Tentatively, I crept to it and peeked out, making sure the press was gone.
They were, and so were the girls. Nash was standing on my front porch, looking weary.
“May I come in?” he asked, as I opened the door.
What choice do I have?
Sighing, I held the door open for him, eyes drifting down to the gun on his hip I hadn’t noticed earlier. It wasn’t strange—seeing a cop with a gun—but still… the sight of the weapon brought another surge… of what? Fear?
It felt like a symbol of violence to me, instead of a measure of protection. Nothing feels safe in this town anymore, not that it ever did.
I led him through the arched doorway of the living room and motioned for him to take a seat in the kitchen.
It was still early, barely 5am, but there was no going back to sleep now. I turned on my Keurig machine and popped a coffee pod inside.
“It’s one cup at a time. Sorry,” I said, sitting down across from him as the coffee maker gargled and hissed.
“I ran the press off. And the girls were picked up by their parents with no incident,” Nash assured me. He looked around the kitchen and I could see it—curiosity.
“They were trespassing. I did nothing wrong.” Images floated up of me running wildly through the woods, knocking down a child in the dark… I grimaced.
“You’re right. They were in the wrong. And they had more to say when the parents showed. I was right. Just a prank. The school nurse will be happy to have her dummy returned. Those things are expensive.”
“Hilarious prank.” I stood up and went to the coffee maker. I removed the cup and started another.
I didn’t have any children of my own—a decision I thought I might live to regret but never did—but if I had… they might be around Amanda or Cally’s ages by now…
I sat the cup down in front of Nash, then offered him sugar and cream. He shook his head and blew steam off the top of the cup.
“Who are the parents? Anyone I know?” I asked.
“Amanda is Chuck and Adrianna Butler’s daughter. Cally lives with her grandfather, Sal Newton. Know them?”
I groaned. “I don’t know Sal. But Adrianna. Might that be Adrianna Montgomery, the columnist?”
But she was more than “the columnist” to me. She’d been my best friend, before she and her family decided to treat me and mine like lepers.
That line between friend and enemy stretched too thin between us…
“Yeah, the one and the only. I think she still uses her maiden name Montgomery in the papers.”
“She sure does.” I sighed, adding sugars and creamer to my cup. Then I took a long, hot sip, burning my tongue. “What did they have to say about what their daughters were doing?” Part of me wondered if Adrianna had put Amanda up to it, but no… that was too low, even for her.
“Honestly, they were embarrassed. I don’t think they even realized the girls had snuck out. And they were furious with Amanda for taking the other girl. Cally is a few years younger, but they’re neighbors and friends, you see…”
“Who called the press?”
Nash shrugged. “My guess is Amanda. Don’t be surprised if your face pops up on Facebook after this. She told my dispatcher that you attacked them in the woods and she ‘had proof’. She might have been filming or Facebook living for all we know…”
I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. I’d given up on social media years ago and I had no plan to get on there now, especially not with the recent news and … now this.
“Why is everyone so angry with me? And why not go throw eggs at Chrissy’s trailer or something? Why come here?” I wondered aloud.
“Because this is where it happened. This is the scary place.” Nash did air quotes as he said “scary place”.
“My family had nothing to do with Jenny’s death,” I said, bitterly.
“I know that. And my dad knew that too when he was alive. I was only five when it all happened, but I learned about it later… he talked about that case until his dying day.”
That surprised me. “He did?”
Nash nodded.
“You know she’s saying she’s innocent,” I said, quietly.
Nash abruptly chuckled into his cup. “And you know that’s bull, right?”
I shrugged. “I mean, I don’t believe everything she tells me, if that’s what you’re saying… but it’s worth a listen, don’t you think?”
I didn’t tell him the truth—that I suspected there was something more, something his dad might have missed.
Nash’s face hardened. “I don’t think she deserves any sort of audience, to be honest with you. I mean, come on, why did she come back here? What was her reasoning? Have you bothered asking her that?”
My face warmed. “I have but I can’t discuss our interviews right now. We’ve only met twice, so we’re just getting started.”
“You should talk to Katie,” Nash said.
“Katie?” But I already knew who he meant. Katrina Juliott, Jenny’s mother.
“She still live around here?” I asked, hesitantly. I thought about her son, Jenny’s brother Mike, that I’d seen at the vigil the other night.
When Nash nodded, I asked, “Why in the world would Katie Juliott talk to me?”
Nash set his cup down slowly and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Because, like you, she always wanted more. She had doubts about Chrissy’s guilt, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
There is more than one way to kill a person. Not all of those ways involve death.
Katie Juliott wasn’t dead and buried like her daughter Jenny. Nevertheless, she was still gone. The lights are on but no one’s home.
There was something vacant in the old woman’s eyes as she led me inside her house. She didn’t act surprised when I showed up on her doorstep. She didn’t ask who I was.
I hadn’t seen her in years and years… how could she possibly know who I am?
She was wispy and thin. The full rosy cheeks I remembered from my childhood, that aristocratic nose
