wouldn’t there have been longer skid marks? And where was the other vehicle’s skid marks?
Mallory’s fleeting “Dim your stupid—” shriek to an oncoming vehicle sounded as if someone had suddenly blinded her by flicking on their high beams. That “Get over!” would imply that the vehicle was in her lane, more than enough reason for her to brake and swerve.
Although the other driver might have stopped, he (or she?) had not rushed to help. Instead, he had calmly restarted his engine and driven away. Not a hit-and-run, but just as culpable in the eyes of the law.
Until he heard Mallory’s complete message, though, Dwight knew he was only second-guessing himself.
The inner door opened and Mrs. Barefoot immediately smiled in recognition, then pushed open the glass storm door to invite him in.
Easy to see where Jeff and now Charlie had gotten their height, Dwight thought. Tall and thin like them, she had iron gray hair tied back with a red ribbon. Her green sweatshirt, worn over black stretch pants, was imprinted with a colorful Christmas design of bells and balls and Rudolph with a wreath around his neck.
“Dwight? My goodness! You’re up and out mighty early.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, but before he could ask for her grandson, Mrs. Barefoot immediately ushered him past the formal living and dining rooms, back to the heart of the house: a large family room with a kitchen at one end, a dining table and six chairs in the middle, and a den at the other end with couches, recliners, and a large flat-screen television in a built-in niche over the fireplace. A tall thin artificial fir tree stood in the corner and presents were heaped around the bottom. Its lights were off but rays from the rising December sun caught the tinsel and sparkled on the shiny glass ornaments.
His nose was assailed by the mingled odors of a full country breakfast—country-cured ham, red-eye gravy, hot black coffee, and made-from-scratch biscuits. A carton of eggs rested on the counter beside the stove ready to be scrambled. A jar of homemade fig preserves was already on the table.
“I was just taking my biscuits out of the oven when I heard the bell,” she said, beaming at him. “Now you sit right down at that table and let me get you some coffee. This early, I bet you haven’t had a bite of breakfast.”
“Actually, I did,” he said as she handed him a mug of steaming coffee. Deborah wasn’t due in court until 9:30, so she and Cal were still asleep when he left, but he wasn’t going to admit that his breakfast had been a bowl of cornflakes.
“All the same, I bet you could find room for a ham biscuit,” she said cheerfully, brushing a smear of flour off Rudolph’s red nose.
“I thought I heard voices,” said Nelson Barefoot from the doorway. “You caught me sleeping in, son.”
He poured himself coffee and joined Dwight at the table. “Everything going okay?”
“Yes, sir, and I don’t mean to interrupt y’all’s breakfast, but I need to speak to Charlie a minute.”
The older man looked at him expectantly, but when Dwight didn’t elaborate, he said, “Well, he ought to be out in a minute. I heard him stirring around when I came down the hall.”
Dwight stood to finish his coffee. “If he’s up, maybe I could go on back? That’ll let me get out of your way quicker.”
Husband and wife exchanged glances, and although her eyes were troubled, she said, “Certainly, Dwight. It’s right down the hall.”
She led the way and tapped on a door. “Charlie? You decent?”
“Ma’am?” He opened the door, barefooted, unshaven, his hair looking like a bird’s nest, but dressed in jeans and an open-collar rugby shirt. He was clearly startled to see the big deputy behind his grandmother.
“Major Bryant’s here to see you, honey. Don’t y’all talk too long now or the biscuits will get cold.”
Charlie was clearly unhappy to see him, but he moved aside so that the deputy could come in. The room was basically tidy. The covers had been pulled up on the bed and books were piled haphazardly up on the desk, which also held a lamp and a laptop, but there were no piles of clothes or dirty dishes.
“I’ll keep it short, Charlie,” Dwight said, reaching into his breast pocket. “This is a search warrant that allows me to take your cell phone and your computer in for examination.”
“
“I think you know why, Charlie. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice that you had cut out part of the message your sister left on your voice mail?”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes dropped and he glanced uneasily at his computer.
Dwight held out his hand. “Your cell phone, please.”
The youth gestured to his bedside table.
“Is her message still on this?”
Charlie nodded. “Look, if something got left off when I was trying to transfer it to my computer… I mean, I’m no geek. I don’t always know how to do things. I told you. I listened to it once, and after that, I only heard enough to know it was the disc. I couldn’t stand to keep hearing her die over and over.”
“I can understand that, son. All the same, if we’re going to get to the bottom of what happened to her, we have to know all the facts.”
“What’s to know?” His voice was suddenly angry. “Somebody spiked her Coke and she crashed. Is knowing anything else going to bring her back?”
Dwight knew there was no answer to that. He flipped open the cell phone, located Charlie’s voice mail, and flipped through the entries till he came to 16 December 10:37 p.m., keyed PLAY, and held it to his ear.
Charlie abruptly turned and walked over to the window to stare out into the backyard where cardinals and blue jays swooped in and out to the feeders and small finches jostled for their leavings.
