Page 23 of Gilt

“I’ve told you everything.” I’m officially out of patience.

“We might need you to come in again. Please let us know if you’ll be traveling.” She opens the door but I just gawk at her.

“I’m going to see my mother in Palm Springs in a few weeks.” I force myself onto my feet. The next question I have for her I don’t want answered sitting down. “Am I suspect or something?”

“Everyone who was there last night is a person of interest.” It’s a stock answer that does nothing to assuage the panic welling in me.

“That’s a very long list.”

“Yes, it is.” She gestures toward the door. Pulling out her phone, she taps the screen, not bothering to look at me. She’s through with me.

For now.

My head is still spinning when I step into the corridor. Before Detective Mackey can disappear, I call after her. “Detective?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t even know what happened. Was someone murdered? Who? If I’m a person of interest, I’d like to know.” This doesn’t feel like an unreasonable request after answering all her questions.

“Yes, someone was murdered,” she confirms as she clips her phone back on her belt. “At the moment, we’re waiting to release that information.”

“I guess I’ll wait for the press conference.” Nothing like being questioned for a crime you know nothing about.

Mackey presses her lips into a thin line. Not a smile or a wave or even a goodbye. When she’s gone I slump against the wall. There’s absolutely no way I’m asking for a ride home in a police car. I’m guessing that Monroe isn’t going to offer. More than transportation, I need someone to help sort through my feelings.

Emma: I need you to pick me up.

Josie: Sure. Where?

Emma: Promise you won’t freak out.

Josie: Now I’m definitely going to freak out.

Emma: At the Belle Mère police station.

CHAPTER NINE

It takes her so long to respond that I almost call to make certain she hasn’t fainted. I’m going to wind up calling an Uber so I can go peel her off the floor.

Josie: On my way.

She’ll have figured out why I’m here. It wouldn’t take a genius to do that, but maybe a genius could sort out exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.

Footsteps shuffle closer, and I discover Jonas clutching a Styrofoam cup. He holds it out to me. “I thought you could use this.”

“I’m good.” I fiddle with my phone for a few seconds, trying to ignore the awkward silence that’s so obvious I can almost hear it. “Did you get a mug shot?”

“Um, no.”

“Me either.” I abandon my phone to my blackhole of a purse. “All those questions and nothing to show the grandkids.”

Jonas chuckles and takes the wall next to me. It’s odd being so close to him after all this time. It’s been nearly two years since we broke up, and I’ve spent each of those days pretending he meant nothing to me. Today there’s no flutter in my stomach or pangs in my chest. He’s become someone I used to know.

I’d spent years thinking I loved him, and although I’d never admit it, even if I was being tortured, I wondered what would happen if he broke up with Monroe. But there’s no electricity, no unseen force tugging me to him now. I guess I hadn’t let myself get close enough to realize my feelings for him were an illusion. Now we’re here, and there’s nothing to say to one another.

“So, did you do it?” I ask conversationally. “If we’re stuck together, we might as well compare rap sheets.”

“No!” Jonas stares at me, horror-stricken. “I would never hurt Monroe or her family.”