I sat with that for a minute. He was right. But it nagged at me. The whole thing really nagged at me. “Are we still going to talk to your FBI dude after we talk to Britta?”
“Definitely,” Cole said. “And I’ll let him know about the breakin, just in case.”
“Okay, good,” I said, thankful that Cole hadn’t lost all his good sense.
We stopped for a breakfast sandwich at McDonald’s on the way to Britta’s. Cole had gotten her address off the Internet. It was freaky how easily he could look up anybody and get their address. It made me think that anybody else could do it, too.
We got to Britta’s by eleven A.M. I was a little worried she might be at church, but when we pulled up alongside her house, it was obvious by the two kids playing soccer in the side yard and the minivan with its hatch open to reveal bags and bags of groceries that she was home.
The house was a big white structure with gables that held steep peaks and perfectly maintained landscaping. There were large flowerpots on the front porch overflowing with flowers. Cole and I parked at the curb and headed up the drive.
The kids—maybe between twelve and fourteen—spotted us first and stopped chasing each other. I waved to show them that we were friendly. They stood there motionless.
“Hello?” I heard to my left.
Cole and I turned to see a very thin woman coming out of an open door. Dressed in a sleeveless shirt and short shorts, her limbs, while toned, were painfully thin. Her skin was tan and a bit weathered, and her shoulder-length brown hair looked dry and brittle, as if it was unhealthy. But she had a very pretty face, even if it was a little gaunt.
She moved over to the minivan and set her hands on two of the bags. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Cole stepped forward. “Hi, Mrs. Schroder?”
She nodded.
“I’m Cole, and this is Lily. We’re juniors at Chamberlain High. We’re on the school newspaper and we’re researching an article for our first column of the year. It’s an exposé on Amber Greeley and Ben Spencer. We’re trying to come at it from the angle that Amber didn’t really murder Ben, and we heard you were close to Amber in high school. We’d like to hear what you think might’ve happened that night.”
She squinted at him, as if trying to take in all that he’d said and make sense of it enough to be able to comment. “You said your name was Cole?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, without offering his last name, which is what I thought she was fishing for.
“Cole Drepeau?” she said.
Cole and I exchanged a surprised look.
“Uh…yes, ma’am. How’d you know?”
“I have a brother who used to work for your dad before he moved back to Canada. He’s met your mom, and he even met you when you were a baby. Plus, you look like Spence.” Mrs. Schroder then grabbed one of the bags and handed it to him. “Come on, you two. Help me with the groceries, and we’ll have a chat.”
We emptied the minivan and followed Britta inside. She held herself with a bit of an air, especially when she looked me up and down. It was weird because it was a sort of quietly aggressive move that I’d expect from other girls my age, not someone old enough to be my mom.
We entered the back door into the kitchen, and I’d never seen a space so sparkling white. The cabinets were white. The countertops were white marble. White bar stools. White floors. The appliances at least were silver and offered a small amount of contrast.
Still…the interior of her kitchen reminded me of an operating room, and then I remembered that her husband was a plastic surgeon. I wondered, suddenly, if she might have heard of my dad.
“So!” she said as she began to put the groceries away. “You two think Amber was innocent, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing close to Cole. Britta gave off a weird vibe, and for whatever reason, I didn’t think I liked or trusted her.
She paused at the open fridge to smirk at me. “Well, that’s cute,” she said. “But I know that Amber did it. Spence dumped her and she snapped and shot him, then acted like she had nothing to do with it until the guilt caught up with her.”
Cole rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Yeah, I hear you, but we’ve learned some stuff that might be pointing us in another direction.”
“Oh?” she asked, pausing again with her hand halfway inside the grocery bag.
“We heard that there was something going on between Spence and a teacher. Mr. Bishop.”
Britta’s brow rose up. “That twerp? Oh, please. He didn’t have the backbone to kill Spence.”
“Then you heard about the issue between them?” Cole said carefully.