Текст книги "Where They Found Her"

Автор книги: Kimberly McCreight

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

RIDGEDALE READER

ONLINE EDITION

March 17, 2015, 5:03 p.m.

Baby’s Cause of Death Still Unknown

BY MOLLY SANDERSON

The medical examiner has declined to comment on the cause of death of the female infant found at the Essex Bridge. However, police have confirmed that the condition of the infant’s body makes it impossible to rule out homicide at this time.

Once again, the Ridgedale Police Department asks that anyone with information regarding the infant’s identity or cause of death contact their office as soon as possible at 888-526-1899.

COMMENTS:

Mae Koeler

37 min ago

I have a friend who works in admin at the University Hospital. She said that there’s some woman up there who the police were talking to about her missing baby.

Eastern Elijah

36 min ago

Some woman with a missing baby? Are you serious? Isn’t that exactly the kind of the thing the police should be telling us?

Darren C.

30 min ago

Some university kids trashed my car when it was parked overnight on Franklin Avenue last week. I complained to campus security: total runaround. It’s like the NSA over there—everything is one giant cover-up.

Cara Twin

15 min ago

I agree. I have a friend whose son went to Ridgedale and he said that break-ins were rampant on campus. I don’t know if they’re ever reported to the police. Just because they haven’t told the police doesn’t mean the university doesn’t know what happened.

246Barry

12 min ago

YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANY WARMER

OPEN YOUR EYES AND FIND HIM

BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE

James R.

10 min ago

Knock it off, 246Barry. Everyone’s had enough of you. You better hope we don’t find out who you are. People in this town don’t take harassment lightly.

Colleen M.

8 min ago

What is WRONG with you 246Barry? If you actually knew something you’d go to the POLICE. You don’t, so leave us alone.

JENNA

MAY 3, 1994

The Captain sat with me during lunch! I was eating out in the courtyard with Tiffany and Stephanie when he came out all by himself. And like he was LOOKING for me!

Thank God Steph and Tiff took off when he came. They did it real subtle, though, like they just had somewhere to be.

They still think the Captain is a dick and that he’s fucking with me. But now that they’ve said their piece, they’re not going to stand in my way. Because, unlike my parents, those girls actually care about me.

All my parents have ever cared about is “bettering themselves.” Especially now that my dad is the brand-new night manager of the Stanton Hotel, which my mom acts like is the same as president of the United States. And after my mom got that office job at her church? Forget about it. We’ve got to be this picture-perfect family so we can keep “getting somewhere in the community.”

Or really, I’ve got to be perfect. Because my parents already think they are. And if their idea of me being perfect—quiet, girlie, sweet (none of which I am)—makes me feel like crap? Oh well, too bad so sad for me.

But the Captain doesn’t judge people just on the surface like that. Because he isn’t pretending to be something he’s not.

After Tiff and Stephanie were gone, the Captain and I talked for a while. He said his history paper was kicking his ass, which is kind of hard to believe considering how smart he is. I liked that he talked to me about school. Guys always think that all I can talk about is getting wasted and maybe music or something. But I’m interested in lots of things and it shows how smart the Captain is that he can tell I’m pretty damn smart myself.

And that was it. For a whole thirty minutes. Nice, sweet. And at the end the Captain said: Good talking to you. See you around.

I hope that means soon.

Barbara

“Hello?” Barbara called for the kids as she stepped inside.

No one answered—no Hannah, no Cole. But they weren’t technically late yet. Hannah picked up Cole on Tuesdays after swimming, and they’d be even later because Barbara hadn’t canceled his stupid playdate with Will afterward. Really, she should have brought Cole home when The Very Hungry Caterpillar was finished. She’d been right there, it would have been easy enough to do. It wasn’t as if he would have missed something critical. He was only in kindergarten. But Cole loved school, and he loved routine. He would have been upset about leaving without some kind of explanation. It seemed absurd now, but Barbara had also been worried about Cole being disappointed—missing swimming, missing his playdate. That had seemed so much more important a few hours ago. It had felt like the only thing that mattered.

Barbara looked out the kitchen windows toward the row of bare trees ringing the small backyard. The sun had already sunk out of sight, a wide swath of pinks and purples marking the place where it had gone. It would be dark before long.

“I’m sure Cole’s fine,” Steve had said when she’d called him from the Ridgedale Elementary School parking lot after her meeting with Rhea and after she’d had to return an hour later to suffer through The Very Hungry Caterpillar. “Rhea means well, no doubt. But that doesn’t mean she’s right. All kids act funny sometimes. Even the totally normal ones are mostly weirdos.”

Steve was trying to lighten things up, but it was hard not to feel like he was also searching for the fastest way off the phone, so he could get back to what he really cared about: work. “I hope you’re right,” Barbara had said, not persuaded in the least.

“I’m sorry, Barb, but can we talk more about Cole when I get home? I’ve got my hands full here at the moment.”

After what had happened to that poor baby, she could hardly blame Steve for being distracted; surely he was overwhelmed by the investigation. Assuming that’s where his mind really was. And Barbara refused to let herself speculate about the alternatives. Nothing good would come of it.

“Sure, I guess, okay,” she’d said, trying to be supportive. It was the right thing to do. Even though she really wanted to beg Steve to come right away. “But when will you be home?”

“As soon as I can. But really, Barb, try not to worry about Cole,” Steve had said. “He’ll be fine. He’s a tough nut, just like his mom.”

Finally, Barbara heard a key in the side door.

“Hi, guys!” she called—too cheerfully, probably—smiling wide as the door opened.

But Barbara’s chest seized the second she saw them. Hannah looking stunned and pale as she clutched Cole, his face buried in the shoulder of her long Brown University sweatshirt.

“What happened?” Barbara asked, rushing over and grabbing him. “Cole, what’s wrong?”

He felt leaden in Barbara’s arms. He wasn’t crying anymore, but from the look of the puffy little scar under his eye, he’d been outright bawling. Cole buried his face in Barbara’s neck but didn’t answer her.

“Hannah, what on earth happened?” Barbara snapped. She’d tried to keep the accusatory edge from her voice, but it was no use. All Hannah had to do was pick him up. Was it that much to ask that she manage it without him getting hysterical?

“I’ve asked him at least a hundred times, but he won’t tell me.” Hannah sounded like she might cry, which was hardly helpful. “Will’s mom said they were playing LEGOs and Cole just freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” Barbara snapped. “Hannah, I’m sure she didn’t say that.”

“But she did.” There were tears in Hannah’s eyes now. “She said it exactly like that. That’s kind of mean, isn’t it? For a mom?”

Barbara took a deep breath and rocked Cole back and forth in her arms. That’s because Stella’s not a regular mom, Barbara wanted to say. She’s an oversexed narcissist who probably cares more about finding a new boyfriend than her own children. Stella was exactly the reason Will was so out of control. Look at Will’s brother, Aidan. One messed-up child could be a fluke; two was a pattern that could be traced right back to the parents.

“Oh well, I’m sure she didn’t mean to say that,” Barbara said, rubbing a protective hand over Cole’s head. Yes, she did, that thoughtless bitch. “Don’t worry, Hannah.” Even though you were probably too worried about pleasing Stella to stand up for your brother. “Cole will be fine, honey. He’s just tired. Now, why don’t you go ahead upstairs and get started on your homework?” That way Barbara wouldn’t be tempted to say something to her daughter that she truly might regret. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Hannah asked, drifting closer to Cole.

Instinctively, Barbara held him tighter, swallowing the irritation that was clogging her throat. “I’m sure, honey.”

She was willing to overlook whatever role Hannah might have had in allowing Cole to get upset. But she would not tolerate her daughter getting upset herself. Sometimes all of Hannah’s “sensitivities” seemed an awful lot like self-involvement.

“Your physics midterm is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Barbara had Hannah’s entire exam schedule committed to memory. More proof that whatever was going on with Cole wasn’t some oversight on Barbara’s part. She paid attention—it was what she did. “You need to stay focused on your classwork, Hannah. Acceptance letter or not, Cornell will look at your final grades.”

“Okay,” Hannah said reluctantly, like she was afraid something worse might happen the second she stepped from the room. She tried to meet eyes with Cole, but his face was still buried in Barbara’s neck. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Cole.” She waited a second for him to look at her.

When he didn’t, she finally drifted away. She was barely up the stairs when the doorbell rang.

“My goodness, now what?” Barbara singsonged into the side of Cole’s head, hoping she sounded more amused than worried. She put him down on one of the kitchen chairs. “Stay here, honey. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Not that it looked like Cole was going anywhere ever again.

Barbara tried to stand taller as she headed to the front door. Not perfect, only happy. Not perfect, only happy. Except how was that supposed to make her feel any better, when Cole did not seem remotely happy?

Through the squares of glass beside the front door, Barbara could see her own mom, Caroline, standing on their front stoop. It was Tuesday, the day her parents joined them for dinner each week. Barbara had completely forgotten. She loved her mother dearly, but having her parents there today, of all days, wouldn’t make anything easier.

Barbara forced the corners of her mouth up. “It starts with a smile!” That was Caroline’s second favorite saying, right after “Not perfect, only happy.” The truth only matters as much as you allow it, that was Caroline’s point.

“My word, that took a long time!” Caroline called when Barbara finally opened the door. Her round cheeks looked especially rosy against her red coat, but her new chin-length hair was making them seem puffier than usual. Barbara worried that her own shorter haircut was doing the same thing—inflating her. Caroline shifted the casserole in her hands and pressed a squishy cheek against Barbara’s much stiffer one. There was never a kiss, only the cheeks.

“How many times did you ring? I only heard it once.” Barbara was already on the defensive. But she needed to relax. Not take everything so much to heart. Her mother didn’t mean anything. Everything in her head just came right out of her mouth. Besides, with Caroline, reacting only served to draw attention to her most vulnerable spots. “I was with Cole in the other room.”

“Let me guess. That terrible SpongeBob blotting out the world again.”

“Cole doesn’t watch SpongeBob, Mom,” Barbara said, nipping at the bait anyway. “The TV wasn’t even on. Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, his back is acting up again.” Caroline waved an aggravated hand. “It’s all that leaning over the cars all day. I keep telling him to leave it to the boys. That’s what he pays them for, and too generously, I might add. But you know your father; he treats that business like some precious orchid in need of constant attention. They’re cars, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it,” Barbara said, though she wished she could send her mom home to take care of her dad without offending her.

As Barbara turned back to the kitchen and Cole—whom she really needed to be worried about—a sudden shakiness nearly overwhelmed her. She had to press a hand against the wall to keep herself upright.

“Oh my, what’s wrong, dear?” Caroline stepped closer, clutching the casserole between them. “Have you not eaten today? You know how woozy you get when you don’t eat.”

Barbara forced herself to take a deep breath and pushed herself up off the wall. She’d already left Cole out there too long. “I’m not hungry, Mom,” she said as she headed toward the kitchen. “It’s Cole. There’s something– He had an off day. It’s all been a little stressful. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“An off day?” her mom called after her. “What on earth does that mean?”

Back in the kitchen, Barbara poured herself a glass of cold water, gulping it down, trying to ignore the way Caroline was hovering inside the kitchen door, peering at Cole.

“Well, is he hurt?” Caroline sounded concerned but a little disgusted, too. To her, physical pain was the only legitimate justification for any kind of outburst.

Barbara knelt down in front of Cole, smoothing the hair out of his eyes. He’d found a rubber band somewhere and was wearing it around his wrist, snapping it over and over against his skin. Not hard, but Barbara put one hand over the band so he’d stop, then lifted his chin with her other hand. Finally, Cole looked at her. His brown eyes, wet and pink-rimmed, glowed. Barbara wiped her thumb over his cheek, stained gray where his tears had turned playground dust to mud.

“Can you tell me what happened, Cole?” she asked. “With Will?”

Cole’s lower lip started to shake. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and started to rock, clamping his hands over his ears as if blocking out some horrible sound.

“Cole, stop that!” Caroline cried, rushing closer, still with the stupid baking dish in her hands. “What on earth?”

Hands over his ears, Cole dove into the crook of Barbara’s arm. She thought she might be sick. It was so awful. All of it.

Barbara wanted so badly to smack his hands down. To shout at him to stop. But she wouldn’t do that to Cole. Whatever this was, it wasn’t his fault. Something had happened to him. Stella and her house of horrors, that’s what. Barbara took a breath and covered Cole’s hands with her own, rocking him gently against her. She heard Caroline’s voice in the distance, but she needed to focus on her son. And he was so stiff in her arms. It was like holding a rusted metal coil. Barbara pressed her nose into Cole’s hair. At least he smelled right: of salt and sand and sweat. Like any other normal little boy. She put her lips against his clammy cheek and kept on rocking. Because Cole was normal, that much she knew.

“It hurt my eyes,” Cole mumbled finally. “And my ears. It was hurting my ears.”

“What hurt?” Barbara asked, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle. But all she wanted to do was scream. And all she could think about was how she was going to let loose on Stella. That woman could raise her children in whatever substandard fashion she saw fit, but how dare she let the consequences of her casual neglect injure someone else’s. “Did Will do something to you, Cole?”

“It was the way he was looking at me,” Cole whispered.

“For heaven’s sake, what way he was looking at you, Cole?” Caroline shouted, angry now.

Barbara tried not to bristle. Caroline didn’t mean to sound so harsh; she lost her patience when she was worried. She couldn’t help it. And Cole did look and sound absolutely crazy.

“How was Will looking at you, Cole?” Barbara asked him quietly.

He pulled back to look at her. Eye contact was progress. But then Cole shook his head. “Not Will.” Great. What did that mean? Aidan? Some strange boyfriend Stella had over? Barbara sucked in a little mouthful of air. “Do you know who it was, Cole?” she asked, lifting her voice, hoping that would make it sound less afraid. “Who was looking at you?”

Cole just shook his head some more.

“This is ridiculous, Barbara. How can he not know? He’s just not saying,” Caroline said sourly. Then she really yelled: “Cole, tell your mother exactly what happened this instant!”

Cole flinched and tucked himself back into Barbara’s arms. She thought about asking Caroline to leave. Imagined telling her mother that she could not speak to Cole in that tone. Not in her house. Barbara would not tolerate it. If Caroline didn’t stop, she wouldn’t be welcomed back in their home. Not ever.

Or Barbara could do much less. She could signal to Caroline to be more gentle. She could politely ask her mother not to raise her voice. But Barbara already knew she wasn’t even going to do that. She wasn’t going to do anything.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry,” Barbara whispered into Cole’s head and went back to rocking him. “You’re safe now. You’re here with me. Everything will be just fine.”

Barbara held Cole like that for so long, rocking him gently. The whole time she could feel Caroline’s eyes burning into the back of her head, clearly dying to tell Cole to go get a tissue, to tell Barbara to make her son get out of her lap already. Mercifully, she didn’t say a word.

At last Cole’s body loosened so much that Barbara was about to check if he’d fallen asleep, but then he pushed himself up and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Can I watch Bob the Builder now?” he asked, as if they’d been in the middle of discussing that very thing.

“Okay,” Barbara said reflexively. Though they were ordinarily a no-TV-on-weekdays household, she would have said yes to anything. “But only for a couple of minutes.”

“All right, Mommy!” Cole cheered as he jumped up and raced happily toward the living room.

Caroline laughed harshly once he was gone. “That’s one way to be sure he’ll pull that stunt again. TV as a reward for a tantrum. Now, there’s a parenting strategy we didn’t have back in my day.”

Barbara couldn’t look at Caroline. She loved her mother. She did. But Caroline needed to go away right now, just for a few minutes. Until Barbara could pull herself together. Claw back a sense of humor and maybe some semblance of patience.

“Mom, can you go out and get us a loaf of French bread?” Barbara asked as she stared down at the kitchen floor.

“Of course,” Caroline said, sounding delighted as she rested her casserole on the counter. She loved nothing more than a job to do. “While I’m gone, put this in at three-fifty for twenty minutes. And why don’t you fix yourself a snack, some almonds and raisins, maybe. Something with protein. Or a glass of milk. You need to balance your glycemic index.” She pulled her car keys out of her purse. “Back in ten minutes!”

“Take your time, Mom.”

Absurdly, Barbara did drink a glass of milk once her mother was gone, but it instantly nauseated her. She could hear Bob the Builder in the other room as she put her glass in the sink. It was a comfort to think of Cole safely secured in front of the TV. Maybe Barbara needed a distraction, too. Just while Caroline was gone and Cole was occupied, a sliver of space in which to pull herself together.

All day she’d wanted to see what kind of news there was about the baby. Nothing could put your own living child’s problems into perspective like thinking about someone else’s dead one. Barbara would eventually know much more from Steve about what was going on, but there were unexpected tidbits one could pick up from the news online, not to mention the chatter of regular people. If nothing else, the citizens of Ridgedale could be counted on to have opinions and to insist on sharing them.

Barbara grabbed her laptop off the counter and sat down at the kitchen table. A quick Internet search brought up several stories about the baby, but it wasn’t until Barbara found her way onto the Ridgedale Reader’s site that she found anything to pique her interest. Already there were quite a few comments on the articles about the baby. As usual, many from crackpots who just wanted to hear themselves talk. But there were remarks that gave Barbara pause. It was true that someone could have murdered the mother and the baby, like that one commenter suggested, and maybe the mother’s body was yet to be discovered. Though Steve had dismissed that possibility out of hand, Barbara was no longer convinced.

But it wasn’t until Barbara was skimming the comments on the second story that she saw a post that stopped her dead in her tracks.

FIND HIM.

BEFORE HE FINDS YOU.

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. What the hell did that mean? Was it some kind of liberal nonsense, like someone had suggested? Except there was something so chilling about the words: menacing, almost. As though someone—a killer, for instance—was taunting all of them. Barbara was squinting at those few words when something came to rest on her shoulders. Something heavy and warm. A pair of large hands. Barbara jumped up, her chair falling back and smacking the ground as she whipped around.

“Whoa!” Steve said as Barbara was about to bolt for the living room and Cole. His hands were raised like he was trying to corral a spooked colt. “Take it easy.”

“Dammit, Steve! Why are you sneaking up on me?” Barbara clutched a hand to her chest. The surge of adrenaline made her heart feel like it was going to burst. “Why didn’t you text when you were on the way? And why didn’t you come in through the garage?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking—battery died in the Taurus, battery died in my phone. Been that kind of day.” Steve shook his head as he dropped his hat on the table. He looked completely exhausted but handsome in his dress uniform. He must have been meeting with someone important—the mayor, the press. “I got a lift in a cruiser. I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

Barbara took a couple more breaths until her heart slowed. She felt bad for yelling at him. Surely, it had not been an easy day—it had not been easy on anyone.

“No, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to snap like that. I was just reading this—” But that eerie post wasn’t going to make Steve happy. It would just get his mind back on work, and she needed him here with her now. She’d mention the post to him later, or maybe she wouldn’t. It was all nonsense anyway. “God, what a terrible day. You must be exhausted.”

“Amen to that,” Steve said. He leaned over and kissed Barbara on the forehead—the forehead again, the forehead always—then righted her chair so she could sit back down.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Barbara offered. But he shook his head and frowned as he sat down at the kitchen table across from her.

The volume on the TV out in the living room got loud, than sank just as quickly back down.

“TV on a Tuesday?” Steve asked with a tired smile. He supported Barbara’s rules, took them on as his own, especially in front of the children, but they were always Barbara’s rules.

“Like I said, it’s been a rough day all around.”

Steve nodded, then got up for the drink of water he’d refused. He stood at the sink with his back to her, filling a glass from the tap. Barbara watched him there at the counter, so steady and strong. The man she’d always known would step up and take care of her. The man she would do anything to protect. No matter what. For the third time in one day, Barbara felt like she was going to cry. It was ridiculous.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asked as he turned back to her.

“Oh, it’s just this whole mess with Cole and that conversation with Rhea and then—” The words shot out like a breath Barbara had been holding. Steve came back over and rested a firm hand on her shoulder. “And then just now, when Hannah picked him up from Will’s house, Cole was hysterical. He even had this—I don’t know, this episode right here.” She gestured to the kitchen floor, the scene of the crime. “It was horrible. Just awful, Steve. There is something wrong, really wrong. For all we know, he was abused over there. Molested.”

“Molested?” Steve pulled his chin in. “Where’d that come from?”

“When kids start acting out, sometimes it’s because something has been done to them. Between that woman and her boyfriends and her older son and whoever—”

“Wait, what woman are you talking about?”

“Stella! Come on, Steve, I’ve been telling you. Have you not even been listening?” This was their son they were talking about. Steve needed to pull it together and pay attention. The rest of town would just have to get in line.

“Hold on and back up,” Steve said firmly, sitting across from Barbara. At least he seemed focused. “Cole had a bad day. I get that, but everyone’s entitled to one of those, right?”

“But that’s not—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “One thing at a time. Do you have any proof that’s not all this is? That this isn’t going to be like Hannah with the bridges? You remember that? One day out of nowhere, we can’t drive anywhere over water without her screaming her head off. Screaming, in case you’ve forgotten. Then one day she’s fine again. You have proof that this isn’t just like that?”

Barbara stared into Steve’s clear bright blue eyes. There was so much feeling in them, so much caring. Sometimes it aggravated her that Steve was more emotional than she was; always it mystified her. He certainly hadn’t gotten his overactive heart from his mother. A widow who died of breast cancer, Wanda was always cold as a corpse. And yet there was Steve, all mushy under that hard masculine exterior. God love him—and Barbara did, every last ounce of him—but Steve could be too trusting and too generous in general. Still, his being so emotional did make it seem like he understood things Barbara didn’t. And right then she needed to believe he was right. Steve stood up and came around behind Barbara, putting a hand on her neck and kneading the knots at the base of her skull. Slowly, her shoulders lowered.

“You’re right, I guess,” she said, letting her eyes slide closed.

This could be just like Hannah with the bridges. Barbara had forgotten all about that. At Cole’s age, Hannah was always having an episode about one thing or another. She was still high-maintenance, but she was well within the range of normal for a teenager. Maybe none of this was as serious as Barbara was letting herself believe. Maybe she did need to calm down. She tried to focus on Steve’s fingers on her neck, the sensation of her muscles unraveling.

“Wait, what’s that?” Steve asked, the sleepy warmth suddenly gone from his voice. When Barbara opened her eyes, he was staring at her open laptop. “Find him. Before he finds you?”

She’d forgotten all about the Reader comments. Steve hardly needed another thing to worry about. And now she’d lose him again to the investigation. He’d be gone for the rest of the night without ever leaving the house.

“Someone trying to make some stupid point,” Barbara said. It was so obvious to her now that the message was not some well-calculated threat. It was a stupid prank. She really was letting herself get too wound up about everything. “You know this town: God knows what their point is, but you can be sure they think they have one.”

“What is it?” Steve’s voice was sharp as he stepped closer to the computer. “Where is it from?”

“Oh, they’re comments on the articles from the Reader,” she said. “You know how people love to comment on there. They find a way to go at each other about the annual Turkey Trot.”

“Great, just what I need, somebody causing a panic.” He shook his head in disgust. “Are there other comments like that?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, but I haven’t had the chance to get through them all.” Barbara dragged her finger across the touchpad, scrolling down. “Can’t you just contact the Reader and make them take it down or trace the email or something?”

He shook his head. “First Amendment. They’re not actually threatening anybody, and you have a constitutional right to be a jerk. Besides, the Reader isn’t going to crack open its computer records to the police, not for something like this.” He ran a finger down the screen, blowing out some air. “Dammit. I looked at the articles. There was nothing to them. These people really can make a damn mountain out of a molehill.”

“They’re just worried,” Barbara offered because it felt like Steve was talking about her. And that part was understandable. “It makes them feel better to yammer on about it. Like they’re in control of something.”

“Wait, stop.” Steve tapped the screen.

Another Ridgedale murder?? Barbara had known as soon as they found the baby near the Essex Bridge that Simon Barton’s death would come up eventually. But she was surprised it had happened so soon.

I don’t care how long ago it was, that seems like a crazy coincidence.

“Seems this Molly Sanderson is just dying to make something out of nothing,” Barbara said.

“I think the problem is she really believes what happened to Simon is something,” Steve said quietly.

“Well, tell her it’s not.”

“I did.” His eyes were on the computer screen.

“Then tell her again and make her listen, Steve,” Barbara snapped. She wasn’t going to tolerate some reporter adding to their troubles by bringing up something upsetting from years ago. “You are the chief of police. Who is she?”

“Actually, you know her, or she knows you,” he said. “They just moved here last fall. Her daughter is in Cole’s class.”

“You’re kidding me.” Ella’s mother, it must be. Ella was the only new child in the class. Barbara had exchanged niceties with her mother, but that was it. Molly was friends with Stella, and that was all Barbara needed to know to get her to steer clear. “Well, this is a hell of a way for her to make new friends.”

Steve stayed quiet. He’d been staring at the computer longer than it could have taken for him to read the rest of the comments. The muscle in his jaw had lifted like a walnut. “Print those out for me, will you?” His voice was so low it didn’t sound like his.

“You weren’t even a police officer back then,” Barbara said. Because there he went again, responsible for everyone and everything. He probably felt like he should have kept Simon from getting so drunk that night. Steve had never been much of a drinker himself. “We were all upset about what happened to Simon. But whatever should have or could have been done at the time—it really has nothing to do with you.”