“She struck a Jeep Wrangler broadside at the intersection of the Snickersville Turnpike and Sam Fred Road about four a.m.,” he said. “Right now it appears she was operating a vehicle while intoxicated. So far there’s one fatality. He died in the ambulance. The other passenger is in serious condition.”
My voice was unsteady. “Oh, my God. Do you know who they are? The people in the other car.”
“Sorry. We’re still trying to reach the next of kin.”
“Was it kids?”
He hesitated, then said, “What’s left of ’em.”
I chewed my lip to keep from crying. I felt numb. “I’m so sorry. She says she didn’t do it. I know that sounds impossible. But she says she didn’t.”
Somebody squawked again on his shoulder, like a parakeet. “With all due respect, miss,” he said, “they all say that. ’Scuse me, please.”
He turned away and I walked blindly toward the emergency room doors. They closed behind me with the same hiss of finality I remembered from the night Quinn and I were here to see Hector. It seemed like a million years ago. This time the person behind the ER waiting room desk was taking orders from the police. I asked to see Mia and was politely but firmly turned down. Sam had no such problem.
“She has the right to counsel,” he barked. “Let me back there immediately.”
“I’ll give you a full report,” he said to me as the doors slid open. “Sit tight and don’t you talk to anybody, either.”
Eli was the last to arrive. God, had he taken the time to shower, shave, and put on pressed khaki shorts and another embroidered Hilton Head shirt? I’d pulled on the first pair of jeans I found, a T-shirt with dull purple stains on it, no makeup, and scraped my hair into a ponytail.
“Sam’s with her,” I told him. He exuded a powerfully sweet fruity scent. “Whoa. Did you take a bath in your cologne or maybe pour it on your head?”
He fingered the sleeve of my T-shirt. “Unlike you, I decided not to show up in what I slept in. If you must know, I was pretty shook up after you called. Dropped the damn bottle and it broke all over the marble floor in the bathroom. We might have to regrout where the cologne left a stain. At least the house smells good.”
“I don’t think there’s a dress code for when your sister might go to jail,” I said. “Eli, she was driving drunk and she killed a kid. The police told me she broadsided a Jeep Wrangler. The other passenger is in tough shape.”
He walked me over to the familiar rows of molded plastic chairs. Fortunately the television was off. “Oh, God,” he said as we sat down. “That’s manslaughter. If she was drunk it might be voluntary manslaughter. I’m not sure, though. Jesus, Lucie. She will do jail time for this.”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe she’ll get a suspended sentence.”
“Not if she killed somebody. Especially if she plowed into the other car. No way to get around that.”
“I wonder who the other family is. Or families.” My eyes watered and I swiped at them with the back of my hand. “How did it come to this?”
“Yesterday was graduation at all the high schools,” Eli said. “One of my coworkers had a daughter who finished at Blue Ridge High. Took the day off. They were having a big party. Probably not the only ones. And hell, graduation night. I’m sure some of those kids weren’t drinking lemonade before they started tooling around in Daddy’s BMW…or the Jeep Wrangler.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Here. Use this. It’s gross when you use your hand.”
I took it and wiped my eyes again. “She doesn’t remember getting behind the wheel.”
“Great. She must have been really wasted.”
“I don’t know. I talked to her. She was adamant that she didn’t do it.”
“Well, who was driving the damn car, then? Elvis? Come on. Her car. She was found at the scene.” He held out both hands, palms up, and shrugged. “What’s not to understand here?”
The door to the inner sanctum of the emergency room opened and we both spun around in our seats. Sam Constantine strode out, looking like he would dismember anyone who got in his way, then dine on their entrails.
“This isn’t good,” Eli muttered. He stood up and put out his hand. “Sam. Thanks so much for coming. Sorry I missed you before you went in to see her. What’s the story?”
Sam shook Eli’s hand. “The story,” he said, “is bad.” His eyes were the color of tombstones. He glanced at Eli. His nose twitched, but he said nothing.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Her car hit the Jeep. Graduation present for the eighteen-year-old driver, who had his high school diploma in his back pocket. The girlfriend’s seventeen. Looks like she’ll pull through. Sheriff’s on his way to visit the parents and tell ’em. Christ. I don’t envy him, knocking on those doors.” He ran a hand through his shaggy gray hair and looked up with anguished eyes. “Last thing Mia remembers is being at Abby Lang’s house. They were drinking something that goes by the name of ‘Southern Smasher.’ Cognac, Red Bull, and peach schnapps. God help us all. The Lang kid’s boyfriend dumped her and she was feeling sorry for herself. Mia wanted to be a good friend so she kept Abby company. Doesn’t remember how many she put away. Said she passed out in the bedroom.”
“How’d she get in her car?” Eli asked.
“She hasn’t got a clue.”
“Oh, God. Where was Hugo?” I asked.
“The senator wasn’t home. Just the two girls. Housekeeper had the weekend off.” Sam shrugged. “Next thing she knows, she’s facedown on the ground next to her car. Lights and sirens everywhere. The other driver and the girlfriend were drinking, too, but she hit them, so it’s clearly her fault. It must have stopped raining by then, because they had the top down, the whole nine yards, so it was like she hit a dune buggy or a golf cart. The driver didn’t have a prayer.”
I covered my mouth with my hands and clamped my lips shut, afraid I would scream.
“What does Abby Lang say?” Eli asked.
“That’s where I’m headed right now.” Sam sounded grim. “Assuming she’s in any shape to talk.”
“What about Mia?” I asked. “Is she going to jail?”
Sam looked at me with eyes that said he’d spent a lifetime talking to people like me after someone they loved had accidentally committed a felony and he was their salvation to make it go away.
“Honey,” he said, “right now I’d say the odds are pretty good that she will. They’re gonna draw blood here at the hospital to see what her BAC is. They’ve agreed to defer her arrest until they get the toxicology report because she’s known in the community and I said she wasn’t a flight risk.”
My throat was dry. “How long?”
“Three to four weeks.”
“Then what?” Eli asked.
He sighed again. “If it’s above point-oh-eight, she’ll be charged with vehicular manslaughter because she was DUI. In that case she’ll do time. Below that level…” He shrugged. “We might get it knocked down to involuntary manslaughter. Suspended sentence and community service. Teach an alcohol awareness class in schools for a year, eighteen months. And go to AA.”
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Besides wait?” he said. “Well, they’re going to release her shortly. So get her home and chain her to something, because if she so much as puts a whisker out of line before that tox report comes back, they’ll lock her up before you can say jackrabbit.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said.
“Do you think she did it, Sam?” I asked. “What if she’s telling the truth?”
“She is an unreliable witness,” he said, eyeing me. “But I’m going to talk to the Lang girl.”
“How can we thank you?” I said.
He smiled without showing any teeth. “Oh, don’t you worry,” he said. “There’s a little something I like to call ‘the bill.’ All the thanks I need.”
He left and I looked at Eli.
“God,” I said, “what has she gotten us into?”
Dominique became a U.S. citizen later that afternoon. Joe took her down to the community center in
