Little Rooms

Chapter 17

A perfect day is usually the one you expect to stay that way, but never does. I was writing an essay at my computer when my parents appeared like terror twins.

"Nicole, a police officer is at the door." My mother had her hand at her throat, her fingers rubbing the skin.

"And he wants to speak with you. Now," said my father, his Adam's apple glugging up and down with each swallow.

I followed them down the stairs, a frigid wind blowing up to my face from the open front door. I looked down at the man in the foyer. The top of his head lined-up with the door moulding, and was covered with salt and pepper hair and a moustache. Cops always had facial hair.

"Nicole Edwards?"

"Yes." I stood in front of this guy, who towered over me by at least a foot.

"I'm Detective Olivieri with the Willowbrook Police Department. May I ask you a few questions?"

I thought about Mrs. Selznik and the robbery, and thought that if this was it, at least it would be over with. It had been a long time since I'd set foot in her house, but sometimes it takes the police forever to size up the evidence and find the suspects. This was my morning.

My parents sat next to me, and the detective across from us.

"I understand that you personally know Joseph Martin?"

This wasn't about Mrs. Selznik.

"Yes." I clasped my hands into a tight ball, afraid that I wouldn't know any of the answers I was supposed to.

"We've been working to pinpoint a suspect in the murder of Ted Martin... and have someone in mind. However, he's claiming alibi evidence."

"Alibi? Nicole?" said my mother, bringing her hand to her chest.

My father put his arm around her shoulders. The detective glanced at her and back to me.

"Do you know Isaiah Collins?"

Do I? Did I? Did I want my parents to know of him? How many beats was my heart pumping at?

"That's the boy you used to tutor!" My mother was winning tons of open-mouth-insert-foot points.

"I know Isaiah."

"He claims he was with you the night of December 3."

Whether it was the feeling of my heart squeezing shut, or a sudden sense of passing out I don't know, but I fell to the floor and my father grabbed me before I hit my head on the coffee table. I was back on the couch, leaning into my mother while a cup of water touched my mouth. Words flew back and forth about interviewing me, hiring an attorney and setting up another time to talk.

"We'll be in touch," said the detective. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

He looked down at me and smiled, his face fuzzy as my eyes tried to get their focus back.

Things became clear after the door shut and my mother sank to the floor sobbing. Her hands cupped her cheeks, trying to hold the tears off her face with little success. Instead of comforting her, my father got up and went to the kitchen. I was still on the couch, watching both of them do anything but help each other... or me.

She sat up and pointed her perfect fingernail in my direction. "What have you done, Nicole? Why are the police knocking at my door?"

"I didn't do anything. I don't know anything." Which was true, except that I did do something with Isaiah and I knew that he was a thief.

"That's good to know, because you're going to talk to Detective Olivieri and find out what this kid has been saying about you," said my father, returning with toast and milk. Always eating during a crisis.