Page 84 of Mad Mabel

“Well,” he says, counting on his fingers, “the first time we came, you were assaulted. The second time, you were arrested.”

“Brought in for questioning,” I clarify, peeling open the lid of the Tupperware. “There’s a difference.”

“Glad to hear it,” Libby says. “Let’s aim to get through today without anyone being hospitalized.”

“Ambitious, but I like it.”

While I plate the brownies—which are thick and glossy, with just the right amount of crackle on top—Adeem sets up the tripod in the living room. Libby hovers at the kettle, fiddling with her ridiculous tinof loose-leaf tea. Today it smells like lemon and something else—myrtle, maybe?—and I’ll admit it’s not unpleasant. But I have too much self-respect to start drinking infused flowers at eighty-one.

“I was watching the footage back last night,” Adeem says, as Libby and I return to the table. “You’re a fantastic storyteller, Elsie.”

“Thank you,” I say dryly. “The material, admittedly, is quite compelling.”

“One comment which the media grabbed onto was a note in your diary where you said you were”—Libby glances at her notes—“delighted Mr. Loukas was dead.”

She looks up.

“Well…” I start.

“It’s an interesting word choice, ‘delighted,’ ” Adeem says. “Not ‘glad,’ not even ‘happy.’ ‘Delighted’ is a word you’d use to describe how you’d feel about looking after someone’s kitten.” He shoots a look at Libby.

“I’m not looking after your kitten, Ads. I’m allergic.”

“What is a wordyou’duse,” I ask him, “to describe how you’d feel if someone who betrayed you in the worst way died?”

He thinks about that. “Pleased?”

“Thrilled?” Libby suggests.

“Overjoyed?” Adeem is getting into it. “Elated? Jubilant?”

“Jubilant?” I say, exchanging a glance with Libby. “Wow, Adeem. Makes ‘delighted’ look tame.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just talk, would you, Elsie. And pass me a brownie.”

53

THEN

Mere seconds after I asked for Mr. Loukas, he appeared in the hallway. At first, I felt relief—after the shock of the unfamiliar woman at the door, it was comforting to see a familiar face. But the feeling didn’t last. Not once I saw the way the woman was looking at him.

“Jim, what’s going on?” she said, her voice oddly high-pitched. “Why is this girl coming here?”

I understood that I’d done the wrong thing by coming to Mr.Loukas’s house, even if I didn’t understand why. I assumed that Mr. Loukas would do the explaining, but instead he looked at me, as if confused himself, and waited for me to answer. My cheeks burned.

“I… I…”

“Mabel is one of my history students,” Mr. Loukas said finally. “Mabel, are you all right? Why are you covered in dirt?”

Mr. Loukas and the woman looked at me expectantly. I felt like I’d been caught shoplifting. Except the person I’d been shoplifting with now seemed to be an undercover cop.

“I… I was playing hide-and-seek,” I said finally. “There was a great hiding spot in one of the garden beds. Anyway, I lost track of time and I… I knew this was your house and I thought you might have a phone. I wanted to call my aunt and let her know I’m okay and I’ll be home soon.”

The woman looked unconvinced.

“We don’t have a phone,” she said, her gaze flicking between Mr. Loukas and me.

“No,” Mr. Loukas said. “Sorry about that, Mabel, we don’t.”