Free Scarlett Undercover by Jennifer Latham Page A

too.”
    “Why?”
    Emmet mulled over his response. He wasn’t going to spill everything, but he wasn’t going to leave me hanging.
    “From what the boy’s parents told us, he’d been very involved with a new group of friends in the past few months. Apparently they were playing some kind of elaborate, real-life fantasy game together.”
    “Had the parents been worried?”
    “They said yes, but I’m not so sure. You know how it goes.” He pressed his lips together and pulled the slice of mango closer.
    “Emmet?”
    “Mmmm?”
    “Quinn Johnson’s father is second-in-command at Archer Construction. My client’s name is Archer. Gemma Archer.”
    His eyes narrowed.
    “You know anything about all the problems with The Parker?” I asked.
    He took a mouthful of mango and grimaced. “Too much sugar.”
    “Let’s stick to The Parker,” I said. “The
Globe
mentioned four break-ins at Archer Construction’s on-site trailer.”
    Emmet sighed. “Five. The last was an inside job. Whoever did it had a key, but they weren’t authorized to go in after hours. The company wanted that one kept quiet.”
    “Did the thieves take anything?”
    “The first four times? No. They just tore the place up. Spray-painted walls and such.”
    “With interlocking rings?”
    Emmet nodded and scowled at his pie like it was trying to get away.
    “What about the fifth?”
    He took another bite and grimaced again. “Still too sweet.”
    “Emmet?”
    “Robbery’s not my department, Scarlett. I’m in homicide, remember?”
    “Look,” I said. “I think there’s more to Quinn Johnson’s death than suicide, and I need your help proving it.”
    He folded in his lower lip.
    “You’re stalling,” I said.
    “You’re right.” He dropped his hand and nodded, more for himself than me. “The thieves took a stack of papers from the secretary’s out-box.”
    “Any idea why?”
    Emmet’s lips curled into a lopsided smile. “You’re the detective. You tell me.”
    “Funny.”
    “It kind of was,” he said. “But the truth is, we’re not sure why. All they got was opened mail that the secretary hadn’t had a chance to sort. Invoices. Receipts. Stuff like that. The only thing she hadn’t laid eyeballs on directly was an unopened envelope that needed forwarding to The Parker’s architect in Chicago.”
    I pushed my glass around, spreading the little puddle of condensation underneath it.
    “She didn’t have any idea what was in it?” I asked.
    “Nope.”
    “Are you telling me everything?”
    Emmet sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “In case you haven’t noticed, Scarlett, I don’t like it when kids get lost in the system. I’m trying to help you here.”
    I gave him a smile for that. A real one.
    “I know. You’re a good guy, Emmet.”
    “Don’t believe it for a minute.” He noticed the empty space in front of me and started to wave the waitress over. “You didn’t get your pie.”
    “Stop,” I said. Emmet took one look at my face and waved her off. She wilted like week-old flowers.
    “I don’t want pie,” I said. “I want to figure out what happened to Quinn Johnson. The
Globe
said he threw something that looked like paper into the water before he jumped. Do you know what it was?”
    “Here.” Emmet pushed the wedge of peach toward me. “I can’t eat three.”
    “Emmet?” I shoved the plate back.
    He took in a long breath and let it out through pursed lips.
    “No. We don’t know what it was.”
    “Then what did he say to the woman on the bridge before he jumped?”
    Emmet’s body coiled up tight as an overwound music box.
    “Emmet?”
    He jiggled his coffee cup back and forth by the handle.
    “You’re not as tough as you think, Scarlett,” he said.
    “Probably not.”
    “And you’ve got a lot to learn.”
    “I know.”
    “No. You don’t.” He shook his head slowly back and forth. “You really don’t.”
    I took a bite of pie to try to flush the taste of condescension out