A piercing squeal fills the air. I jump. It’s just feedback from the speakers. In the run-up to Halloween, Ruby’s school, McKenzie Elementary, is hosting a Fall Fair. A section of the schoolyard is full of stalls selling baked goods and crafts made by students and parents. There are simple games like ring toss and croquet. There’s a bouncy castle. Kids are performing songs and dances on a portable stage.
Ruby’s class is up next. They’re doing the Hokey Pokey.
I stand off to one side, where I won’t be stuck in the crowd but Ruby will still be able to see me. The weather’s cooperating: cool but clear. If it had rained, we’d all be crammed into the school gym.
While the kids wait to go on stage, two teachers issue last-minute instructions. I crane my neck, searching for Ruby. All the kids are dressed as pumpkins, their outfits made from felt and construction paper.
“Mrs. Dykstra?” It’s an older man’s drawl.
I turn in surprise. Two men stand beside me: Detectives Farley and Morton.
Shit. The cops from the hit-and-run.
What are they doing here? I thought it was weird not to hear from them, especially after Alma died. That must have cranked the case into a higher gear. And there’s no way they haven’t connected me to Stan’s disappearance.
My throat’s gone dry. What if they’ve had me under surveillance? What if they’re working with Shergold and Bellows?
“How are you?” says the younger one, Morton. A messenger bag’s slung over his narrow chest. He’s wearing gray slacks and a tight blue jacket.
“Fine,” I say. I clear my throat. “I was very sorry to hear about Alma Reyes.”
Detective Morton nods. “Can we have a word?”
I tense up. Now? Surely that’s harassment! I’m at my child’s school!
I nod at the stage. “My daughter’s about to perform.”
Detective Farley turns to eye the stage. Ruby’s class is getting into position. Ruby’s pumpkin-stalk hat has tilted. The music starts. Farley nods. He’s sunk in a huge dark-green parka. It makes him look even more like a toad. “After, then,” he says. “We have a few questions.”
Farley’s puffier-eyed than I remember. Beneath his freckles, Morton looks anemic. The skin under his eyes is more shadowed. I imagine them tailing me around the clock.
Throughout Ruby’s performance, I’m aware of the detectives beside me. I keep my eyes on her and smile wide. She knows all the words and does the movements with gusto. I should feel proud, but instead, I’m sick to my stomach. I’m also angry that I’ve been robbed of this precious moment.
When the song ends, I clap and wave at Ruby. All the kids are ushered offstage. Their teacher herds them away for a group photo.
“Let’s go over there.” Detective Morton gestures off to the side, near a tree, where there are no people. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Gut heavy, I follow.
“Have you found the driver?” I ask, after we stop. Part of me hopes they’ve nabbed Ryan Reeve.
Morton squints against the weak sun. “Our investigation’s ongoing.”
I wait. A new group of kids is up on stage, a few years older, singing “You Are My Sunshine.” Off-key.
“We’d like to follow up,” says Farley. “About this man you say you saw.”
Outrage twists my mouth. They don’t believe me! “I did see him! Youngish. Sandy blond. Longish hair.” My voice is sharp. “Like I told you!”
Detective Farley doesn’t react. I press my lips shut. I hate feeling torn. I know who killed Alma but can’t say.
Detective Morton pulls a paper from his bag. It’s the photo-fit I did with the kindly gray-haired lady. Morton holds it against his chest. “Does this still match your memories?”
I squint at the image. My heart rate increases. The mouth’s too wide, as is the nose. And Ryan’s hair is less curly. But those eyes! Someone will recognize him. I look away. “I . . . I think so.”
Farley rubs his jaw. I feel his eyes boring through me. I must seem cagey. He’s picked up that I’m holding back. “Really?” he growls. “What haven’t you told us?”
My mouth opens. I glare at him. I mustn’t say more. “What do you mean?” I protest.
He sounds triumphant. “You were speeding.”
Anger yanks my head up. Cops are allowed to lie. They can pretend to know things they don’t to provoke a rise. I jab my finger at the photo-fit. “He was speeding!”
Farley shakes his head. “It’s strange, no?” he says. “You being the one to find Alma Reyes after having spent the night with Dana McFarlane the night her husband vanished.”
I grip the sleeves of my coat, willing myself to calm down. There’s no good answer to this. It is strange. I look back at the stage. The kids are dressed in yellow and holding paper cut-out sunshines. Soon, I’ll have to collect Ruby.
“Yes,” I say. “What a night. It’s just . . . awful.”
Morton leans closer. “It’s been very interesting, speaking with Detective Shergold. She’s a legend.” His smile is nasty. “Youngest-ever officer to make detective in Glebes Bay. When was it?” He looks at Farley. “Fifteen years back?”
Farley grunts “More. She won the Medal of Honor.”
I don’t react. I knew they’d connect with Shergold sooner or later. And I already knew she was good.
Detective Morton squints at the stage. “Your current place of employment, Stanton House—do they know why you were fired in Chicago?”
My hands curl into tight fists. I feel faint with fury, and self-pity. On stage behind me, the song draws to a shaky close: Please don’t take my sunshine awayyyy.
“Those charges were dropped,” I say. “Now excuse me, I must find my daughter.”
Walking away, I want to cry. It’s not fair. This was my fresh start. I’ll die if people here find out, everyone at Stanton House eyeing me differently, wondering if I’m guilty. The other teachers. That smug cow of a secretary. Principal Bill. And even Dana.