The tingling sensation pauses at the center of my right eyebrow. Probing. I can almost feel Dacia jabbing at my mental bricks, trying to find a chink in the wall, a place where she can get through to whatever secrets I’m hiding.
I snatch my hand out of her grasp and focus on building another wall in front of the first one. The tingle dissipates, almost like a thread pulling out of my skin.
Her eyes narrow. “You said you would cooperate!”
I keep my face blank and focus on my imaginary wall, in case she’s prepping for another go at it. “You haven’t asked me any questions.”
Dacia stares at me, her composure clearly shaken, and nervously glances at the guy who came in with her. She focuses on smoothing her skirt over her thighs for a couple of seconds, and I lean back in my chair, waiting. I’m beginning to suspect she wasn’t actually prepared to question me. She was counting on just poking around in my head to find out what she wanted to know, but now she has to figure out what to ask.
“How did you . . . how were you introduced to . . . Molly Porter? And when?”
“I met her at the U Street shelter.” That’s the last bit of the full truth this woman will be getting, but I try to weave in a few half-truths to help me remember the story I’m telling. “About three years ago. I don’t remember the exact date. Molly taught me how to play a song on the piano. I think she was there with her mother.”
Dacia nods, and again looks at the bodyguard or whatever he is, still standing near the door with her coat over his arm. Pretty sure he’s military or ex-military. He’s at attention, staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall, his face blank. It’s odd that his presence didn’t make her at all nervous when she came in. If anything, I’d have said the opposite. So I can only assume she doesn’t like him being here as a possible witness to her failure to pick my brain.
“And why did you tell Molly’s grandfather you were in contact with her . . .” She frowns, like she’s searching for the word. “Her phantom . . . her spirit?”
I shrug. “I explained that to him already. Molly left her diary at the shelter. I read it, but I forgot to take it with me when I left. Later, I realized he might have paid for it. I’m almost eighteen and I’d like a little bit of a financial buffer when I head out on my own. I don’t make much at the deli. Anyway, it occurred to me a few months back that her granddad might pay for the information, even if I didn’t have her diary. And he might pay more if he thought he could actually talk to her through me, you know? If he thought part of her was still around.”
“And this journal . . . what did it say?”
“Nothing really. Just stuff about how she missed her grandparents, but her mom needed her more. That she was trying to convince her mom to go back home. And odds and ends that she remembered from when she was a kid.”
She sniffs. “Did you really believe the man would pay you money for that?”
“I thought it was worth a try.”
Dacia tips her head slightly to the side. Her elbows rest on the arms of the chair, and her hands, one gloved and one not, are folded in front of her face, except for the pointer finger that taps softly at her bottom lip. She must be trying to read my face, since she’s failed to read my mind.
“You are not telling me everything, Anna. I think you are still in contact with Molly.”
“You believe she’s still alive? I was told they found her body.”
Dacia stares at me. “You know that is not my intention . . . my meaning.”
“Well, I hope it’s what you meant, because otherwise, you’re crazy. Listen, I’m not proud of what I did to Mr. Porter. That’s why I asked him to meet me at my therapist’s office. I wanted to apologize. He said he wasn’t going to press charges, so I don’t understand why Deo and I were brought in.”
“You have history of this.” Her voice is more strident now. “This saying you contact phantoms. Since you are a small child.”
The Emily MacAlister part of me really wants to correct her—you mean since you were a small child, don’t you dear? But I resist. She seems increasingly agitated. In fact, I can’t see where any of this could be leading, except to a jail cell or psych ward.
“I’m not saying anything more to you or to anyone else until I have legal representation.”
“Like I tell you before, the people I work with can make your problems go away. But also they can complicate your life. My employer, he is very busy right now, and he is not patient.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve heard patience is a virtue.” I get up from the chair. “I’m going to tell the officers that I won’t be saying anything else without an attorney.”