AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mallory?” she asked. “Why are you asking about Mallory?”
“She’s come up in an investigation we’re conducting,” Ballard said. “What we would like to do is just ask you about the period when you two were friends. Is that all right?”
“Well, yeah. But you do know that Mallory’s been dead for a long time, right?”
“Yes, we know.”
“Are you saying she was murdered or something?”
“No, we’re not. Her death is not why we’re here. Can you tell us a little bit about your relationship with her? Like how you knew her and what sort of girl she was?”
“Well, we became friends because we went to school together.”
“St. Vincent’s in Pasadena?”
“Yes, St. V.’s, as we called it. And we weren’t part of the popular clique. We sat at the odd-fellows table in the cafeteria and that’s how we met.”
“What was the odd-fellows table?”
“You know, for the kids who didn’t fit in. That’s what we called it. I was one of only three Black kids at the school, and the other two were boys and athletes. I was writing poetry, not playing sports, so I wasn’t like them. The odd fellows were the nerds and outcasts. Late bloomers socially.”
“I think you just described me in high school. But they called our table the losers club,” said Ballard.
“Then you get it. So that’s how I knew Mallory. But that was like twenty-five years ago. She left after tenth grade and I never saw her again. Her family moved out to the desert and we lost touch.”
“Right. So you didn’t have any contact with her the summer after tenth grade or later?”
“No, it was kind of weird. It was like she dropped off the planet. And then, like a year after that, we heard that she’d taken pills and killed herself.”
“When you say ‘we,’ who else do you mean?”
“There was another girl we were friends with.”
“Was that Emma Arciniega?”
“Yes. Sounds like you already know a lot about it.”
“Well, you write cop shows, you know how it goes. Are you still in touch with Emma?”
“On occasion. She’s got her life and I have mine.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Marriage, kids, the whole thing. For her, I mean. I’m not married.”
“What’s Emma’s last name now? Where does she live?”
“Emma Sepulveda. Like the street. She’s still in South Pas.”
“She work?”
“She’s a court stenographer at the appeals court over there.”
“And her husband?”
“Randy Sepulveda. He’s an actor. Or trying to be. That’s when I usually hear from her, when she wants me to get him cast in a show I’m working on.”
“You ever do it?”
