Dark Turns Read Free Page A

toward the officers on the lake’s bank. The motion implicated the group rather than indicated the crime scene. “We can’t have anyone making this tragedy worse—”
    “Ma’am, please follow me.” The officer with the wide-brimmed hat brought Stirk and her accusing stare up the hill.
    Nia watched them walk out of earshot, toward the dance building. The ballet studio overlooked the lake. How would she teach tomorrow?
    “Did you have any contact with the body?”
    The question returned her attention to the detective standing in front of her. A small spiral notebook lay in his left hand. A pen was pinched between his right thumb and forefinger.
    “No. My boss pulled her from the water. I didn’t touch her.”
    “So you could tell she was dead?”
    Nia’s eyes fell to her feet. The girl could have been alive, and she hadn’t tried to help. She’d been too busy recoiling from the body. “Not until I saw the bruises. The hair frightened me. I fell backward.”
    Kelly scrawled notes onto his pad. “And did you know the deceased?”
    “No. I just started a few days ago. I don’t really know any of the students yet.”
    Kelly continued writing. He looked at her sideways, keeping his chin pointed toward the paper. “So you’ve never seen her before?”
    “No. Never.”
    Nerves tightened her muscles, sharpening the pain in her heel. She shifted her weight onto her good foot. Detective Kelly seemed to note her uncomfortable body language. He scratched his cheek.
    Nia read the gesture as skeptical. She mentally cursed her heel. The pain had made her seem shifty.
    “When did you arrive on campus?”
    “Saturday morning.”
    “Where were you before that?”
    “My mom’s apartment in Queens.”
    “After arriving on campus, you were here the whole time?”
    “Yes. In the dorms, mostly.”
    “Did anyone see you?”
    The barrage of questions felt like an interrogation. Did she need a lawyer? She dismissed the idea. Cops didn’t offer condolences and coffee to people at crime scenes. The detective’s lack of warmth didn’t mean that he thought she had anything to do with the girl’s death.
    “A few kids stopped in to say hello.”
    “Names?”
    “Um, I don’t know full names. Natalie and Jennifer, I think. They’re roommates. And another girl with reddish-brown hair. Sara, maybe? It definitely started with an S. Suzie. Sally. Something like that.”
    The corner of Kelly’s mouth turned down. His expression seemed to admonish her.
    “I would remember her face,” she added.
    Detective Kelly withdrew a business card from his wallet. He held it out to her. “Call us if you think of anything else. And, please, use discretion until the family is notified.”
    Nia slipped the card into her pocket. The detective then asked for a number where she could be reached, in case any more questions occurred to him.
    “And, just to be clear, you’re living in the dorms?”
    His eyebrows slanted toward his nose as though he found something offensive about her living arrangements. She tried to stand up straight, but her injury forced her to adopt the leaned-back posture of a teenager.
    “It’s part of my job.”
    “Right.” He scribbled something on his pad. “We will be in touch. You’re free to go.”
    Nia glanced back toward Battle. The police still surrounded her boss. They wouldn’t want her to wait for him.
    She limped up the hill, wishing she could run—away from the crime scene, away from Stirk, maybe all the way back to New York.

3
    Leçon [ luh-SAWN ]
    Lesson. The daily class taken by dancers throughout their career to continue learning and maintain technical proficiency.
    T he students flitted into the room, more starlings than swans in the school’s navy leotards and white tights. They chittered to one another, oblivious to the new assistant teacher waiting to greet them. Perhaps they thought her a classmate who didn’t have the uniform. Unlike the students, Nia wore dance pants snipped at the most