The lobby of the courthouse was designed to impress. The ceiling soared up two stories with a wall of glass to counterbalance the stone walls on the opposite side. It wasn’t an inviting place. There was a huge metal statue of Justice. She was blindfolded, which was supposed to show she was impartial, but it struck me that it looked more like she had been tied up, like a hostage.
My mom had left for the police station first thing in the morning to give the detectives the vision I’d thought of the night before. I argued that I should go along, but she was firm. She wanted me to stay home and wait. She said she didn’t know if she could pull off faking it if I was watching her. She called me in sick again to school so at least I didn’t have to sit in class.
My mom was confident that this would work, but I was less convinced. The cops might or might not have listened to her, but once she told them, Judge Bonnet would hear about it, and he’d see her as a threat if he didn’t already. The judge had a nasty way of dealing with things he found threatening. Last night my mom had brushed off my concerns, saying that he wouldn’t dare do anything to us, that it would look too suspicious. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the kind of person who had the cash and resources to make something look like an accident. Unless the police arrested him, we’d always be looking over our shoulders, wondering when he was coming after us.
We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for me. I was the one who got greedy and agreed to Paige’s plan. I needed to be the one to fix it.
An elderly security guard sat behind a desk. He was listening to baseball on a small transistor radio. I didn’t even know tiny radios like that existed anymore. It looked like he’d brought it back from World War II. He held up a single gnarled finger for a moment so he could hear the announcer and then shook his head.
“Cubbies are playing the Tigers,” he explained. “You looking for a particular trial?” He pulled out a sheet of paper that had a spreadsheet in tiny print listing names next to courtroom numbers.
“Um. I’m looking for Judge Bonnet’s office. His wife said he’s here.” The guard looked at me. “I went to school with his daughter,” I explained.
He shook his head. “Damn shame, that.”
“Yep.” I forced my face into what I hoped would pass for a sad frown.
The guard pointed me down the hall to the offices. As I made the walk, the walls seemed to close in, and I kept reminding myself to remember to breathe. This was no place for a panic attack. He wasn’t going to do anything to me in a place crawling with police, security, and lawyers. I paused outside the door that had Judge Bonnet’s name engraved on a metal plaque.
I can do this.
The way you make yourself into the kind of person you want to be is by taking action. I pushed the door open and stepped forward. The secretary inside was practically buried under stacks of files that were piled on her desk in unsteady columns.
“I’m here to speak to Judge Bonnet,” I said.
Her face wrinkled up. “He’s not taking appointments today. If you give me your name and number, I can try to book you in as soon as possible, but he’ll be off the rest of this week.”
“He’ll want to see me,” I said.
She raised one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “I doubt that. He’s not a huge fan of things that aren’t on his schedule.”
“Tell him Skye Thorn is here to see him.”
She shrugged, but lifted her phone to relay the message. Her mouth popped into a tiny O of surprise, and she mumbled a response. She hung up, and as she stood, she tugged her fitted black pencil skirt into place. She opened the door that led to his space. “The judge says he’ll see you. He’s asked me to go down to the cafeteria and get you something to eat. They have good blueberry muffins. Would one of those do?” Her annoyance at being made an errand girl was obvious.
The last thing I wanted was something to eat, but I was willing to bet what the judge didn’t want was a chance that anyone would overhear even a word of our conversation. “Blueberry sounds great,” I said, stepping past her into his private office.
They call them judge’s chambers, which has almost a regal sound, but his office was boring. The walls were covered with shelves lined with books, and there was too much large wooden furniture for the space. He motioned for me to shut the door behind me. We stood there staring at each other. Now that I was here, I wasn’t entirely sure how to start. It didn’t help that every ounce of spit had dried up in my mouth, leaving my tongue stuck in place.
“I assume you’re here for a reason,” Judge Bonnet said finally when he heard the outer office door close.
I nodded. “Paige wants you to confess.”
He rolled his eyes. “I suppose you have some kind of connection with her in the great beyond?”
“Yes.” I was proud my voice stayed calm and even.
He snorted like it was a joke, but he grew paler. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“No. I suspect you won’t.” I kept my hands in my pockets so he couldn’t see they were shaking. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Paige knows what you’ve done. You know what you’ve done.”
“What are you talking about?”
When he leaned forward, I stiffened my spine and stood straighter. He couldn’t know I was scared. “I know the entire kidnapping idea was yours. I know everything.”
His Adam’s apple bopped up and down, and a slick smear of sweat broke out across his forehead.
“Then she asked for a ransom, and you couldn’t have that. Or maybe you worried that she wouldn’t stop asking for money.”
“I loved Paige,” he said.
“Then why did you call her a whore when she came back from Florida last year?” I said, throwing out one of the details Paige had told me when we first met.
He flinched. “She knows I didn’t mean that. I was angry.” He shook his head. “She must have told you those things before she died.”
“Really? Do you think anyone would believe Paige and I were friends who traded secrets? Your daughter wants you to know that if you don’t come clean with what you did, it will come out. She made sure of that. You won’t win that Senate race. And it won’t just be politics—?you’ll lose everything.”
He wiped his forehead. “You can’t put some kind of voodoo hex on me.”
I laughed. “Of course not. This isn’t about me. I just came to tell you so that you can confess.”
“I’m not confessing,” he said. “You and your mother can’t prove anything. You’re a bunch of”—?he scrambled to think of the right word—?“hucksters. I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I don’t trust either of you.”
I turned my head to the side. “You know what I find interesting? It’s that you aren’t protesting that you’re innocent. Only that we can’t prove it.”
He stood straighter and gestured to the door. “I think you should leave.”
I wrinkled up my nose like I smelled something foul. “You killed your daughter to avoid paying a measly ransom. How do you sleep at night?”