Page 21 of Gilt

“Apparently, she heard those school yard rumors about Mobie and his…” The look he gives me shuts me down. “So much for trying to pay a guy a compliment.”

“Miss Southerly?” A tall woman approaches us as we near the elevator.

“Emma,” I offer. I’m making all sorts of new friends today.

“Thank you, officer. I have her from here,” she tells him.

I can’t help but notice Mobie strutting over to the receptionist. He leans down and starts to chat her up. I love a happy ending.

“I’m Detective Mackey.” She pushes the button on the elevator panel. “I apologize for dragging you down here on a Saturday.”

Peeling my eyes from the fledgling romance in the lobby, I give her my attention. Mackey sports the typical blunt bob of a career woman with not much time to care about her hair and make-up. But her black suit is tailored precisely to her trim body, which means she cares enough to shop and exercise.

“It’s not a problem. Bodies don’t keep, do they?” I wince as soon as it’s out of my mouth. Nervous humor strikes again.

To my relief, she ignores my tasteless joke. When the elevator delivers us to the second floor, she waits for me to exit. “Can I get you a coffee or a soda?”

“No thanks.” I rub my palms on the skirt of my dress. The interview room looks like they stole it from a police procedural, and it’s making my hands sweat. Apparently, my body is feeling guilt by proximity.

The chair’s metal legs scrape mercilessly against the tile floor as she takes the seat across from mine. “I’ll get to the point. We simply need a statement from you about last night. Just what you remember and who you saw.”

“Honestly, I didn’t see much. I was being anti-social.” Why does such an easy request feel so hard? I guess when you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to share, either.

“Anti-social,” she repeats, scribbling something into a black notebook. “So you were alone in the house?”

“No! I was with someone,” I correct her quickly, even if having a partner in trespassing doesn’t exactly make it right. “We just weren’t at the party. We looked around.”

And now I sound like I was casing the joint.

“Can you tell me the name of this person? I’ll just need to corroborate his or her story. This is all routine. We need to get a picture of the evening’s events and who was where.” Her pencil stays poised over the pad of paper.

“His,” I answer. If Jameson isn’t already dealing with this mess, I’m about to throw him into the mix. I don’t feel too bad, considering he didn’t leave a note. “I only know his first name. Jameson. We were just hanging out. I made us some food in the kitchen, and we went for a swim.”

And kissed. A lot. I keep that tidbit to myself. It’s fun enough admitting I made myself at home. She doesn’t need the details of my sexscapades.

“I see.” Detective Mackey pauses and makes another note. I crane my neck, trying to read it. “Jameson. Do you know his last name?”

“No.” I also don’t have his phone number, I add silently. Maybe last night wasn’t as electric as I thought it was. Or maybe he’d been drunker than I’d realized.

“If we showed you some pictures, could you possibly identify him?” Detective Mackey’s next question interrupts my analysis.

“Are you interested in him?” I ask slowly as realization creeps in.

“We’re simply following up.” Her face remains passive but her eyes study me. “Could you identify him?”

Jameson couldn’t have anything to with this, but, honestly, the most I know about him is how his tongue feels down my throat.

“I got a pretty decent look at him.” Understatement of the year. “I should be able to.”

“Is there anything else you remember about that night? Anyone you saw?” she presses.

She’s serious but I can’t help laughing. “Are you kidding? Most of my school. Monroe’s dad when we first came in. Some security guys.”

“We?” Mackey perks up at this revelation. “Who were you with?”

“I came to the party with my best friend, Josie, but we got separated. She left early.”

Which is why I’m here, and she isn’t.