The Ivies - Alexa Donne Page 0,25
Headmistress Fitzgerald makes the point moot.
“Classes are canceled for the rest of the week. We’ll reschedule everyone’s exams, don’t you worry.”
Obviously classes are canceled. Someone died. Get it together, Winters.
The detective clears her throat. “Ms. Fitzgerald—”
“Headmistress Fitzgerald.”
“Headmistress. You and I can discuss the particulars—”
The main boathouse doors burst open. “Where is she? Where’s Emma! Oh god, where’s Emma?”
It’s Tyler. His eyes are rimmed red and frenzied. Fresh tears streak his cheeks. It strikes me that I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a boy cry. Certainly not one like him—beautiful, rich, and confident. But now he’s a wreck, because of course he is.
He makes a break for the rowing-room door and manages to grab the handle, but Detective Cataldo stops him.
“Excuse me; you can’t go in there.”
“But she’s my girlfriend! They’re saying she’s dead! Is it true?”
I catch Avery, paragon of empathy that she is, rolling her eyes at him. My heart is breaking all over again. I am hollowed out. Tyler is shattered. Emma’s poor parents. God, what will I tell them?
“You have to let me see her!” Tyler’s knees give out, and he crumples to the floor. He ends up sobbing into Headmistress Fitzgerald’s jacket collar as she drags him to his feet and over to the corner of the room.
Detective Cataldo clears her throat. “Miss Winters, one of my officers will need to speak with you as soon as possible. And Miss…”
“Montfort,” Avery huffs, like it should be obvious.
“You’ll need to leave. This is an active crime scene. Him, too.”
The headmistress’s mouth twitches. She has a good fifteen years on the detective and at least three class rungs.
All our eyes swivel to the rowing-room doors as they open again. A man walks backward through them, leading a gurney into the lobby. Emma looks so small on the metal slab, the outline of her body clear through the black body bag. There, she’s become a body again. It’s morbid, but my first thought is to wonder whether they salvaged the Louboutin boots or if she still has them on.
I’m going to hell.
Tyler begins his sobbing anew, and Avery gasps beside me. It’s real to them now. They’re getting the sanitized version of her death, a staid and respectful body bag being pushed past us, outside to the waiting ambulance. The image of Emma’s lifeless body floating in a shallow pool will cling to me forever. But at least I get to live.
The questions scratch at my throat again.
I turn to Detective Cataldo. “Where should I talk to your officers?”
Fitzgerald frowns. “We will arrange for your people to interview all of the girls crew team, starting with Miss Winters and Miss Watson, at Austen Hall in one hour,” Fitzgerald addresses Detective Cataldo. “That’s the administration building. And you’ll not speak to a single student a moment before that. There is breakfast at Austen, which you are welcome to avail yourself of.”
Rightly cowed, Detective Cataldo dismisses herself with a solemn press of her lips and a nod. She goes back into the rowing center, presumably to dust for prints or whatever it is detectives do. Fitzgerald tells Tyler to pull himself together and return to his dorm. Avery gets a similar instruction. I get an assessing look.
“A grief counselor should be here by nine,” she says. “Don’t speak to any police officers without my express permission.” Then she heads upstairs to corral the other girls.
Tyler, Avery, and I are left staring at the negative space where, moments ago, Emma’s body rolled through. Tyler has stopped crying, but now he’s clutching at his jacket above his heart, as if to rip it from his chest.
“Tyler, are you okay? Can I help?” I ask, though I stay firmly put, awkward as usual. Because I think it’s what I’m supposed to say, rather than it being a natural instinct. I’m relieved when he shakes me off, ducking his head into his coat collar and heading for the exit.
“I just need some time.”
Avery and I have a view out the glass double doors to the curve in the path where Emma’s body is being loaded into the vehicle. Day is breaking, the sky throwing drowsy pinks, blues, and purples over the rooftops of the nearest school buildings. It’s going to be a beautiful day. A joke made at our expense.
Tears prick at my eyes, finally. I am not a sociopathic monster. With friends like Avery, I worry sometimes.
Beside me, Avery stares ahead at the ambulance. The back doors are closed now.