JUNE
Why I let Ruby order so much food when I’m not hungry is a mystery. Me pushing the grease across my DQ tray doesn’t satisfy her in the slightest. Around the table appetites vary widely. Warren hasn’t managed a single bite. Telling him about “the package” I’m having delivered to his house tomorrow would be easier if I felt I could read him, but he’s here and far away.
I stomach another onion ring and endure Ruby’s That a girl thumbs-up.
Griff’s telling Ruby, Warren, Constance, and me about meeting with the lawyer. I’m not sure how we ended up at Dairy Queen, but here we are, crammed into a booth meant for a family of four. Griff salts his fries, says, “He’s trying to expedite the FBI’s release of exculpatory evidence and wants to bring us up to speed on what he’s learned.”
Warren says, “There’s no way in a case this large, stretching over so many years, there aren’t other suspects. But if the lawyer thinks he needs Brady evidence to win, it’s because he can’t cast probable doubt without supplying another potential kidnapper to the jury.”
I wish Nick was here to translate the legalese.
Warren lifts an onion ring, ogles the fried circle with regret, and sets it back down. “And in this case, with Tank, that means the lawyer’d be pointing at someone who attended the graduation party.”
Ruby pauses her burger midway to her mouth and turns to Griff. “But they’re not doing that?”
Griff shushes the fear with an egotistical nod and that makes Ruby sigh with relief. She knows opinions are based on available information, not available truth. Everyone involved has a life they want protected from false accusations, same as Dad, and they’re already taking heat for their association with him. Parents of my favorite kids have already pulled their WCC memberships. Warren told me yesterday that none of his ride-along partners have been all that supportive.
Still, I wonder if Warren’s right or if Dad’s lawyer misled him at Dad’s direction. Dad had listened to me about the train, and he agreed the coincidence was strange, but he remains Team Warren 90 percent of the time. He’d said, “Warren looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t do this. Plus, the FBI cleared him.” My astute response was “So? The FBI cleared you too. They’re not exactly batting a thousand.”
Dad clicked through his rebuttals like a Rolodex. Finally, he said, “If I want people to believe I’m innocent, this is the only path there is. You’re the one who taught me that.”
I trusted the truth more when Warren was still on Dana’s suspect list. Which isn’t necessarily trusting the truth, I guess. Maybe it was cruel, but I told him he was naive to believe people cared more about facts than drama. Especially in Wildwood.
As if to prove I’m right, Lila Kate, who has slipped me multiple Blizzards when her manager isn’t on shift, stalks our table and texts someone with fast-finger fervor. I’m probably being paranoid and her texts are about dinner plans or whether her husband has picked up the kids yet, but she’s wearing so much open disgust that I wonder if old Lila Kate had a Gemini sign in her yard last week. When I lean toward Warren to ask about the package, she’s straining in our direction.
“I had a package delivered to your place,” I say to Warren.
His back straightens. “When does it arrive?”
“Tomorrow. Okay for me to come over and pick it up? The media are all over us at the house.”
Constance exhales. “So true.”
Warren stacks his condiment containers in a tiny white column on the table. “Why don’t you let me bring it to you after work tomorrow?”
“Because it’s a nozzle for Dad’s pressure washer. I was hoping to get some of the paint off the castle—”
“Oh.” He’s relieved. “I’ll take care of that Saturday, soon as I get off work.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Are you kidding? Don will have my hide.”
“So my faithful new guardian doesn’t want me at his house?” I pour on the sugar.
Uncle Warren’s cheeks blaze bright red. “Not until it’s a little less bachelor pad, if you know what I mean. I’ve been crazy with the case . . . and I was doing some construction last week. There are tools everywhere.”
I let him believe he’s off the hook and excuse myself to the restroom. Nick answers on the first ring. After I tell him about Warren’s reaction, he says, “First of all, breathe. Then keep acting normal. I’ll meet you later and we’ll plan.”
“My house?” I ask.
“Castle,” he says.
Leaving the bathroom, I bump into Griff. He gestures to the parking lot.
“Bad news. Literally.”
Multiple vans line the curb. The media zoo is lions today, prowling and hungry. In retrospect, Lila Kate’s texts make sense. I cast a scathing look toward the register and wish I was wearing something nicer than a tank top. We dump our trays with no thought of the remaining food and assemble at the door like we’re getting ready to dart into the rain. Warren lays his hand atop my head and squeezes gently.
“Mean it, kiddo. No worrying about the nozzle.” Then to Constance, he says, “Keep her busy, please.”
Constance nods and we scatter to the vehicles armed only with lowered chins and “No comment.” Each stoplight gives me an opportunity to lose the tailing cars. I head downtown and hide in the public library book-drop lane. I don’t wait long enough and two vans follow the Ram to the castle. They’re camped beside the gate when Gladys arrives fifteen minutes later. They still haven’t budged an hour later when Nick rolls up the drive.
“We should call them in for trespassing,” he says.
“We’ve called in quite enough things lately,” I say.
We bring our small meeting to order. There is little to no discussion. We all agree Warren’s house needs to be searched. The primary question is how to pull off the expedition if the media follows me to Warren’s. We agree to swap vehicles tonight.
Nick says, “You and Gladys take my car to Dana’s hotel room. She’s working all night. I’ll stay here with your dad’s Ram. Tomorrow morning on your way to Warren’s, drop Gladys at the Rippee barn to keep an eye on you.”
“Where will you be?” Gladys asks.
“I’ll head over to the WCC. That puts your dad’s Ram far from the action and me near the police station. Hopefully Warren spots the truck and assumes you’re hanging with Griff and Ruby. My gut says he’s checking in on you tomorrow.”