Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“Okay, ask me questions,” I grunt. Maybe I’ll learn something.
“Which campus buildings does your student ID open?”
His first query startles me and tells me nothing. “Well, lots of them. The gym. The library. Classroom buildings. Just like anyone’s ID.” My mind races. What could he be getting at?
“And where is your ID right now?”
“It’s... I have no idea. Probably on my desk? I haven’t needed it since Friday.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is disbelieving. “Do you have a Red Sox cap?”
“Sure. Like half the people in New England.”
“What color?”
“Uh, black with a red logo on the front. I don’t wear it often, though. Only on a really bad hair day.”
“Was yesterday a really bad hair day?”
“Not at all.”
He opens a folder and pulls out a single sheet of paper. It’s a poorly rendered photo of a guy holding something in front of his body. You can’t even see his face, but he’s wearing a Sox cap that looks a lot like mine.
“Who is this?”
“That’s you, wise guy. This shot is from yesterday. They have security cameras in the computer lab. Sorry if you didn’t notice that before.”
I blink at the picture. It might be my brother? This picture sucks. “I was nowhere near here yesterday,” I say, unwilling to guess at why they think this is me.
“Yeah? Your ID logged into the system three times. Once in the Vanderbilt Library and twice in the business school.”
“Oh Jesus.” Now I understand. “Look, my brother broke into my room on Friday. I thought he only took cash. He obviously has my ID. I’d bet money on it.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah. Joe Bailey. I only have one brother.” I’m rambling now, but my brain is busy piecing it all together. He took my ID, and he used it to wander around campus looking for computers. He went to the library first, but that space was too public.
The business school would have been quieter on the weekend.
“You say he broke in to your room? At the frat house?”
“Yeah, he picked the lock on my bedroom door. I thought he only cleaned out my cash. I didn’t notice the ID. Or the hat. Actually, I think he has the same hat.”
The cop scowls. “You were stolen from, and you didn’t report it?”
My heart sinks. “It was just some cash. And he thinks he has a right to my stuff. I was relieved he didn’t pick off anything that belonged to someone else. And what would even be the point of reporting him? My mother takes cash off me every chance she gets.” I hate everything I’m saying. It sounds awful. Who would believe me if I come from a family like that?
“But this is you,” the cop says, sliding the photo toward me.
“No it isn’t.” I jab a finger at the photo. “And I didn’t take whatever he’s holding. It was the computer lab, you say?”
“Did I? I don’t remember.”
“Oh, please.” His tone is infuriating. “I’m not taking the blame for this. Joe isn’t the sharpest guy. If you pick him up he’ll still have whatever he took. He’s the reason I don’t live at home anymore.”
“You’re throwing your own brother under the bus for this?”
“Yes!” Although it sounds awful. Like we’re all a bunch of crooks. “Yes,” I say anyway. “Because he clearly intended to do the same to me.”
The cop scratches his head. “So, someone steals your cash and your ID. And you don’t worry about why, huh? Oops!” He throws up his hands. “Seems kind of convenient, that’s all.”
“No! I didn’t realize the ID was even gone. I was headed out of town.”
“Where?”
“Um…” Fuck. What the hell can I even say to that?
“You’re the smart brother, right? The college student? You tell your brother that you’re headed out of town. You also tell him where to find your ID.”
“No! It’s not like that.”
“Where’d you go out of town, anyway?”
“I…” I am so fucked.
“Did you go with anyone else? Did you stay in a hotel? Did you use a credit card, or your EZPass?”
If only I had used a credit card. But of course Keaton paid for everything. And there’s no way I can drag Keaton Hayworth III into this.
It turns out I’m not the smart brother at all.
“I need a lawyer,” I say slowly. I should have said that right away.
“Are you sure? That just looks guilty. If you were out of town, that’s easy to prove, right? We can sort this out like men.”
“Like men.” I sigh. Yeah, I’m never telling him how I spent my weekend. “No, I need a lawyer to untangle this bullshit theory of yours.”
“You got someone to call?”
And that’s the big question in my life, right? I don’t know any lawyers or how to find one in a hurry. Calling home is out of the question. Mom is no help and Joe wants me to go to jail for him.