with this because he’d rather stay in the car. He’ll come out of his seat if we get an arrest, just you watch. And the only parades I’ve been in were for the Fourth of July, and I was on traffic detail for snotty marching-band kids. A hundred and two in the shade, and me in my synthetic blues.”
“Any ticker tape?” I said.
She smiled. “Not for me. What about you? What did you think you’d be doing by now?”
I’d never had a big goal. Some kind of business, maybe. I was organized when I remembered to be. Something with travel? I hadn’t even declared a major before I’d had to leave college for good. The truth was that I hadn’t been doing all that well in school when my dad had died. I’d had plenty of opportunities to question my own intelligence since dropping out—other people had, too—but it was the memory of failing for the first time that kept me from trying too hard to get back on track. The last time I’d seen my dad, we’d talked about my grades, how I needed to buckle down or get some help, or maybe take a semester off to get my bearing. He wore an old plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his sunburned forearms. He hadn’t been to college. What could you do different? he’d asked. And I guess that was a question I was still trying to answer. “I thought I’d figure it out, once I got the chance,” I said. “Only—”
“Only you never got the chance.”
“I never felt like I did,” I said.
“First Maddy screwed up your chance at a full-ride somewhere, and then your dad—that’s a lot of tough breaks in a row.”
I shrugged. The sympathy felt nice, but also heavy for how little Courtney and I knew each other. “Maybe someone else, someone stronger, could have figured it out.”
“Maddy, you mean,” she said. “It must have been a shock to see her walk in, dressed to the nines. Ms. Mendoza said she had a giant diamond engagement ring.” Courtney’s voice dropped. “I would have been, like, what have I done with my life? And this—I don’t want to use a word I’d regret, you know, but this woman gets to have it all? And where am I? You know?”
I stared into the dull shine of the bar sink. “Yeah,” I said. The word was barely a whisper. But when I looked up, Courtney’s encouraging smile had turned triumphant.
There was a rap on the glass door. Courtney’s partner stuck his head in, scowling. “Howard, if you’re done interrogating the witnesses, a word?”
“One more thing,” she said to him, then shot me a look I couldn’t place. “Ms. Townsend, we found the note on Ms. Bell’s car. Let me see if I can recall—right: ‘I’m sorry—see me before you leave.’ Why did you insist on seeing Ms. Bell this morning?”
“I didn’t insist —”
“What time was that meeting?”
“We never—she was hanging —”
“Why are you sorry?”
I swallowed. “I guess I didn’t take her visit as well as I could have.”
They both stared at me. “Well, then,” Courtney said. “You’re free to go. However, it would be best if you didn’t travel far from Midway until this is sorted.”
“Wait.” I glanced between them. “What do you mean? Do you mean I’m—I’m a—”
The word wouldn’t come to me, and then it did.
Suspect.
“We may have further questions,” Courtney said.
But I’d seen the gleam of success in her smile. I’d admitted to feelings I didn’t understand, and now I’d need to convince the police that, whatever my reaction to Maddy’s return to Midway meant, I hadn’t resorted to murder.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After Courtney left with Sergeant Loughton, I went to the other side of the bar, took a stool, and held my head in my hands.
A long moment passed before I had to admit that I looked like a pretty good suspect. Of all the places Maddy might have stayed, she’d chosen the dump where I worked. Ten years with no contact, and she’d made a beeline for me. She’d said she was in the area for work, and now I
“Any ticker tape?” I said.
She smiled. “Not for me. What about you? What did you think you’d be doing by now?”
I’d never had a big goal. Some kind of business, maybe. I was organized when I remembered to be. Something with travel? I hadn’t even declared a major before I’d had to leave college for good. The truth was that I hadn’t been doing all that well in school when my dad had died. I’d had plenty of opportunities to question my own intelligence since dropping out—other people had, too—but it was the memory of failing for the first time that kept me from trying too hard to get back on track. The last time I’d seen my dad, we’d talked about my grades, how I needed to buckle down or get some help, or maybe take a semester off to get my bearing. He wore an old plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his sunburned forearms. He hadn’t been to college. What could you do different? he’d asked. And I guess that was a question I was still trying to answer. “I thought I’d figure it out, once I got the chance,” I said. “Only—”
“Only you never got the chance.”
“I never felt like I did,” I said.
“First Maddy screwed up your chance at a full-ride somewhere, and then your dad—that’s a lot of tough breaks in a row.”
I shrugged. The sympathy felt nice, but also heavy for how little Courtney and I knew each other. “Maybe someone else, someone stronger, could have figured it out.”
“Maddy, you mean,” she said. “It must have been a shock to see her walk in, dressed to the nines. Ms. Mendoza said she had a giant diamond engagement ring.” Courtney’s voice dropped. “I would have been, like, what have I done with my life? And this—I don’t want to use a word I’d regret, you know, but this woman gets to have it all? And where am I? You know?”
I stared into the dull shine of the bar sink. “Yeah,” I said. The word was barely a whisper. But when I looked up, Courtney’s encouraging smile had turned triumphant.
There was a rap on the glass door. Courtney’s partner stuck his head in, scowling. “Howard, if you’re done interrogating the witnesses, a word?”
“One more thing,” she said to him, then shot me a look I couldn’t place. “Ms. Townsend, we found the note on Ms. Bell’s car. Let me see if I can recall—right: ‘I’m sorry—see me before you leave.’ Why did you insist on seeing Ms. Bell this morning?”
“I didn’t insist —”
“What time was that meeting?”
“We never—she was hanging —”
“Why are you sorry?”
I swallowed. “I guess I didn’t take her visit as well as I could have.”
They both stared at me. “Well, then,” Courtney said. “You’re free to go. However, it would be best if you didn’t travel far from Midway until this is sorted.”
“Wait.” I glanced between them. “What do you mean? Do you mean I’m—I’m a—”
The word wouldn’t come to me, and then it did.
Suspect.
“We may have further questions,” Courtney said.
But I’d seen the gleam of success in her smile. I’d admitted to feelings I didn’t understand, and now I’d need to convince the police that, whatever my reaction to Maddy’s return to Midway meant, I hadn’t resorted to murder.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After Courtney left with Sergeant Loughton, I went to the other side of the bar, took a stool, and held my head in my hands.
A long moment passed before I had to admit that I looked like a pretty good suspect. Of all the places Maddy might have stayed, she’d chosen the dump where I worked. Ten years with no contact, and she’d made a beeline for me. She’d said she was in the area for work, and now I
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