Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (8 page)

The detective and Dad walked through the office door first. The person in the chair stood up.

“Emery—”

Emery!
I peeked around Detective Conlin to get a look.

“I’d like you to meet Drake Jones.”

While they shook hands, I observed the missing professor’s son. Emery looked like a boy my age—or the way one would have looked fifty years ago. He wore a blue button-down shirt, khaki pants with a brown leather belt, brown leather loafers, and black-framed glasses. They reminded me of Clark Kent’s. In fact, he reminded me of Clark Kent, the one from the original black-and-white Superman television show. Emery didn’t look like he should be in color, either.

Looking beyond the Clark Kent glasses, I took in his face. He had nice features. His eyes were black, like two pieces of sparkling coal. There was also intelligence in them, which wasn’t too surprising, considering who his mother was. Besides intelligence, he had inherited her complexion. His light complexion coupled with his black hair and eyes made him very striking. He wasn’t Jared-gorgeous, but he definitely had the tall-dark-and-handsome
thing going.

After taking note of his neatly combed hair, my eyes dropped back to his face, meeting those two pieces of sparkling coal. When I blushed, his expression became amused.

“Emery, this is Mr. Jones’ daughter, Cassidy,” Detective Conlin introduced me, stepping aside so I could be properly presented.

Emery extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassidy.”

I would have gladly taken his hand if I’d had a free one. After glancing at the plate and glass in my hands, I stared at his helplessly.

Understanding my challenge, Emery smiled, lowering his hand.

Nice smile,
I noted, almost making a horrifying blunder. “Nice sm—uh, nice to meet you, too, Emery.” Though I caught the “smile” before it slipped, I still blushed at the close call.

His dark brows knitted as he studied my flushed face. I assumed he was scanning his mental dictionary for words that began with “sm.” My blush lingered at the thought.

To the relief of my cheeks, Detective Conlin waved a detective in from the squad room, which drew Emery’s attention from me to him.

“Emery, why don’t you go with Detective Reed and get a donut and hot chocolate?” the detective suggested as the other detective entered the room.

Watching his eyes narrow on Conlin, I thought,
I don’t think he’s a donut-and-hot-chocolate kind of kid.
In fact, not much about him suggested
kid
. Intrigued, I watched his scrutiny deepen, like he was trying to read the detective’s mind. I followed his intent gaze as it moved from the detective to Dad to Detective Reed. It settled on me. Staring into his black eyes, I fought to keep mine from widening. When his gaze moved up to the gauze bandage on my forehead, I quickly covered it with my hand.

He didn’t play the donuts-and-hot-chocolate game when he answered the detective after his ten-second scrutiny. “Of course, Detective Conlin. I don’t mind taking a seat outside.” With a smile, he turned and left the room. Detective Reed followed him.

Surprised by his boldness, I watched him walk straight to Detective Reed’s desk and sit in the chair pushed alongside it. He didn’t even look in the direction of the coffee bar.

Closing the glass door, Detective Conlin remarked, “Poor kid. He’s in a tough place.” He motioned for us to sit.

Sitting in the chair Emery had been in, I set the donuts and water on the desk’s edge.

“Why is he here, Bob?” Dad asked, settling in the chair next to mine.

“Emery is a minor with no relations or designated guardians,” the detective explained, sitting heavily in the leather office chair behind his desk. “Besides his mother, his only other living relative is his father. Apparently, Mr. Phillips hasn’t been local for a while. According to Emery, his father’s absence is business-related, but he has no way of contacting him. Who knows about these sorts of situations, huh?” He shrugged with a look of distaste. “To answer your question, Drake, Emery is here at headquarters waiting for CPS to collect him. Child Protective will place him in temporary care.”

The detective looked beyond us into the squad room and added, “Emery has been none too happy about being taken into our custody. Real independent. I’ve never met a kid like him.”

Dad let out a long breath. “He’s going through enough without adding a foster home to the mix.”

“It’s a shame, but there’s no other option. Hopefully, the placement will only be temporary.” From the top desk drawer, the detective pulled out a tape recorder. “You’re up first, Drake,” he informed, placing the recorder in front of Dad and pressing the
record
button. He leaned back in his chair. “Drake, would you please explain why you were in Building Twelve at Wallingford University on October second, and what events took place between four-fifteen and five-twenty-three p.m. while you were there?”

Picking up the sprinkled donut, I munched as Dad talked. Of course, he articulated our time at the lab perfectly. Being a professional nitty-gritty guy, he left no detail out. While I worked on the old-fashioned donut, he began relating the most interesting portion of our time in the lab: my spill. The only part of the fall he witnessed was my head slamming into the table.

When Dad finished, the detective turned off the recorder. Glancing at my forehead, he commented, “It sounds like you had quite a fall, my dear. Drake, did you fill out an accident report for the university?”

“Security had me fill out a form.”

The detective nodded approvingly. “Good, they followed protocol.” Looking back at me, he added, “You’re a lucky girl.”

Nodding, I felt like
LIAR
was written across my forehead. Presuming my face to be a mask of guilt, I avoided eye contact with the detective, fixing my eyes on the recorder he moved in front of me.

“Your turn, kiddo.” He hit
record
.

Let’s just say my account wasn’t quite as eloquent as Dad’s, or as honest. Guilt caused me to stumble and stutter through most of it, and the lump in my throat made it difficult to push words out. I knew whatever “tells” liars displayed, I had them all, and was sure the detective read me like a book.

When I finished the account, Detective Conlin looked at me carefully. “Cassidy, is there anything you’d like to add?” he asked.

“I can’t think of anything.” I nervously twisted the ends of my hair.

He watched me twist my hair to the scalp. “What would you like to tell me about Professor Phillips?” he persisted.

I am an open book,
I thought, dropping my hair. Though lying wasn’t natural to me, it seemed my only option, and I had to improve my skill before Detective Conlin upped the ante and interrogated me under a hot light.

“Uh, um, there…there is something.” My mind scrambled to figure out what that
something
would be.

The detective smiled encouragingly. “Go ahead, Cassidy.”

The hair-twisting resumed. “Well, uh, she acted real, uh, nervous, like she was, uh, expecting someone. Yeah, she was real freaked about it, too.”

“Please, explain in detail what you observed.”

Feeling the donuts coming up, I quickly grabbed the glass of water. Detective Conlin patiently watched me gulp down the entire glass.

When I unsteadily placed the glass back on his desk, he smiled. “Better?”

I nodded.

“Tell me what you observed that made you conclude that Serena Phillips appeared frightened.”

Did I say frightened?
“Well, she locked the door.”

“Anything else?”

I thought hard. She acted more creepy than frightened, but I couldn’t tell him that. “Well, no, nothing else. It was more of, uh, a feeling. She was just weird.”

Weird is true,
I thought, relaxing a bit.

He looked at me hard. “I get the feeling you’d like to share more, Cassidy.”

Geez, there is no getting around this man!
Shaking my head, I dropped my eyes to my hands fidgeting in my lap. My palms were slick.

“Drake, did you observe any suspicious behavior?”

Grabbing my hand, Dad squeezed my sweaty palm. “No behavior I would consider out of character. Serena Phillips is a brilliant scientist. However, she does lack people skills. To a girl Cassy’s age, her behavior would come across as strange and suspicious.”

Detective Conlin turned off the recorder. “I’ve met a few people in my lifetime who lacked people skills, including yours truly.” He laughed.

I held in a sigh of relief.
He was this close to breaking me,
I thought, pulling my index finger and thumb half an inch apart in my lap. Staring down at the gap my finger and thumb formed, my heart raced anew. As my lungs squeezed, I thought,
I’ve got to get out of here.

“Uh, Detective Conlin, where is the restroom?”

~~~

When I walked out of the office, Emery immediately turned to me. Though his face was unreadable, I knew mine wasn’t.  Looking at the floor, I quickly walked through the squad room to the corridor where the detective had told me the restrooms were located.

Alone in the restroom, I paced back and forth like a caged animal. My nerves were jumbled. If I didn’t find some way to untangle them, I would explode.

My eyes rested on the huge mirror bolted to the wall over the sink. Stepping close to the mirror, I slipped my fingernails in the lower corner gap between the mirror and the wall. I dug my fingers into the gap. Drywall crumbled into the sink as my fingers bulldozed through the wall. When my fingers were completely behind the mirror, I pulled them slightly toward me. The bolts that anchored the mirror gave way, and the side of the mirror I pulled came loose. Wide-eyed, I pushed the mirror back to the wall, pressing the screws with an index finger into the loose holes.

I felt like a lost child when I wandered back into the squad room. When I lifted my eyes, I met Emery’s. This time I didn’t look away.
If he can read minds, let him.

“Hey, there, Cassy Girl.”

At the sound of Ben’s voice, the dark cloud hanging over me shifted, revealing the sun. Still looking at Emery, I smiled for Ben.

Noticing my response, Emery’s gaze moved behind me to Ben before I pivoted around to meet my friend.

His ease put me at ease. “Hi, Ben.”

“How’s the noggin?” he asked, smiling broadly.

I smiled back. “It doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“That’s good.” Glancing at my forehead, his eyes squinted questioningly.

“Ben,” Detective Conlin called, walking over to us. “Thanks for coming down. I know I caught you on your way out of town.”

Ben grinned. “No worries, Bob. The surf will still be there tomorrow.”