Sara sat at the dining room table thumbing through a magazine while her sister and mother played cards. Her cousin Hareton had joined them half an hour ago, dropping by without a phone call as usual. Hare was two years older than Sara. They had always competed in everything, which was why he had made her go out into the pouring rain to look at his brand-new BMW 750Li. How he could afford such a luxurious car on a rural doctor’s salary was beyond her, but Sara had made the appropriate noises because she didn’t have the strength to do otherwise.
She loved her cousin, but sometimes it seemed as if his goal in life was to get on her nerves. He made fun of her height. He called her “Red” just to annoy her. The worst part was that everyone thought he was charming. Even her own mother thought he walked on water—a particularly sore point considering Cathy did not extend this rose-colored view to her own children. The biggest problem Sara had with Hare was that he never came across a situation he couldn’t make light of, which could be a heavy burden to those around him.
Sara finished her magazine and started over from the beginning, wondering why none of the pages looked familiar. She was too distracted to read and too smart to try to have a conversation with anyone at the table. Especially Hare, who seemed determined to catch her eye.
Finally, she asked, “What?”
He slapped a card down on the table. “How’s the weather up there, Red?”
Sara gave him the same look she’d given him thirty years ago when he’d first asked her that question. “Balmy.”
He put down another card. Tessa and Cathy groaned. “You’re on vacation, Red. What’s the problem?”
Sara closed the magazine, fighting the desire to tell him that she was sorry she wasn’t more upbeat, but that she couldn’t quite get the image out of her mind of Tommy Braham lying dead on the jailhouse floor. A quick glance at her mother told Sara that Cathy knew exactly what she was thinking.
“I’m expecting someone,” she finally confessed. “Will Trent. He’s an agent with the GBI.”
Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “What’s a GBI agent doing here?”
“He’s investigating the murder at the lake.”
“And the death at the police station.” Cathy spoke pointedly. “Why is he coming to the house?”
“He missed supper. I thought you could—”
“Am I responsible for feeding strangers now?”
Tessa, as usual, didn’t help matters. “You’re gonna be responsible for putting him up for the night, too.” She told Sara, “The hotel’s closed for remodeling. Unless he wants to drive forty-five minutes into Cooperstown, you’d better go straighten up the apartment over the garage.”
Sara held back the curse that came to her lips. Hare was leaning forward, chin resting in his hands, as if he was watching a movie.
Cathy shuffled through the cards again. The noise was made louder by the tension. “How does this man know you?”
“Police officers are always at the hospital.” Not technically a lie, but close enough.
“What’s going on here, Sara?”
She shrugged, the gesture feeling so fake that she had trouble letting her shoulders drop back down. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” Cathy echoed. “That sure did happen fast.” She slapped the cards down on the table as she stood up. “I guess I’ll go tell your father to put some pants on.”
Tessa waited until their mother had left. “You might as well tell her, Sissy. She’ll get it out of you somehow.”
Tessa gave a shocked bark of laughter. Everything was their mother’s business.
Hare picked up the cards. “Come on, Red. Aren’t you taking this a little too seriously? This is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to Brad Stephens in his entire life. The guy still lives with his mother.”
“That’s not funny, Hare. Two people are dead.”
“A retard and a college student. The town mourns.”
Sara bit her tongue so that she wouldn’t cut him in two.
Hare sighed as he shuffled the cards between his hands. “All right. The thing about the girl in the lake was a cheap shot, but Tommy’s fair game. People don’t just up and kill themselves for no reason. He felt guilty for killing the girl. That’s why he stabbed Brad. End of story.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“Well …” He put his hand to his chest. “You know I did dress up as one for Halloween.” He turned to Tessa. “Remember the thong?”
“That was my birthday party, not Halloween,” Tessa reminded him. She asked Sara, “Why did you go to the jail in the first place?”
“Tommy needed …” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence. “I don’t know why I went down there.” She stood from the table. “I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry I went to the station. I’m sorry for bringing this home. I’m sorry Mama’s mad at me. I’m sorry I came here in the first place.”
Tessa began, “Sissy—” but Sara left before she could say more.
Tears filled her eyes for the umpteenth time that day as she went down the hall and stood at the front door. She should go upstairs and talk to her mother. At the very least, Sara could try to come up with an explanation that would stop Cathy from worrying. Of course, Cathy would see right through any explanation Sara could come up with, because they both knew the truth: Sara was trying to get Lena in trouble. Her mother would take no joy in telling Sara that she might as well go outside and howl at the rain. She would be right—at least partially. Lena was good at lying, cheating, and doing whatever else it took to keep herself out of trouble. Sara was no match for the woman because she lacked the basic deviousness with which Lena approached every situation in her life.
And what about the dead girl? Sara was as bad as Hare. She had completely ignored Allison Spooner, treating her death as yet another springboard for attacking Lena. People around town who knew Allison were starting to talk. Tessa had been on the phone most of the afternoon and had the whole story for Sara by the time she got back from downtown. Allison was petite and cheery, the sort of girl with good country manners and a bright smile for strangers. She had worked at the diner during lunch and over the weekends. She must have a family somewhere, a mother and father who had just gotten the worst news a parent could ever hear. Surely they were on their way to Grant County right now, heavy hearts sinking further with every mile.
There were footsteps on the stairs behind her—Cathy, judging by the light tread. Sara heard her mother pause on the landing, then head toward the kitchen.
Sara let out a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Sweetpea?” Eddie called from upstairs. He was listening to his old records, something he did when he was feeling melancholy.
“I’m all right, Daddy.” She waited for the squeaking floorboards to signal he was going back to his room. They took an awful long time.
She closed her eyes again. Her father put on some Bruce Springsteen, the needle skipping on the vinyl record as he found the right place. She could hear her mother moving around the kitchen. Plates and pans banged. Hare said something that must have been funny, because Tessa’s laugh rang through the house.
Sara stared out at the street, rubbing her arms to fight the chill that had come over her. This was silly, she knew, to stand at the door waiting for a man who might not even come. As much as Sara did not want to admit it, she wanted more than information from Will. He was from her Atlanta life. He was a reminder that there was something else waiting for her.
And thank God he was finally here.
For the second time that day, Sara watched Will hide the various electronics in his Porsche. It seemed to take longer this time, or maybe she was more impatient. Finally, he got out of the car. He held the file she had given him over his head to shield himself from the rain as he ran up the driveway.
She started to open the door, then reconsidered. She didn’t want him to think she’d been standing here waiting for him. Then again, if she was trying to be covert, she probably shouldn’t have been staring at him through the window.
“Idiot,” she muttered, opening the door.
“Hi.” He shook the rain out of his hair, taking advantage of the cover of the front porch.
“You want me to—” She reached for the wet file in his hand. Sara suppressed a groan of disappointment. It was soaked through. Everything would be ruined.
“Here,” he said, lifting his sweater, untucking his undershirt. Sara saw the pages she’d given him pressed against his bare skin. She also saw what looked like a dark bruise fanning across his abdomen, disappearing into the waist of his jeans.
“What—”
He quickly pulled down his shirt. “Thanks.” He scratched his face, a nervous habit she had forgotten about. “I think we can just throw the folder away.”
She nodded, not knowing what to say. Will seemed at a loss for words, too. They stared at each other until the hall light snapped on.
Cathy stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips. Eddie came down the stairs. There was a brief moment of the most uncomfortable silence Sara had ever experienced in her life. She felt for the first time what a monumental mess she had made of the day. If she could’ve clicked her heels and gone back to the beginning, she would still be in Atlanta and her family would have been spared this awful situation. She wanted to melt into the floor.
The silence broke with her father. He held out his hand to Will. “Eddie Linton. Glad we can give you respite from this rain.”
“Will Trent.” Will gave him a firm handshake.
“I’m Cathy,” her mother chimed in, patting Will on the arm. “Goodness, you’re soaked through. Eddie, why don’t you see if you can find him something dry?” For some reason, her father chuckled to himself as he ran up the stairs. Cathy told Will, “Let’s get this sweater off before you catch a chill.”
Will looked as uncomfortable as any man would look if an overly polite sixty-three-year-old woman told him to undress in her foyer. Still, he complied, lifting his sweater over his head. He was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt underneath. It started to ride up when he lifted his arms and Sara reached out without thinking, holding down the shirt.
Cathy gave her a sharp look that made Sara feel like she’d been caught stealing.
“Mama,” Sara began, feeling a cold sweat coming on. “I really need to talk to you.”
“We’ll have plenty of time later, sweetheart.” Cathy looped her hand through Will’s arm as she led him down the hall. “You’re from Atlanta, my daughter tells me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What part? I have a sister who lives in Buckhead.”
“Uh …” He glanced back at Sara. “Poncey-Highlands, it’s near—”
“I know exactly where that is. You must live close to Sara.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mother—”
“Later, honey.” Cathy shot her a cat’s smile as she took Will into the dining room. “This is Tessa, my youngest. Hareton Earnshaw is my brother’s boy.”
Hare gave him a look of open appraisal. “My, you’re a tall drink of water.”
“Just ignore him,” Tessa advised as she shook Will’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Will started to sit in the closest chair, and Sara felt her heart drop in panic. Jeffrey’s place.
Cathy was not completely devoid of a soul. “Let’s put you at the head of the table,” she suggested, tugging Will gently in the right direction. “I’ll be right back with your dinner.”
Sara sank down beside Will. She put her hand on his arm. “I am so sorry.”
He feigned surprise. “About what?”
“Thank you for pretending, but we don’t have much time before—” Sara jerked her hand away. Her mother was already back with a plate of food.
“I hope you like fried chicken.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Will stared down at the full plate. There was enough food for half the town.
“Sweet tea?” Cathy asked. Sara started to stand, but her mother nodded toward Tessa to fetch a glass. “Tell me how you know my daughter.”
Will held up his finger for a minute so that he could swallow a mouthful of butterbeans. “I met Dr. Linton at the hospital.”
Sara could have kissed him for his odd adherence to formality. She explained, “Mama, Agent Trent’s partner was a patient of mine.”
“Is that right?”
Will nodded, taking a healthy bite of fried chicken. Sara couldn’t tell if he was hungry or just desperate to have a reason not to speak. She chanced a look at Hare. For once in his miserable life, he was choosing to be silent.
“Is your wife in law enforcement, too?”
Will stopped chewing.
“I noticed your ring.”
He looked down at his hand. Cathy kept him trained in her sights. He chewed some more. Finally, he answered, “She’s a private investigator.”
“That must give you two a lot to talk about. Did you meet during the course of one of your investigations?”
He wiped his mouth. “This food is very good.” Tessa put a glass of tea down in front of him. Will took a long drink, and Sara wondered if he was wishing there was something stronger in the glass.
Cathy kept up her subtle pressure. “I wish my daughters had been interested in cooking, but neither one of them took to it.” She paused for a breath. “Tell me, Mr. Trent, where are your people from?”
Sara fought the urge to drop her head into her hands. “Mama, really. It’s none of our—”
“That’s all right.” Will wiped his mouth with his napkin. He told Cathy, “I was raised in state care.”
“Bless your heart.”
Will didn’t seem to know how to answer her. He took another long drink of tea.
Cathy continued, “Mr. Trent, my youngest daughter reminded me that the hotel is closed for renovations. I hope you’ll accept the offer of my home while you’re here?”
Will choked on his tea.
“There’s an apartment over the garage. I’m sorry to say it’s not much, but I wouldn’t feel right making you drive all the way over to Cooperstown in this weather.”
Will wiped the tea off his face. He looked to Sara for help.
She shook her head, helpless to stop the onslaught of her mother’s southern hospitality.
The Linton home renovation had not extended to the laundry room. Sara had to go down the stairs into the unfinished part of the basement to get some clean towels for Will. The dryer was still running when she turned on the lights. She checked the towels. They were damp.
Sara turned the dryer back on. She started up the stairs, but stopped halfway and sat down. She had been acting pretty dimwitted throughout most of the day, but she wasn’t crazy enough to offer herself up to her mother right now.
She rested her chin in her hand. Her cheeks had been beet red from the moment Cathy welcomed Will Trent into the house.
“Sis?” Tessa whispered from the top of the stairs.
“Quiet,” Sara admonished. The last thing she needed was more of her mother’s attention.
Tessa gently pulled the door to. She held one hand under her stomach and grabbed the railing with the other as she descended the stairs. “You all right?”
Sara nodded, helping Tessa sit on the stair above her.
“I can’t believe they didn’t move the laundry room upstairs.”
“Her sanctuary?”
They both laughed. As teenagers, Tessa and Sara had studiously avoided the laundry room for fear of being ordered to help out. They’d both thought they were so clever until they realized their mother was actually enjoying the lack of company.
Sara placed her hand on her sister’s stomach. “Hey, what’s this?”
Tessa grinned. “I think it’s a baby.”
Sara spanned both of her hands across the width. “You’re enormous.”
“I love it,” Tessa whispered. “You wouldn’t believe all the shit I’ve been eating.”
“You must be feeling it kick all the time now.”
“She’s going to be a soccer player.”
“She?” Sara raised an eyebrow.
“I’m just guessing. Lem wants to be surprised.”
“We could go to the clinic tomorrow.” Elliot Felteau had bought Sara’s practice, but she still owned the building. “I can just pretend I’m doing something landlord-y over by the ultrasound machine.”
“I want to be surprised, too. Besides, I think you have enough on your plate right now.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “Mother.”
Tessa chuckled. “My God, that was epic. What a shakedown!”
“I can’t believe how awful she was.”
“You kind of sprung him on her.”
“I thought …” Sara shook her head. What had she been thinking? “Hare wasn’t any help.”
“He’s taking this harder than you think.”
“I doubt that.”
“Tommy used to cut his grass, too.” Tessa shrugged. “You know how Hare is. He’s been through a lot.”
Hare had lost many friends as well as his longtime lover to AIDS, but Sara thought she was the only person in her family who remembered that his casual attitude had predated the epidemic. “I hope he didn’t embarrass Will.”
“Will took care of himself just fine.”
Sara shook her head as she thought about the mess she had made. “I’m sorry, Tess. I didn’t mean to bring all of this to your doorstep.”
“What’s ‘all this’?”
She thought about the question. “A vendetta,” she admitted. “I think I’ve finally found a way to get Lena.”
“Oh, honey, will it make a difference?”
Sara felt tears in her eyes. She didn’t fight them this time. Tessa had seen her in much worse shape before. “I don’t know. I just want …” She paused for breath. “I want her to be sorry for what she did.”
“Don’t you think she’s sorry?” Tessa tread carefully. “As awful as she is, she loved Jeffrey. She worshipped him.”
“No. She’s not sorry. She won’t even accept that she’s the reason Jeffrey died.”
“You can’t really think that she knew that bastard boyfriend of hers was going to kill Jeffrey.”
“It’s not what she wanted to happen,” Sara admitted. “But it’s what she let happen. Jeffrey would’ve never even known that the man existed but for Lena. She put him in our life. If someone throws a grenade, you don’t say they’re innocent because they never considered that it’d actually blow up.”
“Let’s not talk about her anymore.” Tessa wrapped her arm around Sara’s shoulder. “All that matters is that Jeffrey loved you.”
Sara could only nod. This was the one truth in her life. She had known without a doubt that Jeffrey had loved her.
Tessa surprised her. “Will’s nice.”
Sara’s laugh didn’t sound very convincing, even to her own ears. “Tess, he’s married.”
“He was looking at you all googly-eyed at the table.”
“That was fear you saw.”
“I think he likes you.”
“I think your hormones are making you see things.”
Tessa leaned back on the stairs. “Just prepare yourself for the first time being awful.” Sara’s look must’ve given her away. Tessa’s mouth dropped. “Oh, my God. Have you already slept with somebody?”
“Shh,” Sara hissed. “Keep your voice down.”
Tessa leaned forward. “Why am I trekking all the way to the only pay phone in Oobie Doobie to call you if you’re not gonna tell me about your sex life?”
Sara waved her away. “There’s nothing to tell. You’re right. It was awful. It was too soon and he never called me again.”
“What about now? Are you seeing anybody?”
Sara thought of the epidemiologist from the CDC. The fact that this was the first time all week that she’d really considered the man said it all. “Not really. I’ve been on a few dates, but … What’s the point?” Sara threw up her hands. “I’m never going to connect with anyone like that again. Jeffrey ruined me for everybody else.”
“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Tessa countered. “Don’t deny yourself, Sara. Jeffrey wouldn’t want that.”
“Jeffrey wouldn’t want me to ever touch another man ever again and you know it.”
“You’re probably right.” Still, she said, “I think Will could be good for you.”
Sara shook her head, wishing Tessa would drop the subject. Even if Will was available—even if by some miracle he was interested—Sara would never date another cop again. She couldn’t have a man leave her bed every morning not knowing whether or not he would come back in one piece that night. “I told you. He’s married.”
“Now, there’s married and there’s married.” Tessa had dabbled in more than her share of trysts before settling down. She’d practically had a revolving door to her bedroom. “Where’d he get that scar on his lip?”
“I have no idea.”
“Makes you want to kiss his mouth.”
“Tess.”
“Did you know about him growing up in a home?”
“I thought you were in the kitchen when he talked about that.”
“I had my ear pressed to the door,” she explained. “He eats like the kids at the orphanage.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way he sort of wraps his arm around his plate so no one can steal his food.”
Sara hadn’t noticed, but now she realized it was true.
“I can’t imagine growing up without parents. I mean—” She laughed. “After tonight, it seems ideal, but it must’ve been hard for him.”
“Probably.”
“Ask him about it.”
“That would be rude.”
“Don’t you want to know more about him?”
“No,” Sara lied, because of course she did. She wanted to know about the scars. She wanted to know how he had entered the system as an infant and never been adopted. She wanted to know how he could stand in a room full of people and still seem completely alone.
“The kids in my orphanage are so happy,” Tessa said. “They miss their parents—there’s no question about that. But, they get to go to school. They get three meals a day, clean clothes. They don’t have to work. The other kids who still have parents are jealous.” She smoothed out her skirt. “Why don’t you ask Will what it was like for him?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Give Mama another go at him and you’ll find out everything.” Tessa pointed her finger at Sara’s chest. “You have to admit she was at the top of her game tonight.”
“I don’t have to admit anything.”
Tessa affected their mother’s soft accent. “Tell me, Mr. Trent, do you prefer boxers or briefs?” Sara laughed, and Tessa continued, “Was your first sexual experience from a missionary position or more of a canine nature?”
Sara laughed so hard that her stomach ached. She wiped her eyes, thinking this was the first time she was actually happy to be home. “I’ve missed you, Tess.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Sissy.” Tessa struggled to stand. “But right now, I’d better go to the bathroom before I pee in my pants from all this laughing.” She made her way up the stairs, taking them one tread at a time. The door closed softly behind her.
Sara stared into the basement. Her mother’s rocking chair and lamp were in a corner by a small window. The ironing board was out, ready to be used. Plastic containers along the back wall held all of Sara and Tessa’s childhood mementos, at least the ones that her mother deemed worth keeping. Yearbooks, school photos, report cards, and class papers filled two boxes for each girl. Eventually, Tessa’s baby would get her own box. She would have baby shoes and flyers from school plays and piano recitals. Or soccer trophies, if Tessa got her way.
Sara couldn’t have children. An ectopic pregnancy while she was in medical school had taken away her ability. She’d been trying to adopt a child with Jeffrey, but that dream had disappeared the day he’d died. He had a son somewhere, a brilliant, strong young man who had never been told that Jeffrey was his real father. Jeffrey was just an honorary uncle, Sara an honorary aunt. She often thought about reaching out to the boy, but the decision was not hers. He had a mother and father who had done a very good job of raising him. Ruining that, telling him he had a father he could never talk to, seemed like an act of cruelty.
Except where Lena was concerned, Sara had an intense aversion to inflicting cruelty.
The dryer buzzed. The towels were ready enough, considering she had to walk outside in the pouring rain. She put on her jacket and left the house as quietly as she could. Outside, the rain had turned into a drizzle again. She glanced up at the night sky. Even with the dark clouds, she could see the stars. Sara had forgotten what it was like to be away from the lights of the city. The night was as black as coal. There were no sirens or screams or random gunshots piercing the air. There were only crickets and the occasional howl of a lonely dog.
Sara stood outside Will’s door, wondering if she should knock. It was late. He might have already gone to sleep.
He opened the door just as she turned around. Will certainly wasn’t looking at her all googly-eyed, as Tessa had stated. If anything, he seemed distracted.
“Towels,” she told him. “I’ll just leave them with you.”
“Wait.”
Sara held up her hand to keep the rain from pelting her in the eyes. She found herself staring at Will’s mouth, the scar above his lip.
“Please come in.” He stepped back so she could walk through the door.
Sara felt an unexplained wariness. Still, she went inside. “I am so sorry about my mother.”
“She should teach a class on interrogation at the academy.”
“I cannot apologize enough.”
He handed her one of the clean towels to wipe her face. “She loves you very much.”
Sara hadn’t expected his response. She supposed a man who had lost his mother at such a young age had a different perspective on Cathy’s obtrusiveness.
“Did you ever—” Sara stopped. “Never mind. I should let you get to sleep.”
“Ever what?”
“I mean …” Sara felt her cheeks redden again. “Were you in foster homes? Or …”
He nodded. “Sometimes.”
“Good ones?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Sara was thinking about the bruise on his belly—not a bruise at all, but something far more sinister. She had seen her share of electrical burns in the morgue. They left their own distinct mark, like a dusting of gunpowder that got under the skin and never washed away. The dark branding on Will’s body had faded with time. He’d probably been a child when it happened.
“Dr. Linton?”
She shook her head by way of apology. Instinctively, her hand went to his arm. “Can I get you anything else? I think there’s some extra blankets in the closet.”
“I’ve got some questions for you. If you have a few minutes?”
She had forgotten the reason she’d come up here in the first place. “Of course.”
He indicated the couch. Sara sank into the old cushion, which nearly swallowed her. She looked around the room, seeing it as Will might. There was nothing fancy about the space. A galley kitchen. A tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom. The shag carpet had seen better days. Buckled wood paneling covered every vertical surface. The couch was older than Sara. And it was big enough for two people to comfortably lie down on, which was why Cathy had moved it from the den to the upstairs apartment when Sara turned fifteen. Not that Sara had boys lining up to lie on the couch with her, but Tessa, three years younger, had.
Will put the towels on the kitchen counter. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thank you.” Sara indicated the apartment. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t offer you better accommodations.”
He smiled. “I’ve stayed in a lot worse.”
“If it’s any consolation, this is actually nicer than the hotel.”
“The food’s better anyway.” He gestured toward the opposite end of the couch. There was really nowhere else for him to sit. Still, he asked, “May I?”
Sara bent her legs up underneath her as he sat on the edge of the cushion. She crossed her arms, suddenly aware that they were alone in the same room together.
The uncomfortable silence was back. He played with his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger. She wondered if he was thinking about his wife. Sara had met the woman once at the hospital. Angie Trent was one of those vivacious, life-of-the-party types who never left the house without her makeup on. Her nails were perfect. Her skirt was tight. Her legs would have given the Pope second thoughts. She was about as different from Sara as a ripe peach was from a Popsicle stick.
Will clasped his hands together between his knees. “Thank you for dinner. Or, thank your mother. I haven’t eaten like that in …” He chuckled, rubbing his stomach. “Well, I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten like that in my life.”
“I’m so sorry she questioned you like that.”
“It’s no bother. I’m sorry for imposing.”
“It’s my fault for bringing you down here.”
“I’m sorry the hotel was closed.”
Sara cut to the chase, afraid they would spend the rest of the night trading inconsequential apologies. “What questions did you have for me?”
He paused another few seconds, staring openly. “The first one is kind of delicate.”
She tightened her arms around her waist. “All right.”
“When Chief Wallace called you earlier today to come help Tommy …” He let his voice trail off. “Do you always keep diazepam on you? That’s Valium, right?”
Sara couldn’t look him in the eye. She stared down at the coffee table. Will had obviously been working here. His laptop was closed, but the light was pulsing. Cables connected the machine to the portable printer on the floor. An unopened packet of colored folders was beside it. A wooden ruler was on top alongside a pack of colored markers. There was a stapler, paper clips, rubber bands.
“Dr. Linton?”
“Will.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me Sara?”
He acquiesced. “Sara.” When she didn’t speak, he pressed. “Do you always have Valium with you?”
“No,” she admitted. She felt such shame that she could only look at the table in front of her. “They were for me. For this trip. In case …” She shrugged the rest of her answer away. How could she explain to this man why she would need to drug herself through a family holiday?
He asked, “Did Chief Wallace know that you had the Valium?”
She tried to think back on their conversation. “No. I volunteered to bring it.”
“You said you had some in your kit?”
“I didn’t want to tell him they were for—”
“It’s all right,” he stopped her. “I’m really sorry that I had to ask such a personal question. I’m just trying to figure out how it happened. Chief Wallace called you to help, but how would he know that you’d be able to?”
Sara looked up at him. Will stared back, unblinking. There was no judgment in his gaze, no pity. Sara couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her and really seen her. Certainly not since she’d gotten into town this morning.
She told him, “Frank thought I could talk to Tommy. Talk him down, I guess.”
“Have you helped prisoners in the jail before?”
“Not really. I mean, I got called in a couple of times when there was an overdose. Once, someone had a burst appendix. I transferred them all to the hospital. I didn’t really treat them at the jail. Not medically.”
“And on the phone with Chief Wallace—”
“I’m sorry,” Sara apologized. “Could you call him Frank? It’s just—”
“You don’t have to explain,” he assured her. “On the phone before, when you said that you didn’t really remember Tommy Braham, that there was no connection with him. Did you feel like Frank was trying to push you into coming to the station?”
Sara finally saw where this was going. “You think he called me after the fact. That Tommy was already dead.” She remembered Frank looking through the cell door window. He had dropped his keys on the floor. Had that all been an act?
“As you know, time of death isn’t an exact science,” Will said. “If he called you right after he found Tommy—”
“The body was still warm,” she remembered. “But the temperature inside the cells was hot. Frank said the furnace was acting up.”
“Had you ever known it to act up before?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t stepped foot in that station in over four years.”
“The temperature was normal when I was there tonight.”
Sara sat back on the couch. These were people who had worked with Jeffrey. People she had trusted all of her life. If Frank Wallace thought Sara was going to cover something up, he was sadly mistaken. “Do you think they killed him?” She answered her own question. “I saw the blue ink from the pen. I can’t imagine they held Tommy down and scraped it across his wrists. There are easier ways to kill someone and make it look like a suicide.”
“Hanging,” he suggested. “Eighty percent of custodial suicides are achieved by hanging. Prison inmates are seven times more likely to kill themselves than the general population. Tommy fits just about every part of the profile.” Will listed it out for her. “He was unusually remorseful. He wouldn’t stop crying. He wasn’t married. He was between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. This was his first offense. He had a strong parent or guardian at home who would be angry or disappointed to learn of his incarceration.”
She admitted, “Tommy was all of those things. But why would Frank postpone finding the body?”
“You’re well respected here. A prisoner killed himself in police custody. If you say there’s nothing hinky about it, then people will believe you.”
Sara couldn’t argue with him. Dan Brock was a mortician, not a doctor. If people got it into their heads that Tommy had been killed at the jail, then Brock would be hard-pressed to disprove the rumor.
“The cartridge from the pen that Tommy used,” Will began. “Tonight, Officer Knox told me that your husband gave them all pens for Christmas one year. That’s a very thoughtful thing to do.”
“Not exactly,” Sara said before she could catch herself. “I mean, he was busy, so he asked me to …” She waved her hand, dismissing her words. She had been so annoyed with Jeffrey for asking her to track down the pens, as if her life was less busy than his. She passed this off by telling Will, “I’m sure there are things you ask your wife to do for you when you’re tied up.”
He smiled. “Do you remember where you got the pens?”
Sara felt another wave of shame crashing down. “I asked Nelly, my office manager at the clinic, to find them online. I didn’t have time to …” She shook her head, feeling like a heel. “I might be able to find the credit card receipt if it’s important. This was over five years ago.”
“How many did you get?”
“Twenty-five, I think? Everyone on the force got one.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. Jeffrey hadn’t given her a budget, and Sara’s idea of an expensive gift had a higher price tag than Jeffrey’s. It all seemed so silly now. Why had they wasted days being angry at each other? Why had it mattered so much?
Will surprised her, saying, “Your accent is different down here.”
She laughed, taken off guard. “Do I sound country?”
“Your mother has a beautiful accent.”
“Cultured,” Sara said. Except for tonight, she had always loved the sound of her mother’s voice.
He surprised her again. “You’ve kind of been dragged into the middle of this case, but in a lot of ways, you’ve put yourself there on your own.”
She felt a blush brought on by his candor.
His expression was soft, understanding. She wondered if it was genuine or if he was using one of his interviewing techniques. “I know this sounds forward, but I’m assuming you had me meet you at the hospital in plain view of Main Street for a reason.”
Sara laughed again, this time at herself, the situation. “It wasn’t that calculated. It must seem that way now.”
“I’m staying at your house. People are going to see my car parked on the street. I know how small towns work. They’re going to think something’s going on between us.”
“But there’s not. You’re married and I’m—”
His smile was more of a wince. “The truth isn’t much help in these types of situations. You must know that.”
Sara looked back at his office supplies. He had separated the rubber bands by color. Even the paper clips were turned in the same direction.
Will said, “Something is going on here. I’m not sure if it’s what you think, but something’s not right at that station house.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know yet, but you need to prepare yourself for some bad reactions.” He spoke carefully. “Cases like this, where the police get questioned. They don’t like that. Part of the reason they’re good at their jobs is because they think they’re right about everything.”
“I’m a doctor. Trust me, it’s not just cops who feel that way.”
“I want you to be prepared, because when we get to the end of this, whether I find out Tommy was guilty, or Detective Adams screwed up, or if I find out nothing was wrong at all, people are going to hate you for bringing me down here.”
“They’ve hated me before.”
“They’re going to say you’re dragging your husband’s memory through the mud.”
“They don’t know anything about him. They have no idea.”
“They’ll fill in the blanks themselves. It’s going to get a lot harder than it is now.” He turned his body toward her. “I’m going to make it harder. I’m going to do some things on purpose to get them mad enough to show their hand. Are you going to be okay with that?”
“What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll find another way to do it that doesn’t upset you.”
She could see that his offer was genuine, and felt guilty for questioning his motives before. “This isn’t my home anymore. I’m leaving in three days no matter what happens. Do what you have to do.”
“And your family?”
“My family supports me.” Sara wasn’t certain about a lot of things these days, but this, at least, was true. “They may not agree with me, but they support me.”
“All right.” He looked relieved, as if he’d gotten the hard part out of the way. “I need to get Julie Smith’s phone number from you.”
Sara had anticipated the request. She took a sheet of folded paper out of her pocket and handed it to Will.
He pointed to the Princess phone beside the couch. “Is this the same line as the house?”
She nodded.
“I wanted to make sure the caller ID was the same.” He picked up the phone and stared at the rotary dial.
Sara rolled her eyes. “My parents don’t exactly embrace technology.”
He started spinning the dial, but the rotary slipped out from under his finger in the middle of the number.
“Let me,” she offered, taking the phone before he could protest. She spun the dial, the motion coming back to her more quickly than she wanted to admit.
Will put the receiver to his ear just as an automated squawk blared down the line. He held the phone between them so they both could hear the recorded voice advising the caller that the line he was trying to reach had been disconnected.
Will put the phone back on the hook. “I’ll have Faith do a trace tomorrow. My bet is that it was a throwaway phone. Do you remember anything else about Julie? Anything she said?”
“I could tell that she was calling from a bathroom,” Sara told him. “She said that Tommy had texted her that he was in jail. Maybe you can get the transcript from his phone?”
“Faith can do that, too,” he offered. “What about Julie’s voice? Did she sound young? Old?”
“She sounded really young and really country.”
“Country how?”
Sara smiled. “Not like me. At least I hope not. She sounded more like the wrong side of the tracks. She used the word ‘you’uns.’ ”
“That’s mountain talk.”
“Is it? I’m not up on dialects.”
“I had an assignment in Blue Ridge a while back,” he explained. “Do you hear that word around here much?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Not that I can remember.”
“All right, so we’ve got someone young, probably a transplant from north Georgia or Appalachia. She told you that she was Tommy’s friend. We’ll dump his phone line and see if they’ve ever called each other.”
“Julie Smith,” Sara said, wondering why it had never occurred to her that the girl might be using an alias.
“Maybe the phone taps will give us something.”
Sara indicated the photocopies she’d made. “Were these helpful?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” He thumbed through the pages. “I asked the station secretary, Mrs. Simms, to fax these to Faith. Can you look at them for me?”
Sara glanced through the pages. There were handwritten numbers at the top. She stopped on the eleventh page. Someone had written the number twelve in the corner. The two was backward. “Did you number these?”
“Yes,” he said. “When I got them back from Mrs. Simms, one of the pages was missing. Page eleven. The page right after Detective Adams’s field report.”
Sara thumbed back to the second page. The two was written the correct way. She checked the third and fifth page. Both numbers were facing the correct direction. The pen had been pressed so hard that the paper felt embossed.
He asked, “Can you remember what’s missing?”
Sara went through them again, concentrating on the content instead of the numbering. “The 911 transcript.”
“You’re sure?”
“There was another page from Lena’s notebook. It was taped on the sheet of paper by itself. She wrote down the contents of the 911 call.”
“Can you remember what it said?”
“I know that it was a woman’s voice. I can’t really remember the rest.”
“Did they trace the number she called from?”
“I didn’t see anything indicating they had.” She shook her head. “Why can’t I remember what else it said?”
“We can get it from the call center.”
“Unless they managed to lose it.”
“It’s no big deal,” he told her. “You got the file from Frank, right?”
“From Carl Phillips.”
“The booking officer?”
“Yes. Did you talk to him tonight?”
“He’s gone on vacation with his family. No idea when he’ll be back. No phone. No cell. No way to get in touch with him.”
Sara felt her mouth drop open.
“I doubt he’s really gone. They’re probably keeping him away from me. He might even be at the station tomorrow, hiding in plain sight.”
“He’s the only African American on the force.”
Will laughed. “Thanks for the tip. That narrows things down considerably.”
“I can’t believe they’re doing this.”
“Cops don’t like to be questioned. They circle their wagons, even if they know it’s wrong.”
She wondered if Jeffrey had ever done anything like this. If he had, it was only because he wanted to be the one to clean out his own house. He would never let someone come in and do his job for him.
Will asked, “Where did you make the copies?”
“At the front of the room.”
“The copier that’s on the table by the coffeemaker?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you get some coffee?”
“I didn’t want to dawdle.” Everyone had been staring at her like she was a monster. Sara’s only goal had been to make the copies and get out of there as soon as possible.
“So, you’re standing by the copier waiting for the pages to come out. That looked like an old machine. Does it make a noise?”
She nodded, wondering where this was going.
“Like a whirring or a clunking?”
“Both,” she answered, and she could hear the sound in her head.
“How much coffee was left in the pot? Did anyone come up?”
She shook her head. “No. The pot was full.” The machine was older than the copier. She could smell the grounds burning.
“Did anyone talk to you?”
“No. No one would even look at—” She saw herself standing by the copier. The machine was old, the kind you had to feed the pages into one at a time. She had read the file to keep from staring aimlessly at the wall. “Oh.”
“I skimmed the 911 transcript while I was waiting for the copier to warm up.”
“What did it say?”
She could see herself standing back in the station reading the files. “The woman called it a possible suicide. She said she was worried her friend had done something.” Sara narrowed her eyes, trying to force the memory to come. “She was worried Allison was going to kill herself because she’d gotten into a fight with her boyfriend.”
“Did she say where she thought Allison was?”
“Lover’s Point,” she recalled. “That’s what town people call it. It’s the cove where Allison was found.”
“What’s it like?”
“A cove.” Sara shrugged. “It’s romantic if you’re out for a walk, but not in the pouring rain and cold.”
“Is it secluded?”
“Yes.”
“So, according to this caller, Allison got into a fight with her boyfriend. The caller was worried Allison was suicidal. The caller also knew she was going to be at Lover’s Point.”
“It was probably Julie Smith. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Maybe, but why? The caller wanted to bring attention to Allison’s murder. Julie Smith was trying to help Tommy Braham get away with murder. They seem to have opposite goals.” He paused. “Faith is trying to track her down, but we’re going to need more than a disconnected number to find her.”
“Frank and Lena are probably thinking the same thing,” Sara guessed. “That’s why they hid the transcript. They either don’t want you to talk to her or they want to talk to her first.”
Will scratched his cheek. “Maybe.” He was obviously considering another option. For her part, Sara could not get past Marla Simms hiding information in a formal investigation. The old woman had worked at the station longer than anyone could remember.
Will sat up on the couch. He thumbed through the pages on the coffee table. “Mrs. Simms took it upon herself to send some extra information. I had Agent Mitchell scan these in so I could print them out.” He found what he was looking for and handed it to Sara. She recognized the form, a two-page incident report. Patrolmen filled out dozens of these a week to notate cases where they had been called in but no arrest had been made. They were useful to have in case something bad happened later, sort of like a progress report on a person or an area of town.
Will said, “These are incident reports documenting Tommy’s run-ins with the law.” He indicated the pages in Sara’s hands. “This one talks about a girl he got into a screaming match with at the roller rink.”
She saw there was a yellow dot in the corner of the report.
He asked, “Did you ever know Tommy to have a temper?”
“Never.” Sara checked through the other incident reports. There were two more, each two stapled pages, each with a dot from a colored marker in the corner. One was red. The other was green.
She looked back up at Will. “Tommy was pretty even-keeled. Kids like that tend to be very sweet.”
“Because of their mental state?”
Sara stared at him, thinking back on their conversation in the car. “Yes. He was slow. Very gullible.”
Much like Sara.
She handed a different report back to Will, showing it to him upside down. She pointed to the middle of the page where Carl Phillips had described the incident. “Did you read this part?”
She watched Will’s eyes go to the red dot. “The barking dog. Tommy started screaming at his neighbor. The woman called the cops.”
“Right.” She took the third report and handed it to him in the right direction. “Then there’s this.”
Again, his eyes went not to the words, but to the colored dot. “Loud music reported a few days ago. Tommy yelled at the officer.”
She was silent, waiting for him to send out another feeler.
He took his time, finally asking, “What are you thinking?”
She was thinking he was incredibly clever. Sara looked at the folders, the markers. He color-coded everything. His penmanship was awkward, like a child’s. He’d written the number two backward, but not with any consistency. He couldn’t tell whether a page was upside down or not. Sara might not have even noticed under different circumstances. Hell, she hadn’t noticed the last time she’d spent time with him. He’d been in her home. She had watched him work and never realized there was a problem.
He joked, “Is this some kind of test?”
“No.” She couldn’t do this to him. Not like this. Maybe not ever. “I was looking at the dates.” She shuffled through the forms to give herself something to do. “All the incidents happened within the last few weeks. Something must have set him off. Tommy didn’t have a temper until recently.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” He took back the pages and stacked them on the table. He was nervous, and he was not stupid. He had spent a lifetime looking for cues, searching for tells and ticks, so that he could keep his secret hidden.
Sara put her hand on his arm. “Will—”
He stood up, moving out of her reach. “Thank you, Dr. Linton.”
Sara stood, too. She fumbled for something to say. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”
“You’ve been great.” He walked to the door and held it open for her. “Please thank your mother for her hospitality.”
Sara left before she was pushed out. She got to the bottom of the steps and turned around, but Will had already gone inside.
“Good Lord,” Sara mumbled as she walked across the wet grass. She’d actually managed to make Will feel more uncomfortable than her mother had.
The distant sound of a car came from up the road. Sara watched a police cruiser roll by. This time, the cop behind the wheel did not tip his hat at her. In fact, he seemed to glare at her.
Will had warned her this would happen, that the town would turn against her. Sara hadn’t thought the time would come so quickly. She laughed at herself, the circumstances, as she crossed the driveway and went into the house. Will might have trouble reading the words on a page, but he was pretty damn good at reading people.