Deadly Read Free Page A

phone wakes me up, and I grab it off the marble coffee table. I’m disappointed to see Ms. Lessard’s cell number. Where the hell is Shawna?
    â€œHave you heard from that girl? Shawna?” she says after we establish that neither of us has heard from Amy.
    I sit up and try to focus. “No. I keep trying, but nothing yet. What do the police say? Are they looking for Amy?”
    There’s a pause before Ms. Lessard answers. It’s like she’s on a five-second delay. “They usually wait twenty-four hours to investigate a missing person, but since Amy’s so young...” Her voice trails off. “They still think she’s probably with a friend, but they’re not taking any chances.” Another pause before she says, “The police are on their way to see you, Eric. It’s only a formality, a process of elimination. No one thinks you’ve done anything to her.”
    â€œThey always suspect the boyfriend, right?” I say. I’d never hurt Amy. Ms. Lessard knows that. Doesn’t she?
    As if she’s read my mind, she says, “I know you’d never hurt Amy, Eric. I told them that. They’re just being, you know, thorough.”
    â€œThorough,” I repeat. The doorbell rings. I can hear my mom’s heels clicking across the floor. “Gotta go, Ms. L,” I say. “I think the cops are here. Thanks for the heads up.” I end the call just as my mom’s voice comes over the intercom.
    â€œEric. The police are here. Something about Amy. Please come up. We’re in the kitchen.”
    When I get there, she is offering the two cops—one man, one woman— coffee. When they refuse, she pours herself a glass of white wine and says, “Should I stay?”
    â€œMight be a good idea, ma’am,” the man says, “since your son’s a minor.”
    â€œHow long will this take?” she says, looking at her watch.
    â€œNot long, if Eric cooperates,” the woman replies.
    Mom laughs gaily, as if she’s at a cocktail party, flirting with one of Dad’s cronies. “Eric’s very cooperative, aren’t you, sweetie?” She perches on a stool by the counter and pats the stools on either side of her. “Make yourselves comfortable, officers. Eric, tell them what they want to know.” She winks at the man, who blushes. Both officers stay standing.
    â€œWhen did you last see Amy, son?” the man asks.
    I hate it when men call me “son.” My own parents never call me that. Why should anyone else?
    â€œLast night,” I tell him. “At a party on Washington Avenue.”
    â€œWe heard there was a fight. Between you and Amy.”
    â€œWhere’d you hear that?” I say.
    â€œDoesn’t matter. Is it true?”
    â€œYeah. But it was no big deal. She wanted to stay and dance. I didn’t. Like I said, no big deal.”
    â€œWhat time was this?”
    I think for a minute. We had gone to the party at around ten. Had a few drinks. Danced a bit. It was boring. I wanted to be alone with Amy. The music was way too loud, and everyone but me was on their way to getting wasted. Including Amy.
    â€œI didn’t check my watch. Probably around midnight.”
    The woman writes something in a notebook, and Mom takes a sip of her drink.
    â€œAre you the jealous type, Eric?” the woman asks.
    â€œJealous? No. Not really.”
    â€œI hear your girlfriend was very attractive. And popular.”
    â€œYeah. She was. Is.” Why are they referring to her in the past tense? She isn’t dead. I know she isn’t.
    â€œSo that didn’t bother you?”
    â€œNot really. She was—is—friendly.”
    â€œFriendly.” The woman turns the word over in her mouth like a hard candy.
    â€œYeah. As far as I know, popularity’s not a crime.”
    Mom snorts, and the male cop raises his eyebrows at her.
    â€œWhat did you do after you left the