This Is How It Ends by Jen Nadol Page B

gotten the idea our friend could shoot her father point-blank in the head.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy?” I echoed, thinking of Nat who always remembered birthdays and never let kids sit alone in the cafeteria. “It . . . it’s just . . . not something Natalie would do.”
    â€œWhy?” Lincoln pursued.
    â€œShe’s not like that. Not violent,” I said. “I’ve never even seen her argue with someone, much less, you know, try to hurt them.”
    â€œSometimes people just snap,” Lincoln said.
    â€œMaybe. But Nat’s so protective of her dad. She’s never said a bad word about him. And won’t let anyone else, either,” I said. “She doesn’t have other family that I know of.”
    â€œWhat happened to her mom?” Lincoln asked.
    â€œShe never talks about that, either.”
    â€œBut you have some idea.”
    â€œNo. I really don’t. I mean, I guess she just left. A bunch of years ago.” The rumor that she’d up and split was pretty common knowledge. “But I don’t really know.”
    Bob was nodding, but Lincoln was looking back at his notebook. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
    â€œNat’s mom? I have no idea.”
    Lincoln frowned, like I should have been able to read into his poorly phrased question. “No. Natalie.”
    â€œOh,” I said. “No.” Though John Peters seemed to be auditioning for the role last night. I wonder what he was thinking this morning. Would he believe Nat could kill her dad?
    â€œAnyone on the ski team she’s especially close with?”
    â€œNot that I know of.”
    â€œHow about at school?”
    â€œNat’s friends with lots of people. Pretty much everyone likes her.”
    Lincoln scribbled some things down while Bob took over the questions, switching angles.
    â€œWho do you think might have done something like this, Riley?”
    â€œMe? Who do I think?”
    He nodded.
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œCan you think of anyone who hated Nat’s dad?”
    â€œWell, sure.” I frowned at them. “Bill Winston, for one. Not that I think he did it or anything,” I hurried to add as Lincoln kept scribbling.
    â€œDo you think he’s a more likely suspect, or Natalie?” Lincoln asked, glancing up.
    â€œSo this is a multiple-choice test?”
    Lincoln scowled. “We’re just trying to get some clarity here.”
    â€œI think I’d have to go with ‘neither.’”
    â€œUh-huh,” Bob said. “Who else?”
    â€œWho else what?”
    â€œWho else might want Randall Cleary dead?”
    I was not comfortable with this. At all. “I don’t really know,” I said, deciding to plead the Fifth on the rest of this conversation before I got my ass kicked by someone.
    Lincoln took a few more notes and flipped another page or two. Bob smiled at me, and I felt everything inside me unclench. We were done.
    Then Lincoln asked, “Who took you there that night, Riley?”
    â€œWhat night?”
    â€œThe night you met Randall Cleary. Natalie’s father.”
    I didn’t answer, my face burning, sweat starting on my brow.
    â€œI know you don’t want to tell on anyone,” Bob said gently. “But it’s important. This is a murder investigation, Riley.”
    â€œListen, kid.” Lincoln stepped forward, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t want an obstruction of justice charge or anything else that’d mess up your record. You’re a senior, right?”
    I nodded.
    â€œSmart, too, from what I hear. Colleges don’t look too favorably on a criminal record.” Clearly he was the bad cop.
    â€œIt was Moose,” I said softly. God, I hoped he’d understand. And that he had nothing to hide.
    â€œMoose?” Lincoln said impatiently.
    â€œEugene Martin,” Bob told him. “That other kid out there.”
    I looked up in