“Hanalee . . .” Mama reached toward me across the table. “I’m worried about the questions you asked me yesterday. I feel your opinion of Uncle Clyde changed the day we learned Joe was back in town. I don’t want any husband of mine feeling unwelcome in his own home.”
I pulled my hand away from hers. “This isn’t Dr. Koning’s home.”
“You see what I mean?” said Mama to the deputy, her voice desperate. “This is how she talks now. She seems suspicious of her own father—”
“He’s my stepfather, Mama.”
Uncle Clyde lowered his face toward his mug, and his knuckles whitened.
The deputy drummed his long fingers on the tabletop. “We need to know where the boy is, Hanalee.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He’s made far too many enemies in Elston, and some people aren’t taking kindly to the idea of his returning.”
I squeezed my lips together and remembered everything Joe had said about himself—his claim that people wanted to hurt him and get rid of him, his fear of surgeons in prison cutting him up and changing him.
I grabbed the sides of my chair. “Did Joe even kill my father?”
The deputy shifted his weight and exchanged a brief look of concern with my stepfather—a look I didn’t care for in the slightest.
“Why do you ask that?” he said.
“Because people shut him up before and during his trial.”
The deputy didn’t blink.
“How did they shut him up?” I asked.
“Hanalee!” Mama grabbed my hand. “You’re not the one who’s supposed to be asking questions.”
“How did they shut him up, Deputy Fortaine?” I asked again, shaking Mama’s fingers off mine by flapping my wrist up and down. “Did you beat him?”
“No, I did not beat Joe Adder.”
“Did Sheriff Rink?”
The deputy breathed a weighty sigh. “Joe was . . . caught in the act of another crime before he crashed into your father. His own actions were used against him. He knew that testifying on that witness stand wouldn’t have done him any good.”
“What other crime?” I asked.
The deputy grabbed the handle of his mug. “That’s not for me to discuss.”
“But—”
“I don’t want that information slipping out into the public and triggering more trouble than it’s already caused.” The deputy took another sip, and I swore his hands shook.
“What trouble?” I asked.
“Hanalee,” urged Mama, “stop badgering the deputy with questions.”
Deputy Fortaine swallowed. “We need to know where he is, Hanalee. I have my suspicions that Joe intends to harm someone around here. I also believe that some people around here might hurt him—badly—even kill him, if they find him first.”
I eyed the adults’ silent stares and drawn faces. “What would you do with him if you found him?”
“What is he offering you, Hanalee?” asked Uncle Clyde. “I can tell by the way you’re talking that he’s communicated with you.”
“How are you benefiting from helping him hide?” The deputy jabbed the tip of his right index finger against the table, as if he wanted me to lay my answer down on the white cloth before him. “Why would someone like you trust a person like him?”
I nudged my glass of orange juice away, for I couldn’t stand to breathe its tangy scent a second longer.
“Hanalee,” said Mama. “Answer the deputy. Why are you helping Joe hide?”
“I’m not. I don’t even care if someone hurts him, and I wish everyone would stop looking to me for answers.” I sprang out of my chair with a slam of my shoes on the floor.
“Where are you going?” asked Mama.
“Out for a walk.” I pushed in my chair.
“You’re not done speaking with Deputy Fortaine.”
“I feel sick inside this house. I need fresh air.”
Mama stood. “Sit back down, and tell the deputy—”
“Joe left town days ago,” I said—an outright lie, but one uttered out of necessity. “Stop questioning me, and stop treating me like I’m the criminal, when all I’ve done is lose my father.”
“Hanalee . . . ,” said Mama, but I tore out of the room before anyone could say another word. I yanked open the front door to the blinding glare of daylight and ran eastward on the highway as fast as my legs could carry me.
BIRACIAL CHILD IN RURAL AMERICA, EARLY TO MID-1900s.
CHAPTER 8
THE PLAY’S THE THING
I SLOWED MY PACE AT THE ELM-LINED driveway that led to Fleur’s house, yet I pressed onward in a northeasterly direction, glancing over my shoulder every few moments to make sure Deputy Fortaine didn’t follow me in his patrol car. The sun shone hot against my neck. I wished I’d remembered to grab a hat before flying out the door.