Seven Minutes in Heaven

2 A GRAVE MATTER

“It is with much sadness today that we offer up our farewells to Nisha. She was a vibrant, talented girl, and we will miss her.”

The funeral was a graveside service, set among the sycamores and salt cedars of the cemetery. The sun blazed from its late-fall angle in the sky, sending a melancholy sheen over the gray and white tombstones. Emma sat on a folding chair between Madeline Vega and Charlotte Chamberlain, Sutton’s two best friends. Right behind them sat the Twitter Twins, their cell phones in their purses for once. Laurel sat next to them, hiccupping with silent tears. The entire school had turned out, including most of their teachers and Principal Ambrose. Emma caught sight of Ethan standing in the shade of a tree, wearing the black shirt and black tie he’d been in for the news interview.

The officiant, a broad-hipped woman in a white sari, went on. “It is especially cruel to lose someone so young. Nisha was brimming with potential. The temptation to dwell on all she could have done if she had survived is great. We want to lament how she might have changed the world, how she might have gone on to such great heights.”

Behind the woman in the sari sat the coffin, its polished oak gleaming in the sunlight. It was closed; there had been no viewing. The service was shaping up to be a short one. Before the officiant had gotten up to deliver the final eulogy, there’d been a handful of scattered readings from Nisha’s friends, and the Hollier High show choir had sung “Wind Beneath My Wings.” Privately Emma could imagine Nisha snickering at the choice—she hadn’t been a sentimental girl. But there hadn’t been a dry eye in the audience. Charlotte had burst into gasping sobs, mascara running down her cheeks, and Madeline, pale and trembling, balled up her skirt in her fists.

I watched the crowd wistfully. Would I ever have a funeral? What would people say about me then? Would they cry? Watching the casket and the deep hole next to it, a chill went through me—somewhere, my own remains lay hidden, separated violently from my spirit and left to rot. I looked around again, half-hoping to find an ethereal Nisha. But I was the only ghost here as far as I could see.

The officiant had a resonant, musical voice, tinged with the same faint Anglo-Indian accent Dr. Banerjee had. “But I believe we do Nisha a disservice, focusing on what could have been. As we say our good-byes, I ask you not to dwell on what has been lost but to think of what we gained by having Nisha in our lives.”

A small string ensemble played an instrumental arrangement of the Beatles’ “Let It Be” as everyone rose from their chairs and started to mingle.

Charlotte dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue she’d pulled from the depths of her bag. Her long red curls had been pinned up behind her head, but stray coils fell on either side of her round, freckled face. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“I still can’t believe people think she did this on purpose,” Madeline said, her hazel eyes wide. She shook her head. “She was fine on Sunday, right?”

Sunday had been the night they’d orchestrated a fake séance to prank a girl named Celeste Echols. It had been the first Lying Game prank Nisha had ever participated in—though she’d been the victim of a few in her time. She’d definitely seemed to enjoy being a part of the production.

“I know. It just doesn’t make any sense. She’s such a good swimmer,” Laurel whispered tearfully. “I mean, she was.”

“What do you think, Sutton?” Gabby asked. Emma looked up sharply. As always, the Twitter Twins’ wardrobes were in perfect contrast. Gabby wore a simple sheath dress and pearl studs in her ears, her lipstick a carefully lined red. Lili, on the other hand, wore what looked like a black thrift-store tutu and a pair of knee-high combat boots, a small veil pinned into her hair.

“Yeah, it seemed like you guys were getting close lately. Did she seem sad?” Lili asked.

“Does it really matter?” Emma said, her voice breaking. “She’s gone. The ‘why’ doesn’t change that.”

The girls fell silent. Across the lawn, Emma watched as the funeral officiant leaned over to talk to Dr. Banerjee, who hadn’t moved from his seat, a faraway look on his face. Emma had seen the doctor several weeks before, when he had treated her mother. He’d been patient and kind, even when Becky had been violent. Now his worst nightmare was coming true—and so soon on the heels of his wife’s death.

“Excuse me,” she told her friends, and walked around the now-empty chairs toward where he sat.

People nodded at her as she passed. Coach Maggie stood with a group of tennis players, looking shocked and heartbroken. Clara was with them, tears running down her cheeks.

The officiant hugged Dr. Banerjee one last time, then joined the crowd, leaving him alone. Emma hesitated. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for his loss and that Nisha had become a good friend to her. But more than that, she wanted to find out what he thought about Nisha’s death—and where his daughter had been before she died.

Before she could decide what to say, someone else sat down next to Dr. Banerjee. Her body tensed as she recognized Detective Quinlan in ceremonial dress blues, his hat in his hands. Quinlan was hardly a fan of Sutton Mercer—he had a file three inches thick on Sutton’s Lying Game exploits, and he had arrested Emma for shoplifting two months earlier. She instinctively ducked behind a headstone a few feet away.

Quinlan’s voice was a low, sympathetic rumble. Leaning back against the cool marble, Emma strained her ears to hear what he was saying. She caught “so sorry” and “tragic” and was about to back away from the two men when the word “autopsy” drifted to her.

Dr. Banerjee shook his head violently at whatever Quinlan had just said.

“Look, Sanjay.” Quinlan’s voice was patient but firm. “There weren’t any signs of a struggle. No defensive wounds, no bruises, no handprints. It was just an accident.”

“No.” Dr. Banerjee’s hands remained folded neatly in his lap, but his muscles were tight across his face. “Nisha has been swimming since she was two. She would have had to have tripped and hit her head for it to be an accident. But no bruises? No concussion?” He paused, his mouth writhing for a moment before he could speak again. “My daughter was murdered.”

Quinlan hesitated, his lips downturned beneath his mustache. “There’s more,” he said softly. “I hate to tell you like this. But the examiner found extremely high amounts of diazepam in her bloodstream. That’s . . .”

“Valium. Yes, I am a doctor,” Nisha’s father snapped. His knuckles went white as he squeezed his fingers together harder. “She doesn’t have a prescription for Valium.”

Quinlan sighed, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “I know. We checked her records.”

“Then what are you . . .”

“I know it’s hard to hear. But Nisha had a very bad year.” Quinlan looked uncomfortable. He turned his hat over and over in his hands. “I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing her of anything. But Sanjay, teens try new things and don’t always know their limits.”

Dr. Banerjee’s voice was hard. “Her room was all torn up, Shane. Someone went through and ripped the place to bits. Someone was looking for something.”

Quinlan shrugged. “There was no sign of forced entry, and we didn’t find anybody’s fingerprints in there. Only yours and hers. Nisha must have done that herself. Sometimes people do strange things when they’re in an altered state.”

Dr. Banerjee sat very still for a long moment, looking down at his hands. His glasses were askew on his nose, and it gave him a slightly manic look. Quinlan looked awkwardly around. For a moment Emma almost felt sorry for him.

“Look,” he finally said in an undertone Emma had to strain to hear. “If there are any people you have a funny feeling about—strange people hanging around the house, boys who seemed too aggressive with her—if she had any enemies, give me their names. I’ll look into it. But right now, I have no evidence, no leads, no clues. Give me something to work with.”

Dr. Banerjee shook his head. “She didn’t have any enemies. None that I knew of.” His hands came free from each other and flew to cover his face. “I don’t know who would want to do something like this to my little girl,” he groaned, his back shuddering.

Behind the monument, a surge of guilt welled up in Emma. Should she tell them about the calls and frantic text from Nisha? Her stomach tightened with anxiety. Quinlan’s suspicions were always quick to rise when Sutton Mercer was involved. At best, he’d probably dismiss it as another attention-seeking prank. At worst, Emma would end up on a list of suspects, and her own story would crumble easily on inspection.

“I need a drink of water,” Dr. Banerjee finally said. His voice sounded tense, as if he was fighting for calm. His face had composed itself, except for his eyes. They were bloodshot and wild.

Quinlan nodded. “Come on, Sanjay.” With surprising gentleness he helped Dr. Banerjee to his feet, and the two men walked to the banquet table set up in the shade of a cedar.

Emma slumped against the tombstone, her heart hammering. So Nisha’s room had been ransacked. But what had the killer been looking for? And did they find it, or was it still there in Nisha’s bedroom?

Emma stared at Nisha’s coffin for a long moment, the deep brown wood shining in the sun. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her gaze fell on the grave she’d been hiding behind. JESMINDER BANERJEE, it read. BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. Nisha’s mom. She hadn’t even thought of that—of course they’d bury Nisha by her mother.

Emma pushed herself up and walked across the green. The crowd was starting to thin. In the distant parking lot she could hear cars starting and doors slamming.

She passed a cluster of Hollier students who were standing close together near a weather-beaten mausoleum with an urn of wilting lilies in front of it. Garrett Austin stood between his younger sister, Louisa, and Celeste, his current girlfriend. Garrett had been Sutton’s “official” boyfriend at the time of her death, although she’d been seeing Thayer secretly at the same time. When Emma had taken her place, he’d offered up his virginity to her as a birthday gift, and after she bolted in a panic, they’d broken up.

Garrett looked devastated. His eyes were red, his blond hair lusterless and unwashed. He’d dated Nisha for a few weeks, and even though they’d broken up, he was obviously not taking her death well. He glanced up and noticed Emma, staring at her blankly, as though he didn’t quite recognize her.

Caught, Emma took a tentative step toward him.

“How are you holding up?” Emma asked awkwardly, touching his shoulder.

Garrett blinked, and then all at once his face darkened into a scowl. He jerked away from her hand, his arms taut with anger. She instinctively took a step back. He looked for a moment like he wanted to take a swing at her.

“What do you care? You barely even knew her,” he hissed.

Behind him, Emma could see that Celeste looked shocked by his anger. Louisa glanced from Emma to Garrett, confused.

Emma felt frozen in place. Barely knew her? Sure, Emma had only known Nisha for a few months. But Sutton had grown up with Nisha.

“Garrett, I know you’re upset . . .” Celeste started, laying her hand on his arm. He whipped around violently so that his nose was inches from hers. Emma’s entire body tensed at the wild expression on his face. A nasty sneer twisted his lips.

“You don’t know anything,” he snarled. “Would you just shut up for five minutes? I’m starting to think Nisha was right about you.”

Emma’s jaw fell open. Celeste’s expression darkened. “Is that so?” she snapped, the airy quality gone from her voice. “When did you have this cozy little chat about me?”

“It’s none of your business,” he shouted. By now most of the other students they’d been standing with had slunk away awkwardly. Louisa watched her brother with anxious, darting eyes.

Laurel materialized at Emma’s side and grabbed her by the arm, steering her past them, toward the parking lot. “Come on,” she whispered, even as Celeste’s voice rose up angrily behind them. “Arguing at a funeral? How tacky.”

“I can’t believe he’d yell at his girlfriend like that,” Emma said, feeling a little dazed. She let Laurel lead her past the rows upon rows of headstones.

Laurel stopped for a moment, raising her eyebrow. “Excuse me? You two used to go at it all the time.”

Emma stared at Sutton’s sister.

Laurel shrugged. “Come on, Sutton, he used to freak out about everything. You not calling him back quick enough, you wearing too short a skirt, you not making one of his games. He’s not exactly even-keeled.”

“Yeah,” Emma stammered, trying to cover her confusion. “I know. Come on, let’s go.”

They started walking again. Across the graveyard, Celeste and Garrett’s voices were still audible, cutting tensely back and forth. Emma’s head spun. Why had he said that she barely knew Nisha?

I didn’t know either. But something told me Emma had better figure it out quickly. Garrett obviously had a short fuse, and Emma didn’t want to be caught in the blast zone if he went off.