28. Nim
Chapter 28
Nim
”I still can’t believe he let me go,” I say, turning to study Romi as we cruise down Gold Drive in her Audi A5 Cabriolet.
Romi shrugs. “Dean Rigby’s strict, not heartless. How could he possibly refuse for you to visit your parents’ grave?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, sliding my hand over the cabriolet’s leather finish. “Nice car, by the way.”
“It’s okay. They didn’t get the color right.”
It’s a dark plum color, hints of red sparkling in the paint when the sun hits it just right. I think it’s gorgeous, and I’m still a little incredulous that we get to drive to Cinderhart in such luxury.
Okay, that’s not what I’m incredulous about. It was all the other cars I saw in the students’ parking lot that had my jaw-dropping. There was a pearl white Maserati in there. Romi saw me staring and just laughed.
“Sheriff’s up ahead.” Romi slows down and parallel parks beside The Melting Plot bookstore. “Are you sure you don’t want me coming with you?”
“Plausible deniability,” I mumble to her, my eyes locked on the building on the corner. “This way, you can just tell them I slipped away at the cemetery without you noticing.”
I expect her to laugh and tell me the cemetery is too far away for that harebrained excuse, but she purses her lips and nods a few times. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll park around the corner. Just text me soon as you’re ready to leave, okay?”
“Thanks, Romi.” I turn in my seat as I unlatch my seatbelt. When she keeps staring ahead, I grab her arm and squeeze. “I mean it.”
She looks surprised when she glances my way. “Nim, of course. If you’re—” she cuts off hurriedly, a touch of color in her cheeks.
“If I’m telling the truth, then I need to report them,” I finish for her.
“Nim—”
“It’s okay, Romi. Really. You’ve been amazing about this. About everything.” I pat her arm. “I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.”
She gives me a shy smile. “That’s so nice of you to say.” Shifting, she grabs the back of my hand, locking my touch in place. “Can I be honest about something?”
“Sure.”
Romi squirms for a second before stilling. “I didn’t actually want a roommate. I thought whoever took your bed was bound to annoy the crap out of me.”
“Well I’m glad I don’t,” I laugh.
“Me too.” She runs her hands over the Audi’s steering wheel. “Man, I was pissed when my mom told me I had to get a twin room. And that after saying I couldn’t study abroad.”
“Yeah, no offense, but I think that was kind of a dick move, not letting you go to Europe.”
Romi shrugs. “Well...Maybe she was just trying to protect me, I dunno.” She gives me another shy smile. “I can be a bit too introverted sometimes, you know? I can spend days locked in my room. I think it scares her.”
I give her arm a squeeze, and her smile widens. “Think we can sneak in some lunch before we head back, or would we be asking for trouble?”
Romi shakes her head. “I know just the place.” Then she peels my hand off her arm and gives me a playful shrug. “Now you’re officially stalling. Just go in there and tell them what you told me.”
I let out a huge breath and get out before I can change my mind. Romi waves and pulls into the street, indicating to turn the corner.
Let’s do this.
A swarm of memories rushes back when I set foot inside the Sheriff’s office. I was kind of out of it when Deputy Thatcher brought me back here that Saturday morning, but nothing’s changed since then. There’s a different receptionist, but I guess they work in shifts. A few people are already seated in the waiting area, but as fate would have it, Deputy Thatcher walks into the common area as I push open the door.
When the bell tinkles he looks up from a beige file and locks eyes with me. “Nim?” he calls out, a confused smile touching the corner of his mouth before he beckons me over. “Good to see you,” he says. “Are you here for me?”
“Yeah, if I can? I know I didn’t make an appointment...I’m actually not sure how—” My cheeks are already warming up as I feel several sets of eyes on me from the waiting people. “Sorry. I should probably get in line.”
“Nonsense. Come through.” He tosses the file on the reception counter and murmurs something to the officer behind the desk. Then he waves me to follow him, heading down the same narrow passage we walked the night my parents were killed.
Another cop comes out of an office further down the hall, and pauses when he sees us. Deputy Thatcher just gives him a nod and then opens his office door so I can go inside ahead of him.
As I sit, he asks, “Coffee? Water?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Mind if I get some? I was just headed over that way.”
“No, not at all.” Although I’m nervous as anything, I could probably use a minute or two to compose myself. Thatcher smiles and pulls the door partly closed before disappearing down the hall.
I look around the small room as I prepare. The deputy has quite a few more files on his desk than I remember. I’m itching to open one and take a peek, but that might be a criminal offense. At the very least, snooping without probable cause.
Thatcher comes back with his coffee and pushes the door closed behind him. He looks much better than the night we first met. No more shadows under his eyes, his uniform smartly pressed. It’s just before noon—we left as soon as we got Rigby’s permission, but it’s still a long drive from the Academy.
As if sensing that I’m hesitant to get into it straight away, Thatcher blows on his coffee and says, “So how are you liking Academy life?”
“You know I’m enrolled here?”
“It’s a small town,” Thatcher says, cocking a dark eyebrow.
Thank God Peggy isn’t here. She has a thing for older guys, and I have a feeling she’d be all over Thatcher. With his square jaw, strong nose, and boy-next-door haircut, he reminds me of Clark Kent without his glasses. Not quite Superman—he’s not slick enough for that—but he’s the kind of guy who joined the force because he believes in right and wrong.
“It’s okay,” I say, not wanting to elaborate. If I don’t get this over with, I’m going to chicken out. Again.
Thatcher sits back in his seat and takes a sip of coffee, wincing faintly like it’s still too hot. But then he takes another sip anyway. Sucker for punishment, I guess.
“I witnessed a murder,” I blurt out.
He gives a quick double-blink, but if that’s him being caught off guard then he’s gotten really good at hiding it. “When?”
He’s smart too...not that I doubted it for a second. “The night my parents died.”
“Where?”
“In the Silverash Forest. About a mile or two from Vicky’s house.” Then I wait, because I have a feeling he likes getting information in a specific order.
Thatcher studies me for a few seconds, taking another sip of coffee, and then sets down his mug on a stained cardboard poster with a goofy drawing of a dog on it.
“What were you doing in the forest?”
Wow, townsfolk really don’t like hearing that you’ve been wandering around in their forest. Makes me wonder if there are some gingerbread houses in there I should know about.
“I went for a walk,” I say, trying not to sound too defensive. It is a valid question, after all. “About a mile or so in, I saw a puppy and followed it.”
Thatcher doesn’t touch his coffee the entire time I’m relaying the events that happened after I crossed paths with Boomer. I’m sure it’s cold by the time I’m done how I stop and start, forget things, repeat things, mix things up.
There’s a pit in my stomach when I’m done. I wouldn’t even believe myself. And he’s barely blinked the entire time.
“Did it leave a scar?” he asks.
I nod, and reluctantly start to rise.
He puts out his hand, giving his head a quick, violent shake. “Stay seated.”
I swallow nervously, lick my dry lips. I guess this is the part where he tells me these are some very serious accusations, and?—
“Have they made contact with you since you started school?”
The little bit of moisture I’ve managed to work into my mouth dries up like I was sucking on cotton wool. I nod. “Have they threatened you again?”
Another nod.
“Have they assaulted you, Nim?”
I nod again.
“Witnesses?”
I shrug. “A few students. But?—”
“They’d say they didn’t see anything,” he fills in for me, petting his bottom lip for a moment as he stares at nothing. Then he taps his desk. “Sit tight for a moment. I’m going to speak to the Sheriff.” He stands, pauses. “I’m in half a mind to move you out of the Academy, but...” His brown eyes meet mine, hard and unflinching. “Just sit tight.”
He leaves his coffee behind, and pulls the door closed. I let out a stagnant breath and lean my head on the back of the chair. God, that was awful. And since he wasn’t writing anything down, I have a feeling I’ll have to do it again when he takes my statement.
Wait...why didn’t he take a statement?
Unease starts crawling over my skin like invisible beetles. I sit straight in my seat, staring at the frosted-glass door, willing Thatcher to come back. I glance at my phone. It’s just past noon—I’ve been here for over twenty minutes.
Felt a thousand time longer than that.
A dark shape appears on the other side of the glass. I sit forward in a rush, my hands twisted in my lap. The handle turns, the door opens, but it’s not Thatcher who walks inside.
A vaguely familiar cop steps into the office, filling it with his presence. He’s slightly taller, slightly wider than Thatcher, but with steel-gray hair and eyes just a shade darker. His face is weather-worn, deep furrows beside his mouth.
“Miss Winters,” the man says, walking around Thatcher’s desk and studying the small office like he’s considering changing the wallpaper. “I’m Sheriff Di Toro. We haven’t met.”
“N-No,” I manage, swallowing. “Uh...where’s Detective Thatcher?”
“ Deputy Thatcher,” the sheriff corrects in an even voice, his gaze still roaming.
“Sorry, Deputy.”
“His shift ended at noon.” The sheriff finally looks at me, and I wish he’d just carried on staring around. “I’ll be handling your case.”
“Case? So...you—” I want to say “believe me” but thank fuck I swallow that down. “You’re opening a case against them?”
Damn, I’m shocked how smooth that came out. Thatcher has this comforting aura about him, but this sheriff guy is making my belly turn ugly shades of yellow.
“There are a few details I’d like some clarity on first, but yes, Miss Winters, hearing this disturbs me greatly.”
Good thing he told me, because it’s definitely not obvious looking at his face that he’s even a little put off by my story. He must make an excellent poker player.
“Thank you, Sheriff.” I squirm on my seat before I can control myself. “Uh...Deputy Thatcher said something about me not staying at the?—”
“No, Miss Winters. I feel it’s best you remain where you are for the time being. I will of course communicate with the dean to ensure that there are extra eyes on you.”
I don’t like a thing of what he just said. Not one fucking thing. I glance at the door, which he left wide open. “Is...uh...is Deputy Thatcher?—”
“He’s no longer on duty, Miss Winters.” There’s steel in the sheriff’s voice, and I turn back to him with reluctance. Despite his blank expression, I get the feeling he’s miffed that I keep asking for Thatcher.
“Okay. Uh...do I give you my statement now?” I ask.
“Yes,” Sheriff Di Toro says, sinking slowly down into Thatcher’s chair and tearing a new page off a pad of printed forms. “Let’s start with the date.”
I stare at him for a second, and then shake my head. “I...uh...can’t remember.”
He cocks his head at me. I hurriedly take out my phone and access the calendar. “Wait, let me just check...uh...”
“You witnessed three men attacking someone in the woods with a machete, after which they sexually assaulted you, injured you, and threatened your life...and you can’t recall the date?”
My cheeks are glowing. But the tremble on my mouth isn’t embarrassment anymore. It’s anger.
How fucking dare he? I squeeze my phone tight as I force my hand to stop shaking. I give him all the information he needs, relaying the ordeal in detail. He writes everything down on the form and scrawls his signature at the bottom. Then he slides it over the desk and taps his pen against the line where I have to sign.
“We will be in contact if there’s anything else we require from you, Miss Winters,” Sheriff Di Toro says as he stands and goes over to the door.
“Uh...what happens now?” I wrap my arms around myself as I step into the hallway.
“We’ll bring these young men in for questioning.” The sheriff watches me for a second before saying, “You’ll go back to the Academy and do whatever it is kids do on the weekend in that place.” He shrugs like he doesn’t know, and doesn’t care what kids get up to.
“I mean, will you call me with an update?”
The sheriff looks down as he takes the statement he just completed and folds it carefully in half. “This is now a police matter, Miss Winters.” Then he turns and walks away.
I stare after him, my eyebrows at my fucking hairline, my jaw hanging.
What the fuck just happened?