I was busing table three and watching them from the corner of my eye. Patti was pulling menus from the rack when Bob said, “Actually, Patti, we’re here to ask some questions. About the Clearys.”
She froze. I did too.
“We’ll need to have a few minutes with a couple of people here,” Bob continued.
“I best get George out here, then,” she told them.
Lincoln nodded. “Yep, we were figuring to talk to him first. Where’s his office?”
They followed Patti back to see the manager. Moose was fidgeting beside me as soon as they disappeared.
“You think they’re gonna talk to all of us?”
“I don’t know.” I surveyed Moose, who looked ready to jitterbug right out of his uniform, tap-tap-tapping his fingers on the seat back. “Dude,” I said. “Calm down.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, a little manic. “Sure, sure.”
“Just be straight with them, Moose.”
He hesitated. “You know I can’t,” he said softly.
“Look,” I said. “So you did things up there that”—I looked around at the empty booths nearby before continuing—“weren’t exactly legal. So what? When was the last time you went up?”
“I dunno. A couple months ago.” He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. It was a classic tell. Trip had taught me that back in third grade, after his mom had caught us taking quarters from her purse.
“Look them in the eyes,” he’d said sternly when his mom had finished scolding us. “And don’t fidget. That’s how they know.” I’d never gotten good at it.
“Moose,” I cautioned now. “Don’t lie to them. You’ll just get in bigger trouble.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Even I can tell you are,” I told him. “You think the police aren’t going to figure it out? This is what they do.”
He looked down, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I saw him yesterday, though. Last night.” He looked at me hopelessly. “What if they think . . .”
“Moose,” I looked at him carefully, not even sure I wanted to ask the next question. “Did you do it?” I whispered.
“God, no!”
“Do you have anything . . . any drugs on you?”
He shook his head.
“Then be honest,” I said. “What do you have to lose?”
“You don’t get it, Riley,” he said, shaking his head angrily. “I’m already on probation. For last year?”
I frowned, but then it came back to me. The girl who’d OD’d. Moose had been involved in that somehow. He’d been out of work a bunch of days after it had happened. It’d been right after first snow, and I’d gotten stuck picking up dead mice almost every time I’d come to work, since he hadn’t been around to take turns.
“I could go to jail if they nail me for anything,” he said. “Basically, I’m f**ked.”
I thought it sounded like he kind of was. “Well, Jesus, Moose, why’d you go up there?”
He looked at me hard, then shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
George pushed through the swinging doors, and stopped when he saw us. “Riley,” he said. “The police want to talk to you.”
I felt a flutter of nerves at how that sounded. And I hadn’t done anything wrong. I couldn’t imagine what Moose was feeling.
“I know this must be hard for you, Riley,” Bob started gently once he’d closed the office door behind us. “You bein’ friends with Natalie Cleary and all.”
“I didn’t really know her dad,” I said.
“No?”
“No.”
“You never met him?”
“Not really.”
Lincoln, who’d been writing notes, looked up. “Either you did or you didn’t. Which is it?”
“Well, I saw him at the mountain yesterday,” I hedged. “Just like everyone else.”
Bob nodded, like he’d expected that. “How did Natalie seem to you before that?”
“I didn’t see her before,” I said. “She was already with the ski team when I got there.”
“What about in the days before?” Bob asked.
“She seemed fine.”
“Really?” he pressed. “Not worried about anything? Acting strange? Upset?”
I thought about the bruise on her face. “She was upset on Monday morning at school, but she was fine later on that day. Fine all week.”
But Lincoln leaned in. “Upset about what?”
“I—” I paused. “I don’t know, actually.”
Lincoln frowned. “Well, how do you know she was upset? Tell me exactly what happened.”
He was watching me closely, and my brain was churning through how she’d looked, hair hiding her face. Her reaction when I mentioned the night at the cave. “She was just really quiet in homeroom,” I said. “When I tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t look at me, and then I saw she had a cut on her face. And a bruise.”
Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted. “Did she say where she got it?”
“She said she tripped and banged into a wall.”
He studied me for a minute. “You didn’t believe her.”
I shrugged uncomfortably.
He exchanged a look with Bob. “Did she often get hurt like that?”
“Sometimes,” I said.
“More than you might expect?” he pressed. “More than other people?”
I shrugged again, unsure of the right answer.
Lincoln exhaled, hard. “Could you help us out a little, Riley?” he said, clearly frustrated. “We’re trying to get a sense of the Clearys’ home life, and I feel like you’re not being very cooperative.” He ran a hand through thinning hair. “Is there more?”
“I’m sure there is,” I said, frustrated myself. “I’d imagine her home life was pretty shitty. Yeah, Nat had cuts or bruises or scrapes more than you’d expect. She said it was from skiing or just her being clumsy.” I took a breath. “If you’re asking if her dad hit her, I have no idea. I don’t know if she was upset at him last week or if something else was going on or if she had, you know, girl problems or what. She’s private. I try to respect that.”
“Even though it meant she might have been abused right under your nose?”