The Lying Game #6: Seven Minutes in Heaven by Sara Shepard

Author:Sara Shepard
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publisher
Published: 2013-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

20

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Emma didn’t know how she’d made it to the front desk a few minutes later. All the fury had leached out of her, and her limbs felt like they were made of stone, so heavy and stiff she couldn’t believe she was able to move them at all. She stood in a fog while a receptionist with purple acrylic nails paged an officer to take her home. Finally, a tall cop with buzz-cut auburn hair seemed to appear out of nowhere. His name badge said CORCORAN. “Emma Paxton?”

She nodded silently. He gestured for her to follow him, and together they walked through the double glass doors. The sun had set. Beyond the parking lot, rush-hour traffic crawled past, brake lights glinting red in the gloom.

Corcoran didn’t talk much as he drove Emma to the Mercers’. As they glided past shops and salons decorated in green and red for the holidays, she stared out the window, half listening to the crackle of chatter from the cop’s radio. “. . . report of vandalism at the Snack ’n’ Shack on Valencia,” a muffled female voice was saying. “Unit fifty-three, please report.”

“So did you do it?”

She turned to look at the officer, giving him an are-you-serious grimace. Did he think she was going to offhandedly confess to a beat cop—if she had done it—after Quinlan had already interrogated her? But he was staring straight ahead at the road with an earnest frown, like some part of the situation just didn’t add up.

“I was a foster kid, too,” he said matter-of-factly. “Here in Tucson.”

She nodded mutely, unsure what he was getting at.

“I don’t know why it is, but people don’t trust you if you don’t have family. Even if it isn’t your fault.” He shrugged. “You become a scapegoat for everything that happens, just because you don’t fit into the natural order.”

Emma swallowed hard. She looked back out the window, not trusting herself to speak. Were they trying to good-cop her now, trying to get her to confess just because some cute guy, close to her own age, was acting like he understood what she was going through? But Corcoran had fallen silent, like he’d said his piece and that was all he had to say.

When they turned the corner onto the Mercers’ street, Emma’s jaw dropped. The place was swarming with reporters. The whole street was lit up like a ballpark, a dozen vans lining either side of the road. Reporters checked their makeup in the side mirrors on cars and ran through their lines, beard-stubbled men with giant cameras hoisted on their shoulders trailing in their wake. It looked like the Mercers’ neighbor, Mr. Paulson, was being interviewed in his driveway by a man with his hair plastered in a Ken-doll coif. Other reporters seemed to be mid-broadcast, using the Mercers’ house as a backdrop.

I’d always dreamed of being famous, of having paparazzi follow me home and beg me for interviews. But this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind.

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