I was now one of those people that you read about in your pajamas, a name you shook your head over in the local newspaper’s police-beat section as you turned back to your coffee and thought about what to wear to work.
My life as I knew it had become a thing of the past.
Chapter 8
“WHO DO YOU want me to talk to first? Your mom or your dad?” Officer Fournier said, making eye contact for the first time in the rearview.
He really was easy to look at. Not pretty and dark like Alex. His was a paler, more angular, badass white man sort of handsome. His eyes were a strikingly light, almost silver blue.
“They’re both dead,” I said.
Officer Fournier let out a sigh. “You don’t want to lie to me, Jeanine,” he said sternly. “I think you understand your situation here. You really don’t want to make this even worse for yourself.”
“It’s true,” I said, sounding calm and sober suddenly. “My dad was a Maryland state trooper. He was killed in a line-of-duty roadblock car crash in 1982. I have his prayer card in my wallet. My mom died last year.”
Officer Fournier went into my wallet. He turned all the way around a moment later, suddenly much less imposing, with my dad’s prayer card in his hand.
“How’d your mom die?” he said.
“She committed suicide,” I said. I realized it was the first time I’d ever said it out loud.
“Wow. That’s rough,” Officer Fournier said, sounding almost sympathetic as he absorbed that. “Any brothers or sisters?”
I shook my head.
“Whose Camaro?”
“My boyfriend’s. He’s back at our hotel,” I said.
I sat there for a second.
“Having sex with my best friend,” I added quietly.