' Walls? What walls?'
'Boo, you're too young to understand. When you're a woman, you will.'
'I understand you're not supposed to leave your family.'
'No. You're not.'
'We don't have a mother to go on our field trips. A. Scott's the only father.'
'He goes on your field trips?'
'Of course. The mothers are really happy when he comes.'
'I bet they are.'
'We cried a lot back then.'
'You and Scott?'
Boo nodded. 'We saw you on TV one time, at a golf tournament. I started screaming, 'There's Mother! There's Mother!' Then your boyfriend hugged and kissed you because he won and A. Scott turned the TV off and went outside and sat alone for a long time. I think he was crying.'
Mother didn't say anything.
'That day you left, you said I'd be better off without you.'
'And were you?'
Boo lied. 'Yes.'
Boo looked up and saw tears running down her mother's face, and she thought, Good. It's your turn to cry. She had wanted to hurt her mother, and she had, but now she felt bad for having done it. She took her mother's hand.
Louis's sudden presence startled Scott. How could a three-hundred-thirty-pound man walk so softly? Scott had been focused on Rebecca and Boo down on the beach, walking hand in hand.
'I had a woman once,' Louis said. 'Loved her till it hurt. And that's all I got from her. A big case of hurt.'
Man's need for love transcended race, color, creed, socioeconomic status, and size.
'What'd you find out at Gaido's?'
'They got good fried oysters.'
'From Ricardo.'
'Said Mr. Rawlins and Miz Fenney, they came there a couple times a week, when they was in town. Said he didn't see no strangers that night, just the locals. Said they was drinking and acting real happy that night, said they was pretty drunk time they left, which wasn't unusual. He never heard 'em fussing. Ever. Except-'
'Except what?'
'He said Mr. Rawlins had a fat lip that night, like someone hit him in the mouth.'
'Did Ricardo hear Trey propose to her?'
'No, sir, said he didn't hear that. Said they got up to leave, so he went to the front door with them, then Mr. Rawlins, he went to the men's room. Ricardo said goodnight to Miz Fenney, went back to work before Mr. Rawlins come back.'
'But he knew Trey had asked her to marry him?'
'Yes, sir. He knew.'
'So when did they tell him?'
'Not they, Mr. Fenney. Her. She told Ricardo.'
'We, me, us-why does it matter?'
'It matters, Rebecca, because we don't have a witness who heard Trey propose to you. It's just the word of an accused murderer.'
'Scott, he asked me to marry him.'
Scott had gone down to the beach and sent the girls inside to clean up for dinner. He and Rebecca were now sitting in low chairs under an umbrella on the beach facing the sea. She still wore the black bikini, but he saw the black lingerie.
'I believe you. But the grand jury's going to indict you Friday.'
'But I didn't kill him! Just because I was sleeping next to him in his blood, that's not proof I killed him! Why do they think I killed him?'
'Because your fingerprints are on the murder weapon.'
She turned to him with an incredulous expression. ' What? How? '
'That's what I need you to tell me.'
'I don't know.'
'The knife was from your kitchen.'
' Our kitchen?'
Scott nodded. 'The matched set in the drawer. The police didn't tell you?'
'No.'
'It was the butcher knife. When did you buy that set?'
'I didn't. Trey got it at a corporate outing, a year or so ago. They always get free stuff like that.'
'Did you use that knife?'
'Of course. My prints must've been on it from before, when I cut something.'
Scott decided not to mention that her prints were aligned on the knife in a stabbing grip rather than a cutting grip. He didn't want her to make up a reason; the D.A. and jury would see through a lie. Nor did he mention the unidentified prints on the headboard and the mirror in Trey's closet. He didn't want to go there just yet.
'Why did Trey have a fat lip that night? Did you hit him?'
'No. He said he slipped in the shower at the club, hit the wall, bloodied his lip.'
'Did you notice the construction crew at the house down the street?'
She nodded. 'They whistled and yelled in Spanish whenever I drove by.'
'They ever come around the house?'
'Not that I know of. You think they might've…'
'Anyone might have, Rebecca. We've got to find the person who did.'
He let her absorb that information, then he said, 'Tell me about the pornography.'
He expected a reaction, but she only shrugged.
'That's what men his age do these days. It passes for romance.'
'Like taking Viagra?'
Another shrug. 'He said a lot of guys on tour take it.'
'We also found prescriptions for a beta-blocker and Prozac. Did he have high blood pressure or suffer from depression?'
'No.'
'He didn't have any medical problems?'
'He was twenty-eight years old, in perfect health.'
'The police found an unidentified set of prints on the island counter in the kitchen. Any idea who they might belong to?'
'Rosie?'
He shook his head. 'Not hers. Those prints were placed there sometime after noon on Thursday, when Rosie finished cleaning, and before the murder.'
'But no one else was in the house that day except me and Trey and Rosie.'
'Someone else was.'
'Who?'
'The killer.'
'The 'Guilty Groupie'?'
Bobby nodded. 'Network morning shows ran updates on the case, while you were out running. That Detective Wilson, he gave an interview, said there are no other suspects. Said she did it.'
'How is she supposed to get a fair trial when they put that on national TV? Why do they do that?'
'Ratings. Gruesome murder cases attract viewers. The 'Craigslist Killer'-'
A Boston University med student stalked prostitutes through craigslist and killed them.
— 'and the 'Model Murder'-'
