Next day Mr Jackson went out and shot that white horse through the head.
Later, as our Pa and Joe and me was digging, the police came to take me away for questioning. Our Pa didn't even look surprised. He just shook his head and I knew what he were thinking — I should never have got in with them girls.
The police asked me all kinds of things about what I did that day — not just about looking for Ivy May, or finding her, but about the horse and Kitty Coleman and Mr Jackson. They seemed way off the mark to me, and none too nice about it neither. It were like they wanted to make their lives easy and say I did the crime.
When it sounded like they was ready to accuse me I said, ‘Who would be stupid enough to do that to a girl and then bring her home to her parents?’
‘You would be surprised what criminals do,’ one of the policemen said.
I thought of the tall man with the specs at the end of the mews. But when it came time to describe finding Ivy May I didn't tell 'em about him. Would've been easier on me if I had — given 'em someone else to look for.
But I knew he was long gone — them bumblers would never find him.
I would, though, some day. Find him. For Ivy May.