LITMIR.BIZ

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deliberately, Miss Quinn. So what were you doing in Hawaii?”

      “Sunbathing looks like,” said Harkman from behind her.

      Detective O’Malley didn’t say anything, but in between the blinks of his eyes, behind his black-rimmed glasses, his flicker of an expression made Lily blush, almost as if … he could see her sunsoaked brown nipples.

      Pulling the cardigan closed, she looked down at the table and bit her lip. “My parents. I went to visit my mother.”

      “You left when?”

      “On the Thursday morning, very early. My flight was at eight. I took a cab to JFK at six in the morning.”

      “Was Amy up?”

      “No.”

      “Was Amy home?”

      “I think so. I didn’t check her room, if that’s what you mean.”

      “So she could’ve not been home?”

      “She could’ve not been, but—”

      “So the last time you actually saw her would be …”

      “Wednesday night, May 12.”

      “Had time to recall some dates since our phone call?”

      Lily lifted her gaze. Detective O’Malley’s eyes stared at her unflinchingly from his clean-shaven, calm, angular face, and she suddenly got the feeling that the firm and casual handshake was a ruse, was an affect, that she should be very careful with the things she said to this detective because he might remember every syllable.

      “Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Initially I had been taken aback by your phone call.”

      “That’s understandable. Did she seem normal to you that Wednesday?”

      “Yes. She seemed the same as always.”

      “Which is how?”

      “I don’t know. Normal.” How did one describe a normal evening with Amy? Lily became flummoxed. “She was her usual self. We drank a little, talked a little.”

      “About what?”

      “Nothing. Everything. Movies. Finals. Really, just … regular girl things.”

      “Boyfriends?”

      “Mmm.” Lily didn’t want to tell this detective about her pathetic love life, and since that’s all the boyfriends they talked about, she couldn’t tell the detective anything. “We talked about our mothers.”

      Detective Harkman stood behind Lily and every once in a while, Detective O’Malley would glance at him for a silent exchange and then look back at her. Now was one of those times.

      “Then you left …”

      “And I haven’t heard from Amy since.”

      “You never called to tell her how you were getting on in Maui?”

      “I did, a couple of times, I left messages on the machine, but she never called me back.”

      “How many times would you say you called her?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe three?”

      “Three?”

      “Around three.”

      “So possibly two, possibly four?”

      “Possibly.” Lily lowered her head. She didn’t know what he wanted from her.

      “Does she have a cell phone?”

      “No.”

      “Do you?”

      “No. I can’t afford one. I don’t know why she doesn’t have one.”

      “So you called a few times, she didn’t call back, and you gave up?”

      “I didn’t give up. I was going to call again. I was even thinking of calling at her mother’s house.”

      “But you didn’t.”

      “I couldn’t remember the number.”

      “Did she tell you of her plans to visit her mother the weekend you flew to Hawaii?”

      “I don’t remember her telling me anything like that, no. Did she go visit her mother that weekend?”

      “No,” said the detective. “What time did you call her?”

      “In the evenings, I think.”

      “Your evenings?”

      “What? Yes. Yes, my evenings. Midnight Hawaii time. Before I went to bed, I’d call.”

      O’Malley paused before he said, “Hawaii is six hours behind New York.”

      Lily paused, too. “Yes.”

      “So your midnight would be six in the morning New York time?”

      “Yes.” Lily coughed. “I guess I should have been more considerate.”

      “Maybe,” O’Malley said non-committally. “What I’m really interested in, though, is Amy not picking up the phone at six in the morning.”

      “She could have been out.”

      “Out where?”

      “Well, I don’t know, do I? Perhaps she was sleeping.”

      “Perhaps she could have called you back, Miss Quinn. Would you like to know how many times the caller ID showed your Hawaiian phone number on the display? Twenty-seven. Morning, noon and night is when you called her. The answering machine in your apartment had nine messages from you to Amy. The first one was on Sunday, May 16, the last one was after you and I spoke, on June third.”

      Lily, flustered and confounded, sat silently. Was she caught in a lie? She did call a few times. And she did leave some messages. But nine? She recalled some of those messages. “Ames, ohmigod!!! I can’t take another day. This mother of mine, call me, call me back, call me.” “Ames, how long have I been here, it feels like five years, and I’m the one who is sixty. Call me to tell me I’m still young.” “Amy, where in hell are you? I need you. Call me.” “I’m going home, home, home, I can’t take another minute. My dad is not here, just me and my crazy mom. If I don’t talk to you I’ll turn into her.” “Amy, in case you’ve forgotten, this is your roommate and best friend Lily Quinn. That’s L-I-L-Y Q-U-I-N-N.”

      She was profoundly embarrassed. Strangers, police officers, detectives, these two men, this grown-up man listening to her sophomoric jabberings, her tumult and frustration on an answering machine!

      Harkman panted behind her, sneezed once, she hoped it wasn’t on her. Detective O’Malley at last said, as if speaking directly to her humiliations, “Okay, let’s move on.”

      Yes, let’s. But Lily didn’t know what to say. Harkman’s gaze prickled the back of her neck. She felt intensely uncomfortable. O’Malley’s hands were pressed together at the fingertips, making the shape of a teepee as he continued to study her. Lily couldn’t take it anymore, she looked away from him and down at her own twitching hands and noticed that a small cut near her knuckle was oozing blood.

      “Miss Quinn, are you bleeding? Chris, can you please get this young lady a tissue. Or would you prefer a first-aid kit? When did you cut yourself?”

      Lily didn’t want to be evasive, considering the amount of fresh blood that was coming out of an old wound, but she couldn’t tell him when. “It’s an old thing,” she muttered. “It’s nothing.”

      Harkman came back with cotton wool and a bandage. Lily dabbed at the cut, feeling ridiculous.

      O’Malley said, “You might want to get that checked out.”

      “No, it’s fine.”

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