me. “How are your father and stepmother?”
My shoulders rise and fall. “Dad started working again. He’s in the hall. Diane needed some time away.”
“I hope it does her well,” she says. Ward’s head is cocked as he listens. Sweeny doesn’t explain our history to him; I assume he must already know, since they’re partners. I can’t remember Sweeny ever mentioning having one or that another detective was working on Ben’s case. Ward could have been behind the scenes, back in Seattle. It makes sense that once Maggie was found dead, Seattle PD would send someone familiar with her and Gant. I pull my shoulders back and stare unblinking at him.
He clears his throat. “We’ve officially declared Maggie Lewis’s death a homicide,” he says, and waits. He waits for shock to register in my expression, or waterworks, or a silly wail—who knows. I don’t give him anything, because big freaking surprise. We suspected Maggie’s death was murder two days ago. Maggie the murderer was murdered. Maggie’s killer did what I couldn’t.
“You don’t seem surprised, Lana,” Sweeny says, her tone inviting me to explain.
I shake my head. “We figured it might not be an accident.”
Ward leans forward, nostrils flaring like he’s trying to scent the truth. “Why is that, Ms. McBrook?”
I hesitate over how abrupt his tone is. Sweeny bows her head, urging me on. “Lots of reasons,” I say. “Maggie was attached to something at the bottom, weighted down. She supposedly left town once you—the police—suspected her of being involved in Ben’s death. She wouldn’t have been casually swimming at Swisher Spring or in Gant at all, like no big deal. She wasn’t even in a swimsuit or her underwear. She had one shoe on.”
What I really want to say is this: How couldn’t it have been murder? Maggie was hateable, a cruel, vengeful girl. She was a villain.
Ward smirks. “Are you sure there isn’t another reason you know it wasn’t an accident?”
He says it in a you’re-an-idiot-if-you-think-I’m-an-idiot way. I must be missing something. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Ms. McBrook,” he says in a furious and tight voice, “if you refuse to cooperate, we’ll have to treat you hostilely and move forward with booking.”
I cross my arms at my chest. “I’m answering your questions.” Sweeny’s and Ward’s expressions are only similar in that neither reveals a thing.
“When was the last time you saw Maggie Lewis before you claim to have pulled her out of the spring?” Ward asks.
June is there in the room with us, crooking her finger, urging me back. “Almost eight weeks ago, while the police were investigating Maggie,” I say. I wait for Sweeny’s corroboration. She stays as unmoving as her starched blue blouse. Ward’s big pink lips spread into a smug smile, as if I’ve confessed to murdering Maggie myself. I get dizzy thinking it. “Why?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t you wonder if you were me?” His brows quirk up and they stick there, making a home high on his forehead. “Think how this looks. Maggie was questioned regarding your brother’s death. Not two months later you’re in the very spot she’s murdered with a group of your friends, and you just happen to be the one who surfaces with her body?”
“Ben was not my brother,” I say moodily, half to be difficult and half because that’s who Ben is—was. “His mom married my dad, making him my stepbrother.” I finish less hotly than I started.
In a strained voice, Ward says, “I know what a step-sibling is. Answer the question.”
I whip my ponytail back and forth. “And it wasn’t that Maggie was just questioned. She was suspected of planning the carjacking. She knew who Ben’s attacker was.” I pause, searching his face for a muscle twitch or clue. “I—I don’t understand what you’re asking.” My fingers press at my temples.
He takes his time, reclines in his seat, rubs the knuckles of one hand before switching to the other. “Would you be suspicious if you were me?” he asks slowly.
“Of what?” I cry. My heart is knocking against my rib cage like an unfamiliar and insistent fist on a door. At present Sweeny is squinting at me under the lone lightbulb, just as she was in the glare of the flashlight as she took Maggie’s and my statements that awful night.
“There’s one problem with the little tale you and your bosom buddies have woven,” Ward says. “The coroner’s report for Ms. Lewis came back this morning. Really, kids as smart as you lot should have foreseen the complication. You might have gotten