Sean closed the blinds and wrapped his arms around me. In his embrace I felt safe, and I leaned into it, not wanting to be released. We kissed, slowly, tenderly, and then he held me for a minute longer before letting go. Reopening the blinds, he smiled at me. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get to work.” He led me to one of two vinyl chairs positioned in front of a glass-topped table, sat down in the other, and shoved aside a mound of documents. “I’ll be recording your statement. After it’s been typed, you can read it over for accuracy. Ready?”
I nodded, reluctant to relive last night’s terror-filled moments. “Where shall I start?”
Sean pulled the recorder toward him. “Give me a minute to identify myself, but you can begin with your visit to the Secret Garden and your conversation with Addison.”
“What does Addison have to do with this mess?” I asked, perplexed.
“Please, just describe everything you can remember. I’ll explain why later.”
He was about to press the record button when a knock on the door interrupted us. Vanessa entered, carrying two mugs and a plate of fruit Danishes. “I thought you might want something sweet with your coffee,” she said, placing them on the table.
The aroma of coffee made me think of the office, and I realized that I hadn’t called the agency to inform them I’d be late for our meeting this morning. “Oh no!” I exclaimed. “I need to phone Bentley and tell her why I’m not at work yet.” I rummaged in my purse for my cell phone.
“I’ll do it,” Sean said. “I can explain what happened and officially confirm that Carson plagiarized Marlette’s novel. I’m sure this will raise a few issues for your boss, but she needs to know the truth. Mr. Knight provided us with a very detailed confession, but more about that later.” He couldn’t hide a glint of satisfaction.
“That would be great. Tell Bentley I’ll be in as soon as we’re done.”
I recited the number, and he made the call. While listening to him talk, I had the strange sensation that he was referring to someone else when he succinctly described what had occurred at Marlette’s cabin. When he finished, he handed the phone to me. “She wants to speak to you.”
Bentley sounded uncharacteristically solicitous. “Lila, there’s no need for you to come in today after all that you have been through.”
Gratitude flowed through me. “Thank you. I can come in on Monday.”
“Take as long as you need—even a few days off. As soon as the police give me the information I need, I’ll be flying to New York to deal with the mess that Luella and Carson have created. Between the lawyers and the editors, I may be gone for several days.”
An hour later I was ready to sign my official statement. My hand was cold on the pen, and my signature reflected the hint of a tremor. I pushed the paper over to Sean. “It’s done.”
“I know it wasn’t easy for you to relive that.” He touched my wrist. “I wanted to tell you about something I learned from Carson’s confession. Remember the skull that was painted on the door of your house in Dunston? He was responsible for that. I’m telling you so you don’t have to look over your shoulder in the future.”
“He was already targeting me then?” I ran shaky fingers through my hair, thinking about what might have transpired had I not moved in with my mother.