It’s a snapshot in my mind now, a nothing-special moment sharpened with each passing month that she’s been gone. Rhiannon knelt about twenty feet away, packing up her bag, pausing to pull a piece of hair from the corner of her mouth when the wind kicked up. She looked over her shoulder and laughed at something one of the boys said to her, but whoever it was didn’t make it into the shot.
When it came to Rhiannon, I was used to pretending not to see, not to listen. I was so mad when she showed up that first day of the harvest. She didn’t need to work. Her parents gave her everything, most of all a brand-new car as a congrats gift for getting her license. She always used to spend her summers as a volunteer counselor at Camp Mekwi, this day camp in New Hampshire where she’d been going since she was little. She loved it, but I think she loved getting away from her parents more; they’re one of those couples who’ve been divorced for years but still hook up sometimes and make tons of drama. Rhiannon had camp friends, which are almost as bad as church friends: strangers who steal your bestie title when you aren’t around to fight for it. Whenever she’d tell stories about them all teaching kids how to macramé or put on plays together, I couldn’t help feeling jealous, sure they were all cooler or funnier than me. “She was getting ready to leave.”
“By herself?”
“I think so. But I didn’t stand there and watch her drive away or anything.”
“What was the plan for later?” He gestures with his pen when I hesitate. “Was everybody going to meet up at the fields after dark, or did it just turn out that way?”
Now that bugs me, him trying to trap me like that. “I don’t know. I didn’t go back to the fields that night. I went for a drive with Kat Levesque.”
“What if I told you I talked to somebody who says they saw you in the fields?”
The wall clock ticks. Ash drops from Mom’s cigarette. Another scar for the tabletop.
“They’re lying.” I need to clear my throat.
“Why would somebody do that?” Edgecombe watches me. “Hmm?”
“I dunno. To get me in trouble.”
“You think somebody would lie to the police, take a risk like that, just to cause trouble for you?” He gives a low whistle. “You must really know how to make enemies.”
I look at him, without a clue how to answer. All of a sudden the day’s work pulls on me like a weight, and I wish I could drop into my bed with its rumpled sheets and old stuffed dog hidden between the wall and box spring and not wake up until summer’s over.
That’s when I see Mags. She’s sitting on the last stair riser in the near darkness, wearing light-colored shorty pajamas, watching us through the railing. Knowing she’s been there the whole time helps me to find the words: “If you tell me who you talked to, then I can tell you why they might lie.”
He looks at me steadily, seems to decide something, then clicks his pen and tucks it into his chest pocket. “We’ll talk again soon, Darcy.” He gathers his notebook, which he didn’t write a word in. “In the meantime, think about what’s important here. The Fosses are in a lot of pain. We’re working hard to give them some answers.” He waits. “If you know something, we will find out.”
Mom stares at the place mat. Her voice stops him on his way to the door. “My daughter had nothing to do with this.” She lifts her gaze. “You go tell your chief that.”
Once he’s gone, Mom heads out to the porch. I hear Mags’s footsteps disappear upstairs, walking on the sides of the risers so they don’t creak, our old Nancy Drew trick. I don’t know what brings me to the screen door, watching Mom through the mesh. She sits in her usual chair in the far corner. Moths flutter around the overhead light, battering the frosted glass like they think heaven’s inside, like they could touch it.
Mom says, “You’d better start telling the truth, little girl. Not a thing in the world I can do to help you until you do.”
“I am telling the truth.” My voice sounds tinny, faraway.
She shakes her head slowly and says nothing. I go upstairs, touching Dad’s photo on the way. He was a big guy, a real bruiser, wearing a plaid work shirt rolled to the elbows, cigarette pack popping his pocket flap open. I study my laughing face when I was a little kid.
Mags’s lamp is on. I know she’s waiting up for me, but I ignore the invitation, go to my room, and shut the door.
I lie there for a long, long time, staring at the dried buttercups hanging in my window. After the house has gone quiet, a light rain falls. I’m almost lulled to sleep when I sense a change in the darkness and open my eyes.
Headlights shine through my curtains. They burn in place for a while, then glide up the wall, across the ceiling, and are gone.
ELEVEN
NEXT MORNING, JESSE walks his fingers up my spine as he heads past me into the fields, following Shea and Mason. Later, I see him pause to watch me across the rows, but when I wave, he only gives a flick of his hand that somebody could mistake for swatting flies.
I think we’re supposed to be a secret.
I don’t mind. I’ve played this game before, too. Don’t touch me in front of my buddies, don’t smile like we’ve got something going on. Maybe I didn’t expect it from Jesse, but I’ll run with it.
I’ve loaded forty-six boxes by ten thirty, more than I’ve ever done before lunch break. My heart feels like a bird slamming itself against a cage, and I squat down on my heels to catch my breath when I see Duke’s pickup coming up over the rise.
He grabs my boxes, carries them to the bed, then notices me looking at him. “What’s up?”
“Who would you say rakes the most in a day?” I straighten up. “I mean, who’s had the most boxes this harvest, that you’ve seen?”
Duke leans on the truck, scratching at his chest. He’s hairy like a bear under that Harley shirt, I can testify; on scorchers, he strips right down. “Coupla migrant fellas over toward the south end. But Bob’s picking up his share, too, so I don’t see everything.” He squints at me. “Why?”
I shrug. “Just wondering.” He loads our boxes, both mine and Mags’s, then drives on.
Mags watches him go. When she turns back, she comes out with the one thing that’s been eating at me all morning. “Somebody was parked outside the house last night. Just sitting there.”
I pick up my rake. “Probably somebody pulled over to text.”
“At two in the morning? On our road?” I don’t say anything. “Maybe it was that cop, Darce. You think of that? Maybe he was waiting to see what you’d do after he bluffed you about that witness.” She sounds mad, but I know Mags. She’s scared and putting up a front. “He was bluffing, right?”
“I wasn’t at that party. Kat and I went out driving.”