Free Rosebush by Michele Jaffe

you or your husband—”
    “I don’t have the honor of that title yet ,” Joe said, with a proprietary grin. I wished I could slug him.
    “Fiancé, then. Do either of you have enemies?”
    My mother rolled her eyes. “I am a political consultant, of course I have enemies, but none that would cause physical injury, especially to a child.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Quite sure.”
    “It would be bad for business,” I said.
    My mother’s mouth tightened with the effort to resist reprimanding me.
    I was interested to hear what Joe had to say about having enemies, but he just said, “That’s irrelevant.” Cop-out. Then he went on the offensive. “Is this just a fishing expedition or do you have any leads, officer?”
    “We are exploring a variety of possibilities.”
    “Meaning?” Joe challenged.
    The policewoman didn’t seem to like him any more than I did. “Meaning we are doing our job.”
    Joe stood up. “Can I talk to you outside, officer?”
    “Yes, when I’m done here, I’d be happy—”
    “You’re done here,” Joe told the woman, tilting his head toward the door.
    Their eyes locked. “I would like to have a word with Jane alone.”
    “She’s a minor,” my mother said. “I have a legal right to be present.”
    “Jane isn’t a suspect, she’s a victim, and I have some questions that she might be more comfortable answering without anyone else present.”
    “I demand—”
    “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I’ll talk to Officer Rowley alone.”
    My mother got the thin-lipped look again, but she went, taking Joe and Annie with her.
    Officer Rowley pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down. Close up, I could see that her nails weren’t just short, she’d bitten them. Maybe she wasn’t so perfect after all. “Now, Jane, when I asked if you had any enemies, I felt like you had something to say before your mother stepped in. What was on your mind?”
    What had been on my mind was a feeling of someone watching me, someone who hated me. It was like a feathery flick of a memory from the party, more of a sensation than a fact. How would I explain it? “I thought someone was staring at me”? That, coupled with hallucinating a threatening message on the mirror, wouldn’t make me seem insane at all.
    No, I was going to stick with things that were concrete and I actually remembered. “I don’t know,” I said finally. “Maybe it was something that happened at the party.”
    There was a knock on the door and Loretta came in, three quarters concealed by a huge bouquet of flowers. “I’m going to have to take up weight lifting if you’re sticking around,” she said. “These are the biggest ones—” She stopped, seeing Officer Rowley for the first time. “I beg your pardon, am I interrupting?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
    She set the flowers on the windowsill next to the others. “Apologies. I’ll get right out of your way.” She stopped at my bed to say, “They’re from Oliver Montero, in case you were wondering. Your mother already wrote it down.”
    “Thanks, Loretta.”
    “You okay in here alone?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    When the door closed, Officer Rowley resumed. “You said you think maybe something happened at the party. Could it have been something bad enough to make you want to commit suicide?”
    I’d been looking at Ollie’s flowers, but my eyes zoomed back to the policewoman. “What? I didn’t want to commit suicide. Why would you ask that?” Just because I hallucinated the writing on the mirror did not mean I wanted to die. A chill was starting to creep through my body, as though tendrils were wrapping around my limbs, pulling me down into a deep dark place.
    “Based on your injuries and the angle of impact needed to make them, this wasn’t a normal hit-and-run. It looks like you were kneeling in the middle of the street, waiting for the car to hit you.” She leaned back in her chair, her ankles crossed, pad on her knee like she was relaxed, but I