Annie’s cheeks turn apple red. “I wouldn’t have had any episode if you and Daddy had taken me to court with you.”
“Oh, now, come on.” Mom reaches out and pulls Annie to her. “Let’s go in the kitchen and get some ice cream. Your father’s had a monopoly on you long enough.”
As they head into the kitchen, I give Mia a questioning glance. “Didn’t she go visit Dad earlier?”
“She did.”
“Usually she comes back feeling low.”
Mia shrugs. “I perked her up a little.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Mad skills.” She gives me a self-deprecating smile.
Two years ago, Mia and I went through a series of events that rocked the whole town. People lost their lives, and reputations were damaged beyond repair. Mia Burke forever changed my view of high school girls, and with that change came a melancholy realization that my own daughter will likely lose her innocence sooner than I hope, and probably in ways I could never foresee.
Mia walks over to the sofa against the wall and tucks her legs beneath her. She’s left room for me, but I sit in the chair opposite the TV.
“Are you holding up okay?” she asks.
“It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
She looks over toward the kitchen door. “Can I ask you something about Caitlin?”
“Sure.”
Almost inaudibly, she says, “Is it true that she was pregnant when she died?”
Why is she asking me this now? “Yes. How did you know that?”
“It was in a story I read in a Jackson paper. About the autopsy report.”
I nod in silence.
“Your mom just mentioned it to me, though. A few minutes ago.”
This surprises me. “Really?”
Mia nods, her eyes still on the kitchen door. “Did Annie ever find out?”
“Not so far, thank God.”
“Okay. So . . . your mother also told me your father’s not handling this very well. That he’s pulled inside himself. That he’s not telling you guys anything. Only Quentin.”
“I’m surprised Mom told you that much. By her law, nothing is ever mentioned outside the family circle.”
Mia’s eyes flicker with something I can’t interpret. “Maybe I’m inside the circle now. How much faith do you have in Quentin?”
“It comes and goes.”
“Options?”
“Annie thinks I need to be defending Dad.”
“From the mouths of babes—”
“Comes baby talk.”
Mia shakes her head, then stretches as though tired. “Don’t you think maybe you should go see your father?”
“Did Mom push you to get me to visit him?”
“She didn’t push me at all. But it seems clear that your father’s silence is crippling his defense. Are you sure he’s even talking to Quentin?”
“I’m not. I’ll tell you something, though. Quentin’s erratic behavior has distracted our family from a very simple fact.”
“What?”
“From a prosecutor’s standpoint, Shad Johnson made his case today. A very compelling forensic case, right down the line. No matter what Miriam prints in the Examiner, after hearing today’s testimony, nobody can deny that Dad had the motive, the means, and the opportunity to murder Viola Turner. And so far as anyone knows, he has no alibi. When you add the bomb Sheriff Byrd dropped about that tape they found in the Dumpster . . . things look pretty grim.”
Mia gets up from the couch and comes to sit on the ottoman in front of me. “Look at me,” she says, taking my hand. “Do you think your father killed Viola?”
“He told me he did.”
Her face drains of color. “What?”
“When I visited the Pollock FCI that one time.”
Mia is finally at a loss for words.
“Truthfully, I don’t think he murdered her. But did he kill her? It’s possible. And I’m scared as hell of those videotapes.”
“If he did kill her, do you think he would have told your mother?”
“No. God, no.”
Mia nods. “Agreed. Peggy believes he’s innocent, straight-up, no doubts.”
“Oh, I know that all too well. She still worships him.”
Mia squeezes my hand, then releases it. “Listen . . . your mom thinks you blame your father for Caitlin’s death. And she’s right, isn’t she?”
“Yes, to a point. But to tell you the truth . . . right now I’m worried about his sanity. I’m thinking of asking Drew to go talk to him. Evaluate him.”
Mia folds her arms across her chest and looks at me with a familiarity I haven’t experienced since Caitlin was alive. “I’m going to go out on a limb here,” she says, “because somebody needs to.”
“What do you want to say?”
“Do you think Caitlin blamed your father for her death?”
“What?” I ask, unsure whether I’ve heard her correctly.
“I mean out there in the swamp, when she was dying. Did she blame him?”
A blast of anger surges through me, and I want to snap back at her. But then I remember Caitlin’s voice during her Treo memo, telling me not to blame anyone but her for her solo trip to the Bone Tree. An electric tingle races along my arms. It’s not as if any of this is new information, but—
“Stop blaming your father,” Mia advises. “At least until you know all the facts. Caitlin and I weren’t exactly BFF, but the lady had her shit together. She was the closest thing to a role model I could find in this town. And I think that’s what she would say to you now, if she could. Cut your father some slack.”
The ring of my cell phone spares me from having to respond to Mia’s plea—which in truth sounds like Caitlin speaking from the grave.
I’m half expecting the caller to be Serenity, but the phone says unknown number. Usually I don’t answer such calls, but with the situation this fluid and the stakes so high, I can’t afford to ignore this one.
“Penn Cage,” I answer.
“Penn, it’s Doris Avery.”
A premonition of danger moves through me. “Is everything all right?”
“There’s no emergency, if that’s what you mean. But I was wondering if you could come by for a brief talk.”
“With Quentin?”
“Quentin’s asleep.”
I look away from Mia’s questioning eyes and try to guess what has prompted this call. “Are you at Edelweiss?”
“Yes. I’m out on the gallery.”
“I’m only a few blocks away. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Hurry, Penn. Please.”
Chapter 34
Edelweiss has two staircases that ascend to the gallery like the legs of a capital A. As I climb the right staircase in search of Doris Avery, the orange eye of a cigarette appears from the darkness under the north gallery above me. I smelled the tobacco smoke from half a block away, but the overhead lights are off, so I didn’t see Doris. Even now, her coffee-colored skin seems to drift in and out of the dark. Only her eyes, which catch the light from the streetlamp on the bluff, remain constant in the gloom.
Her low voice, taut with tension, says, “I hoped that after lunch today, you’d feel it was worthwhile to come down here tonight.”
“How long have you been out here?”
“Long enough to smoke too many cigarettes.”
“What’s going on, Doris? Quentin didn’t want me in this house today, but you did. Why?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Obviously. But what?”
She takes a quick drag on the cigarette, then blows the smoke away from me. “I’m not sure.”