“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking away from him, crossing and uncrossing her arms. She reached up and tucked that strand of brown hair behind her ear again. “This situation . . . I’m a little rattled.”
“I understand. It’s okay.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She probably didn’t mean for him to see it, but she was wary of him. He got that a lot. Even the most innocent people could become nervous around cops. It went with the territory.
“You’re not a suspect,” he announced.
The eyebrows snapped downward again. “Of course I’m not.”
She sighed again and looked at the ceiling, turning her head as if she was trying to get a kink out of her neck.
“Do you know who she is—was?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“No one has missed her yet. How awful is that?”
The door opened then, and Principal Garnett ushered in a blonde woman and a little girl who was her spitting image in miniature.
9
Wendy walked into the big conference room with its big windows and big table, and felt as if she were getting smaller and smaller. Even though she was way over having to hold hands with her mom, she was glad to be doing so in that moment.
Miss Navarre looked angry at first—she was looking at the man at the end of the table—but then she turned and smiled a little.
“Hi, Wendy. Hi, Mrs. Morgan,” she said. She had dark circles under her eyes, just like Wendy’s mom did. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m okay,” Wendy said. “I’m just weirded out, that’s all.”
“She had bad dreams,” her mother confessed. “So did I.”
“So did I,” Miss Navarre admitted.
“So did I,” said the man at the end of the table. He came around and offered his hand to Wendy’s mom. “I’m Detective Mendez from the sheriff’s office.”
“Sara Morgan.”
“And you’d be Wendy,” he said, offering his hand to her.
Impressed, Wendy shook it. He was very cute. He looked a little like Magnum P.I. with the dark hair and the mustache—only he was shorter, and he probably didn’t drive a red Ferrari or live on a fabulous estate. And he was wearing a coat and tie instead of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. That was the difference between being a TV star and working in Oak Knoll, she supposed.
“I’m the detective assigned to investigate the case,” he explained as he motioned for everyone to take a seat. “So one of the first things I need to do is ask you and your friends some questions about what happened in the park yesterday. There’s nothing for you to be worried about. You’re not in any trouble.”
“I didn’t do anything to be in trouble for,” Wendy said, taking the chair nearest to the detective at the head of the table. She straightened her acid-washed denim skirt and matching jean jacket, wanting to look appropriately grown-up and hip. Copying the style from a picture of Madonna in a magazine, she had pulled half her thick wavy hair up into a ponytail on top of her head.
“Dennis touched her,” she said. “He should be in trouble for that, right? Touching a dead person. Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“That depends,” the detective said.
“It was all Dennis’s fault,” Wendy said. “If he wasn’t such a psycho and hadn’t been chasing us, we never would have cut through the woods.”
Detective Mendez stopped her to turn on his tape recorder and announce who was in the room.
“Did you see anyone else in the woods, Wendy?” he asked.
“No.”
“No one around the area where the body was?”
“No people, but there was a dog. He came out of the bushes and it was like he was guarding her or something.”
“What kind of a dog?”
“The scary kind with big teeth and beady eyes. You know.”
“A pit bull?”
“Maybe. But he didn’t attack us,” she hastened to add. “He just growled like he was telling us to stay away from the lady. Dennis said maybe the dog killed her and buried her like a bone, but that’s stupid—right?”
Her mother spoke up then. “She tells me that they didn’t touch the dog—”
“We didn’t!” Wendy insisted, mortified that her mother would bring this up again. Who cared if they touched the stupid dog?
“So it was just the three of you that found the body.”
“Four. Me and Tommy, and Dennis and Cody.”
“Cody was there too?” Miss Navarre asked.
“Who’s Cody?” the detective asked.
“Cody Roache,” Miss Navarre said. “I thought of him last night. He’s usually wherever Dennis Farman is, but he wasn’t in the park when I got there.”
“Because he screamed like a baby and ran away,” Wendy said with a certain amount of disgust. “The deputies came because of him.”
The detective looked at Miss Navarre. “I’ll need to speak to him as well.”
“Have you found out who the woman was?” Wendy’s mother asked.
“Not yet.”
“This is so awful. Nothing like this ever happens here.”
“The dog knows who she is,” Wendy said.
“Wendy,” her mother said impatiently, “enough about the dog.”
Mendez held his hand up to stop her talking, but his eyes were on Wendy.
“Did the dog have a collar on?”
Wendy shrugged. “I don’t remember. He had big teeth. I remember that.”
“What color was the dog?”
“White with big black splotches.” She turned and gave her mother her best so-there look, then turned back to the detective. “He was black all around one eye and ear.”
Detective Mendez scribbled that all down in his notebook. Obviously, these were very important clues.
“Could this really be important?” Wendy’s mother asked.
“If we can find the dog, and the dog has tags, maybe the dog belonged to the victim and we can find out who she was through the registration with the city,” Detective Mendez explained. “It’s probably a long shot, but you never know.”
“You’ve been a big help, Wendy,” Miss Navarre said. “It’s a good thing you’re so observant.”
“Thank you, Miss Navarre,” Wendy said, beaming. Detective Mendez reached out his hand to her again. “Thanks, Wendy. If you remember anything else, you can have your mother or Miss Navarre call me.”
Wendy had never felt quite so important. This was just like being in a Nancy Drew mystery. Maybe she would write this story herself and become famous. Maybe Tommy would want to be in on it with her. Now that the idea had come to her, she couldn’t wait to ask him.
Miss Navarre led the way out the side door to the dark, quiet hall, a place that called for whispers.
“I’m still not sure what we’re going to do about counseling,” her mother whispered to Miss Navarre.
Wendy intervened. “Mom, I’m fine. I saw a dead person. I’m not warped for life.”
