“Yeah?”
“Can we talk and play at the same time? I haven’t played since I was a little girl. I miss it.”
I miss it too, I wanted to say. But I didn’t.
There were some quiet nights, alone in the farmhouse, when I played the game by myself. Moving around pieces on the board, my only opponent myself, and the ghosts of my father and brother in the room with me.
“You play chess?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. Even I couldn’t play much when I was younger. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that Jack taught me the rules.
Chrissy rolled her eyes. “The Cornwalls might be trash, but we aren’t stupid.”
“I’ve never thought you were stupid, that’s for sure,” I assured her.
There were three light taps on the front door.
I stood and went to the window, peeking out through the blinds. For some reason, I’d been expecting the press or Dennis. But it was Officer Nash Winslow outside.
“It’s the police. Can you go somewhere? I don’t want to give them any reason to stick around longer than they have to.”
“What are they doing here?” Chrissy whispered.
“Probably following up on what happened last night.”
I watched Chrissy disappear through the kitchen. She took a left down the hallway and went inside the bathroom.
I opened the front door and stepped outside.
“Hi, Nash,” I said, stifling a legitimate yawn. That energy drink wasn’t giving me much energy, at least not yet. “What can I do for you?”
Sheepishly, Nash held up a thick manilla folder.
I pulled the front door slightly closed behind me. “What’s that?”
“My father’s old case file. Or what I could find, anyway. I thought you might like to take a look. I’ll need it back soon though,” he said.
“Why are you doing this?” I said, plucking the folder from his hands before he could change his mind.
“Because you said she’s claiming innocence. And if you’ve agreed to write her story, then I’m inclined to think you might believe her. Read those. Then tell me what you think.”
“Thank you.”
He seemed disappointed when I didn’t invite him in, but finally, he waved and walked back to his cruiser.
Back inside, I quick-stepped down the hallway and closed myself in my bedroom. I heard the bathroom door open. “Is he gone?” Chrissy called through the hallway.
“Yeah. He was just checking in. I’m changing my shirt. Be out in a minute. Why don’t you go ahead and set up the chess board?”
“Okay,” Chrissy said, her voice eager and enthusiastic.
I stared down at the thick old file in my hands, wishing I could read it now. But first, I needed to talk to Chrissy and find out what her next steps were and try to get in as many questions as she would allow.
I slid the folder between my mattress and box spring for later.
Chapter Sixteen
I expected Chrissy to be an aggressive chess player. But she surprised me, taking out her pawns early. Letting me take the lead.
I had both knights in play, a clear path to move my bishop. But, somehow, I felt leery of her cool and collected approach to the game.
“I went to see Katrina Juliott today.” I took out one of Chrissy’s pawns, sacrificing my own. But Chrissy didn’t take the bait, not with the pawn or my statement. I’d expected a reaction from her, but her face was blank, unreadable.
“She has Alzheimer’s. For a while, she thought I was Jenny,” I said.
Chrissy grimaced at the dead girl’s name.
“And she showed me pictures … one was of you and Jenny. That was quite a surprise.”
Finally, Chrissy slid one of her bishops out. But before she removed her fingers from the piece, she slid it back to its rightful place, choosing another pawn instead.
“I’m not surprised. I told you we knew each other. You read the letters in the shoebox I gave you?” Chrissy asked, eyes never leaving the board.
“I did.” I made no more moves, sitting back in my chair and focusing on Chrissy’s face. After the energy drinks, I’d made glasses of Jack and Coke. Jack and soda for her, only Coke for me. I needed to loosen her up. Needed to get some answers. My head and heart were too heavy for drinking tonight.
“This picture I saw … you both looked younger, maybe only eight or nine when it was taken.”
“We knew each other before John Bishop. We went to elementary school together for several years,” Chrissy said.
“I thought you were homeschooled,” I breathed.
Chrissy shook her head. “That began in middle school. My parents saw the paths my brothers were headed down and they felt like I’d be better at home with them. Of course, Dad was rarely there. But my mom taught me. She wasn’t the greatest teacher, but she made me do the work. She wasn’t lazy and incompetent like the stories would have you believe,” Chrissy said. Then she added, “It’s your move, by the way.”
I slid one of my castles across the board, facing down one of her pawns. I’d always had a preference for the castle piece—its versality and strength.
“Why does Jenny’s mom have a photo of you two? Were you friends before you switched to the homeschooling track?” I asked.
Chrissy sighed. “I don’t know if you’d call us friends. We were in the same class in third grade. She invited me over a few times, that was all. I don’t think her parents were crazy about her hanging out with a Cornwall, to be honest.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because they were rich and pretty, and my family was ugly and poor, why else? It was easy to forget about us, to underestimate us…”
I’d forgotten about the bishop. She
