Gifted Touch (13 page)

“I’m Rae Voight. I have an appointment with Detective Sullivan.”

The cop nodded, adjusting the clump of hair he’d combed over his bald spot. He picked up the phone, 140

hit a couple of numbers. “The girl is here,” he said.

Thanks for remembering my name,
Rae thought.

“She’ll be right out,” he told Rae. “You can sit over there.” The cop jerked his head toward a long wooden bench against the wall behind her. Rae obediently walked over and plopped down. Her stomach was already twisting itself into an extreme pretzel, and she hadn’t even seen the detective yet.

Rae took her brush out of her purse—

/
need a trim
/Anthony wouldn’t/

—and began pulling it through her hair. She was getting better and better at picking up on the flavors of the not-her thoughts. Weirdly, that first not-her one actually felt like her. But not. Like it was a thought of hers but not the thought she was actually having at that moment. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

And the other one, it had given her a Jesse vibe.

The mix of anger and fear and frustration just felt like him somehow. The kid was going nuts thinking that Anthony might get sent away. Talking to Jesse while they cleaned had given Rae the idea that Anthony was pretty much Jesse’s surrogate big brother. It had also given her the idea that Jesse needed one.

How am I even going to look at Jesse in group if I
help nail Anthony?
Rae thought. Before she could come up with an answer, a forty-something woman strode toward her, looking much more glam than Rae 141

expected, with an ash blond bob and perfectly manicured nails. “Rae? I’m Laura Sullivan,” she said, giving Rae’s hand a quick, firm shake. “Come on back.” Detective Sullivan led Rae through a maze of desks and into a grungy office. Clearly she’d tried to make it a little nicer with some potted plants and a Picasso print on the wall—one with a woman looking in a mirror.
A gutsy choice, considering how many
guys she worked with,
Rae thought. But nothing Ms.

Sullivan had done could compensate for the ugly metal desk, the beat-up chairs, the stained carpet, and the worst shade of green paint Rae’d ever seen. “We’ll make this short,” Ms. Sullivan said. “I’m sure that you have other things you’d rather be doing.”

“Pretty much anything,” Rae admitted, sitting in the chair voted the most likely not to collapse.

“Just tell me what you saw.” Ms. Sullivan positioned her hands on her computer keyboard.

Easy for you to say,
Rae thought. If she told what she saw, she’d ruin Anthony’s life.

Ms. Sullivan tapped her fingers on the keys impa-tiently. Rae took the hint. “Okay. Well. I stopped off in the ladies’ room. I just wanted to check my makeup,” she began. “I stepped toward the mirror. And then I was on the floor. I didn’t even realize a bomb had gone off until they told me.”

Gotta do something,
she thought.
Gotta do some-142

thing right now to stop this thing. But what?

“I hit my head,” Rae added quickly. “Things got a little fuzzy.”

Now, that just might get you— you and Anthony—

out of this freakin’ mess, Rae told herself. You hit your head. You don’t remember too well what happened.

Yeah.

“I bet,” Detective Sullivan said as she typed.

“Then what happened?”

Rae brushed her hair off her face. “Then I . . . I was sort of dizzy. There were white dots in front of my eyes and everything, you know?” Ms. Sullivan nodded. “I grabbed the sink and pulled myself up. . . .” Rae suddenly pictured herself blurting out what really happened next.

And that’s when I got one of my not-me thoughts.

One that said Anthony could have been set up. Oh, and by the way, I also got a thought saying somebody wanted to kill me. That helps, right? You know not to bother with Anthony. And you know the real bomb setter is someone who would like me dead. Oh, and probably I should tell you that I was recently released from a mental hospital. But that has nothing to do with the thoughts. They were real. That’s how I know Anthony is innocent. Well, that, and that when I touched this blue cup, I could tell he was really worried about me, that he really cared. And that makes him a good per-143

son. And a good person wouldn’t set off a pipe bomb.

So you can call the juvenile detention center right now and tell them there’s been a mistake.

“You pulled yourself up and then . . . ?” Ms.

Sullivan prompted.

“It’s kind of fuzzy,” Rae said. “I know that someone helped me down to the nurse’s office.”

“Let’s go back to when you first went into the bathroom,” Ms. Sullivan said. “Did you notice anything unusual? See anyone?”

You know I did, Rae thought. You already heard everything from Rocha. “Like I said, it’s blurry,” Rae answered. She shifted in her chair, unable to find a comfortable position.

“It’s blurry even before the bomb went off?” Ms.

Sullivan asked.

Oh God. I’m such a moron. My whole brilliant fuzzy-thinking story doesn’t make any sense. Because I saw Anthony in the bathroom before the bomb went off. Which, naturally, was before I hit my head.

“It’s weird,” Rae answered slowly, hoping for inspiration. “When I think about going to Oakvale that day, it’s all a little, you know, fuzzy. I did hit my head pretty hard. It was bleeding in back and everything.” And clearly inspiration did not come, she thought.

Ms. Sullivan looked up from her computer screen 144

and studied Rae’s face. Rae felt like she had the words big, fat liar written in lipstick on her forehead.

“Do you remember telling Mr. Rocha what happened?” Ms. Sullivan asked.

“Sort of,” Rae admitted.

“You told him that someone was in the bathroom when you went in. Do you remember that?” Ms.

Sullivan pressed, her eyes alert, the kind of eyes that noticed everything.

This is hopeless, Rae thought. Rocha can testify to what I said. I’m just looking suspicious by all this

“fuzzy” bull. And it’s not helping Anthony, either.

“Yeah. I remember,” Rae answered.

“And who was it you saw?” Ms. Sullivan asked.

Rae met Ms. Sullivan’s gaze straight on. Then she said the only thing she could say.

“It was Anthony Fascinelli.”

Anthony headed to the common room. He prayed his mother would be wearing something that wouldn’t get too much attention from the guys. He pushed open the door—and saw Jesse sitting at the table in the back corner. But he wasn’t alone—Rae was sitting next to him.

No way. He had to take a lot of crap in this place. But he did not have to take this. Anthony strode over to the table and leaned down until he could look Rae directly in the eye. “Get out of here,” he ordered. “Right now.” 145

“She wants to help,” Jesse said.

“Bull,” Anthony shot back without taking his eyes off Rae, careful to keep his voice low enough so that the counselor supervising the room wouldn’t hear. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“Sit down, Mr. Fascinelli,” the counselor called from across the room. Anthony sat, still locking eyes with Rae. Her gaze finally skittered away from his, and he felt a surge of satisfaction.

“That’s not totally true, you know,” Rae protested, her eyes lowered and her voice all whiny. “They found the stuff in your backpack, so—”

“They wouldn’t have been looking in my backpack if you hadn’t opened your fat mouth,” Anthony shot back.

Rae’s chin jerked up. “What were you doing in the girls’ bathroom in the first place? And forget that the-guys’-was-flooded fairy tale.” Her voice wasn’t whiny now. It was sharp, accusing. And this time she was the one getting in his face, going practically nose to nose with him, blue eyes bright with anger. Like she had anything to be angry about.

“I can’t believe you’re coming in here asking me questions,” Anthony said. He shot a glance at Jesse. “I hope this wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t,” Rae answered. “Look, let’s back up, okay?” She reached out and touched his wrist for a 146

fraction of a second, and he felt the heat of her fingers down to the bone. “I didn’t come here—” She hesitated, started again. “I came here because I don’t think you set off the bomb. And I don’t want to be part of putting you into Ashton.”

Ashton. The word was like a bullet to the gut.

“There’s nothing either of you can do about it.” He gave Rae a pointed look. “Unless you plan on lying to the cops.”

“I already gave them my testimony,” Rae admitted.

She gave his wrist another one of those fast finger brushes. “I’d already told Rocha everything. I thought it would make things worse if I changed my story. I’m sorry.”

“So you’re here so I can say, ‘Oh, that’s okay. I know you feel bad, but it’s not your fault.’ Is that it?” Anthony’s hands curled into fists. He willed himself to make them relax.

“That’s not why we came. We’re going to figure out who did do it,” Jesse said eagerly.

“What are you? The friggin’ Hardy Boys?” Anthony asked. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the hurt expression on Jesse’s face. But really, what were they thinking?

“We’re what you have,” Rae said quietly. “And it’s not like anything we do is going to make things any worse.” Jesse didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t 147

even look Anthony in the face.

Anthony scrubbed his face with his fingers.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “So, what’s the plan? Is there a plan?”

“Not yet,” Rae said. “We thought if you could just tell us . . . something, we’d, uh, try and dig up some evidence.”

Her face turned pink all the way to the roots of her hair, like she was embarrassed to be saying that crap.

And she should be. This was freakin’ hopeless.

“Why were you in the girls’ bathroom?” Jesse asked, shoulders hunched like he was afraid to say the words. “They’re definitely going to ask you that at your hearing.”

“The guy I buy weed from said he left some for me in there,” Anthony said. He did a check on the counselor. The guy was still too far away to hear, hovering by a table where a girlfriend had brought her boyfriend some brownies, clearly hoping for a handout.

“In the girls’ bathroom?” Rae asked.

“The guy’s a moron,” Anthony answered. “But even for Nunan this was a new low.”

“So it’s not the usual place for a pickup,” Jesse said. And he actually pulled a little notebook and a pencil out of his pocket.

Anthony shook his head. “I usually just go over to 148

the 7-Eleven and get it from him.”

“So, okay,” Rae said. “I’m no Nancy Drew, but I say the first thing we do is talk to this Nunan guy. See why he chose the girls’ bathroom. And find out if he saw anything when he made the drop.” She glanced at Jesse, and he gave a little nod, then started scribbling away. They were quite a pair.

“Couldn’t hurt, I guess,” Anthony said. He locked his hands behind his head and leaned back, trying to crack his spine. It felt like it was made of cement or something.

“Don’t sound so grateful,” Rae told him, a little irritation creeping into her voice.

“Is that why you’re here? You want gratitude?” Anthony demanded.

“No,” Rae answered. She ran her finger over one of her eyebrows, smoothing it down.

“Then what? Explain it to me. You don’t know me from a hole in the wall. Why are you so sure I didn’t set the bomb?” Anthony asked.

“Shut up. We know you didn’t do it,” Jesse said.

“I know you know I didn’t do it,” Anthony told Jesse. Then he turned back to Rae. “But I don’t get why you’re here. And I really don’t like the idea of getting help from somebody when I don’t know what’s in it for them.”

149

“I just . . . You don’t seem like someone who—” She stopped and did the eyebrow-smoothing thing again.

“Bull,” Anthony said. “Tell me the truth. Or get out. Jesse can talk to Nunan alone.” Rae didn’t answer. She was quiet for so long, he started to think she was never going to. Then she let out a shaky breath. “Jesse, do you mind waiting outside for me?” she asked.

“Why?” Jesse asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I want to talk to Anthony alone for a minute, okay?”

Jesse looked over at Anthony, and Anthony nodded, then Jesse stood up reluctantly and headed for the door.

“This better be good,” Anthony said.

Rae studied him for a moment, her blue eyes wary.

“Oh, it’s good. It’s very good.” She shifted in her chair, then grabbed her purse and pulled out a lipstick.

She coated her mouth in a couple of quick moves, not going outside the line once.

“You need lipstick to talk about it?” Anthony asked, trying not to fixate on her mouth, now that it was all slick and shiny.

“I’m nervous, okay?” she snapped. She dropped the lipstick back in her purse, then cradled the purse 150

on her lap. “You know I was in the hospital, right?”

“Yeah. You had some kind of breakdown,” he answered. But what in the hell did that have to do with him?

“Yeah. I totally lost it. What happened was, I started getting all these thoughts in my head.