This Is How It Ends by Jen Nadol Page A

being very cooperative.” He ran a hand through thinning hair. “Is there more?”
    â€œI’m sure there is,” I said, frustrated myself. “I’d imagine her home life was pretty shitty. Yeah, Nat had cuts or bruises or scrapes more than you’d expect. She said it was from skiing or just her being clumsy.” I took a breath. “If you’re asking if her dad hit her, I have no idea. I don’t know if she was upset at him last week or if something else was going on or if she had, you know, girl problems or what. She’s private. I try to respect that.”
    â€œEven though it meant she might have been abused right under your nose?”
    I glared at Lincoln, feeling my ears burn. “If she was abused,” I said evenly, “it was under all of our noses. Don’t tell me you didn’t know her dad was a user and a dealer.”
    His face darkened, and I knew I’d crossed a line I probably shouldn’t have. “You saw drugs at her house?”
    â€œNo,” I said flatly. I knew they were there that night Moose dragged me up to the trailer, but I didn’t actually see any. “I’ve never been inside Nat’s house.”
    â€œNever?”
    I shook my head. “We’d go up to get her sometimes—me and my friends—but we always waited in the car for her to come out.”
    â€œSo you’d never met her dad? Never talked to him?”
    I hesitated, knowing I should lie. “Just at the door of her house.”
    â€œWhen you were there to pick her up?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “A year or so ago.”
    â€œWhat were you doing there?”
    My hands felt damp. This wasn’t going the way I wanted. “I was with a friend.”
    â€œAnd you went there because . . .” Lincoln drew it out, waiting like a cat who’s spotted a mouse. He knew exactly where this was heading.
    â€œMy ride needed to stop by.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œWhat does it matter?” I said. “It has nothing to do with what happened last night.”
    â€œHow do you know?” Lincoln said, leaning close enough that I could smell the sourness of his morning coffee. “ I don’t know what happened, and I’m investigating the case. So how could you?” He took a deep breath and, his voice calm but dead serious, asked, “What were you there for, Riley?”
    â€œLook,” I said, “I don’t really know. I never went in, didn’t hear what they talked about or see what they did. All I know is we drove up there, I waited, we left.”
    Lincoln looked ready to tear into me, but Bob interjected, “You said you met her dad.”
    I nodded. “Yeah. It was late. I had to get home, so I knocked on the door. Nat’s dad answered.”
    â€œAnd?” Bob asked. “What was your impression?”
    â€œI don’t know. Same as it was yesterday, I guess. That he was . . .” I paused. “Kind of a mess.”
    Lincoln snorted.
    Bob ignored him, asking, “Did you see Natalie there?”
    â€œNo. We weren’t really friends back then,” I said.
    â€œDid you ever tell her about that night? Stopping up there with your ‘friend’? Meeting her dad?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œShe’d be embarrassed,” I said. “Natalie doesn’t talk about her dad or anything. I didn’t want to make her feel bad.”
    No one said anything for a few beats, but I could feel the air in the room soften. Until Lincoln jumped in with the next question, “Did she know he kept a gun in the house?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œDoes she know how to shoot?”
    I saw where this was leading. “You think she did it?”
    Bob shot a look at Lincoln, who asked, “Do you , Riley?”
    â€œNo!” I said. “No way.” I felt guilty. Like they’d somehow overheard our conversation in the car and