“No, I—”
“She didn’t,” Patsy cuts in. “She was trying to make peace. You have five witnesses to that fact, but you wouldn’t have it.”
“Why should I? She’s in my room.”
“First of all, that’s not her fault. That’s mine. I wanted her here. She’s my friend.” Patsy must be feeling brave.
“I-I’m your friend too.”
Susanna steps up next to Patsy. “Kara, a friend wouldn’t threaten to get our mom fired.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” snaps Patsy.
“Well, if your mom—”
“Nope.” Patsy holds up her hand and shakes her head. “Donotgo there.”
“Well, my daddy—”
“He knows. I just called and told him the police were at our house and the reason they were here.”
“You didn’t,” Kara sneers
“I did. I also told him about your threat to get my mom fired.”
Kara’s mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. It’s not a very good look for her. She finally says, “You’re lying.”
Patsy shrugs. “Call him. You’ll see.”
With her nose up in the air, she huffs. “I will.” We all stare as she marches out of the living room and down the short hallway to the front door.
When it slams, Patsy releases a gust of air like she’s been holding it for years. “I should’ve done that a long time ago.”
“Did you really call Mr. Becker?” asks Susanna.
“I did. After I called Mom. She gave me his cell number.”
Kat then asks, “Was he angry?”
“You could say that. He said Mom is his oldest and most loyal employee. He’d never fire her just because his daughter says so.” Pats sits back down. “I suspect that’s all true; however, if Kara went to him claiming we hurt her physically or something, he’d fire Mom.”
“For sure.” Susanna nods.
“That’s why I thought he should know. I offered to let him talk to the police, but he said he’d talk to Kara first.”
“She could lie to him.”
“I’m sure she will. But I’m going to scan this”—Patsy leans over, picking up the police report from the coffee table—“and email it to him.”
“Good idea,” mumbles Robbi. “I need to get going. I’m late.” She points to the police report. “I may need a copy of that for proof since I missed a test in my first class.”
“Me too,” says Lindsay.
Patsy nods. “I’ll make everyone a copy.”
With that, I’m out the door with my backpack in hand. I’m still in my walking clothes, which consists of tight leggings and a T-shirt that’s shorter than I’d ordinarily wear, but I’m late, so it’s just the way it is. At least I brushed my teeth before everything happened, and my hair is still up but in a low ponytail now. Sliding on my helmet, I wince at the pain. The bump has grown to the size of a baseball. I should have iced it. Officer Golden told me to, but I don’t have time now. If I hurry, I can just make it to art history.
