Christmas Mourning

“Nothing. At least I assume it was nothing. He’s never really talked about it. He acted like it was a big joke that he was playing along with, but I think it hurt him at the time. Certainly hurt his pride anyhow.”

“What happened?” I asked again.

“It was right after Lee began seeing a perfectly darling little girl. Holly Fletcher. Then Mallory Johnson started flirting with him and texting him a couple of times a day till he finally asked her out. He took her to one of the ball games, and I guess she made sure that Holly saw them together, because Emma was furious with Lee. I gather that Holly spent the whole game crying in the ladies’ room. He told Emma it didn’t mean a thing, but I overheard him call Mallory and try to get her to go out with him again. From his end of the conversation, I think she just laughed at him. In fact, he wound up laughing back and pretending that yes, he knew all along she wasn’t into relationships, but that it was only polite to make sure. I knew it wasn’t a real laugh. He was very quiet for the next few days. And of course, he was too embarrassed to ask Holly out again.”

This was almost word for word the same scenario Miss Emily had described Saturday night. I found myself wondering how many Hollys had been at that party last week.

As if listening in on my thoughts, Barbara said, “I’ve heard that she was high on something when she crashed and that some Vicodin went missing at the party. Surely Dwight’s heard that, too?”

Because it seemed to be common knowledge, I nodded. “But he doesn’t know if Vicodin was in her system. The hospital only tests for alcohol. He’s heard from several sources that she didn’t drink, so someone may have spiked her drink at a party.”

“A party that she should have left as soon as it became clear that the parents weren’t at home. Thank goodness Lee and Emma didn’t stay a minute longer than they had to.”

“They’re nice kids,” I said as we reached the outskirts of Dobbs and turned onto the main street. “You and Zach have done a good job with them.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, sounding slightly startled by the compliment. “It’s a fine line we parents have to walk these days, isn’t it? Too easy and they have no standards. Too hard and you either crush their spirits or turn them into liars and sneaks.”

“Seems to me y’all’ve found the right balance,” I said and realized that I meant it. She might come down a little stricter than I would, but it didn’t seem to have hurt Lee or Emma. “I just hope Dwight and I can find that balance with Cal.”

“You will. You’re good with kids. The way you do things with them. The cookies. Letting them come over and swim and fish and tramp through your house to use the shower. No wonder they’re—”

She broke off abruptly.

“No wonder they’re what?”

“Fond of you,” she said quickly. “All the kids are.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t what she had intended to say, but it still made me smile. “I’m sorta fond of them, too.”

“The nice thing is that you can show it.”

There was such a wistful note in her voice that it drew me up short. Before I could respond, she gave a rueful laugh. “I guess I’ve always been a little jealous of that.”

I didn’t know what to say. Jealous of me? When all this time I thought she was being judgmental and disapproving?

We passed the courthouse and I pulled into the narrow alley that led to the library’s parking lot. As I stopped the car at the rear entrance, she started to thank me and I put out my hand. “Good luck with your meeting.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure,” I said honestly. “I’m sort of glad your car conked out on you this morning.”

She laughed. “You know something? I am, too.”

CHAPTER 17

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing.

—A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

COLLETON COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT—MONDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 22

Bo Poole leaned back in his black leather chair and listened as his chief deputy filled him in on the shooting deaths of the two Wentworth brothers.

There was a time when the news media would have been all over this story. An N&O reporter and a photographer would have trundled out from Raleigh, a helicopter from one of the local TV stations would have hovered over the sheeted bodies, and there would have been at least one stringer for the little county newspapers out at the site before the EMS truck got there. Whether the lack of coverage was due to layoffs in staff, the high cost of helicopter fuel, last night’s foul weather, or simply that the deaths of two petty criminals were not worth more than a few inches of newsprint and a scant thirty seconds in the roundup of local news, the department’s spokesperson reported that her online posting of the bare facts had triggered only a couple of phone calls from the media.

“Richards and Dalton are over there now to see if we missed anything last night, and McLamb’s gone to the autopsy,” Dwight Bryant told his boss, a small trim man with thinning gray hair and sharp bright eyes that missed nothing. “Someone from Welcome Home is going to meet them at the trailer with serial numbers and invoices to ID their stolen merchandise.”

“How’s Mayleen working out as a detective?” Bo asked. “Her daddy’s still mad with me for giving her a job. Thinks she wouldn’t be hooked up with that Mexican if I’d turned her down.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. She’s an asset. Good with computers, pulls her weight without grumbling”

“Her personal life doesn’t get in the way?”