I jot down a few notes, thankful she’s speaking.
“Shannon doesn’t know,” Ms. Timo intones.
I hold back a sardonic laugh. “So you’re hiding it from her?” I glance into the file and see who the victim is. Yup. McMillian killed his wife in the heat of passion. “Girl might be entitled to know her mother’s dead.”
Ms. Timo presses her lips together. “Keep your voice down.”
I stare at the rustling bushes. She’s much too far away to hear our conversation, but I indulge the old woman regardless. “What did you notice when you got to your son’s house?”
“He was shaking. He had his gun on the table. It holds six rounds, but only one bullet was missing. I didn’t get a good look at the bedroom. Some things you can’t unsee.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He kept saying he wished he could take it back. He shot once and instantly regretted it. I know he didn’t mean it. He lost himself for one second. Just one.”
Retelling the story obviously unnerves the old lady. She breathes with a choked-up rasp. But I’ve seen one too many corpses to get disturbed over a guy and his unfaithful wife.
“About what time did this all go down?” I ask, making sure to cover the last few details the attorney will want.
“Late at night. A little after ten.”
“All right. Well, I’ll walk over and talk to you if I need anything else. I suspect they won’t take this to trial, but if they do, you’ll be called to the stand.”
“I’ve been homeschooling Shannon,” she says after a deep breath, like she’s ready to forget that whole conversation even happened. “But that means she isn’t going outside much.”
The girl, Shannon, shuffles closer and keeps to the shadows. Now that I know she’s there, I can keep track of her movements, but she’s rather quiet and talented at flitting from one early morning shadow to the next.
“You and your partner are homosexuals?” Ms. Timo asks.
I slowly pan my gaze over to hers. Did she just say homosexuals like we were on a 1930s radio show? “We fuck each other, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Unfazed by my statement, she nods. “I want Shannon to have an example of a good relationship before… before I have to explain how one can go so wrong. Her parents argued nonstop. You and your partner seem good for each other. Not like how I was told homosexuals treated each other.”
I snort and laugh. “Fun fact, true fact—homosexuals come in every flavor nonhomosexuals come in. Bad ones. Good ones. Crazy jealous ones who can’t handle catching their partner in bed with another. Don’t go romanticizing the first instance of something you see.”
“What I want to ask is, can Shannon visit your little girl?”
“Ask Miles,” I state. “It’s his decision.”
“He wears the pants in the relationship, I see.”
I glower at the woman. “They’re his siblings.”
“Ah. Then I will ask him about it this evening.”
“Fine.” I nod to her and then turn on my heel, heading straight home. I really do have other things to deal with, and this witness statement ate way too much of my free time. Shannon hops from her hiding space once I’m a few houses away, and I catch sight of her speaking to her grandmother, a few twigs caught in her long braid.
I guess it’s none of my business, but I would hate not having the facts straight. Shannon will have to go on not knowing about her father until her grandmother gets her act together.
“THAT’S NOT the proper form for lifting weights,” Miles says, exasperation in his tone. “You’re going to hurt your back like that. How many times do I have to tell you?”
I can’t see what’s going on in the back room, but I can picture it clear as day in my mind’s eye. Jayden’s gotta be fuckin’ it up left and right. I’m sure he’ll get it eventually—Miles knows his stuff, and Jayden has a track record of failing before turning it all around—but that doesn’t mean it isn’t funny in the meantime.
I tune them out and go back to my work.
With the TV on mute—and set to the news—I read over Shelby’s reports. He seems to have every kidnapping record for the last twenty years, including confidential police records. I’m impressed and confused, but I suppose they’ll come in handy. I was right about the uptick in crime in Noimore—especially kidnappings. People are going missing—which explains the police crackdown.
“So, uh, do you do anything for fun?” Shannon asks.
Lacy combs her long black hair with her fingers. “I run track and field. And I play the piano.”
“Running and piano? Okay…. Do you have a piano here?”
“No. My brother doesn’t have one.”
“Right.”
Silence settles over the kitchen. The two girls avoid staring at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen table, and I lament the fact that I agreed to watch over them while I worked.
It’s not like I haven’t watched kids before. Big Man Vice had me look after his three kids for years, but they had things to do and toys to play with. Shannon and Lacy sit around like lumps on a log, taking up space and air.
Shannon stares at me, her gaze unflinching. I rub at my forehead when I turn to her. “What is it?”
“Your eye is ugly.”
Lacy’s eyebrows lift, her straight-as-a-rod posture unbroken as she gives a disapproving frown.
“If you’re gonna insult someone,” I say, “at least be clever about it. Otherwise you’re making enemies, and lookin’ stupid while doin’ it. A terrible combination.”
“I wasn’t insulting you. It’s a fact.”
“Don’t you have any homework?” I ask with a long exhale.
Shannon rolls her eyes. “My grandma assigns
