bunk’s thin bare mattress, skeletal brown arms clutching her knees to her chest, dark hair waterfalling over the side of the bed. She looked at them with dull eyes.
“Is that Joshua’s sister?”
The sheriff’s head whipped around. “How do you know about her?”
“Never mind. She looks cold. Why can’t she have a blanket? Or at least a sheet?”
“Suicide risk,” the sheriff said. “Look. I can talk to the people at the Sleep Inn, try to get you some kind of reduced rate. For that matter, the crime lab folks will be done up at Mary Alice’s by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest. Don’t know if you’d feel comfortable staying up there, but it’s an option. At least it’s free. And likely the safest place you could be right now. Whoever killed her is probably as far away as he could possibly get.”
Joshua’s sister moaned. She rolled from the bunk and fell onto the floor and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She wobbled a moment, then crabwalked toward the lidless metal toilet and wrapped her arms around it and heaved. Lola looked away. “No,” she said. “I would not feel comfortable with that. I can’t believe you even suggested it.”
“Shame to let the place sit empty. You all right, Judith?” he called into the cell. “I know this part’s rough. I’m going to call over to the clinic and have Margie come check you out.”
Judith’s voice surprised Lola with its strength. “She hates me.”
“That she does,” Charlie said. “Nonetheless.”
“How long before you get him?” Lola interrupted.
Charlie led her back down the hallway and into his office and locked the door behind them. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you—at least in part. Maybe you’ll remember something useful. I’ll talk to Verle again, too. And Jolee, of course. But please think back. Anything, no matter how insignificant, could help. Maybe there’s something you’re not telling us.”
“Nothing. There’s nothing.”
Lola slumped against the office wall, limp with a sudden realization. Charlie Laurendeau didn’t have the first notion as to who might have killed Mary Alice. She gathered herself for a final effort. “You can’t hold me here. That material witness stuff—that’s crime show bullshit.”
“Try me.”
Lola eased her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the buffalo horn cribbage peg, pressing the sharp tip into her palm until she felt the skin break, the sudden comforting warmth of blood sealing her inner vow. If Charlie couldn’t find the killer, she would. She looked again at the newspaper photo and this time met Mary Alice’s eyes. “Love you,” she whispered.
CHAPTER SIX
M ary Alice’s funeral drew a crowd.
Lola sat in the back of the whitewashed wooden church and watched them file in, the men in starched and creased jeans, big hats dangling from hard hands; the women, even the young ones, trussed up in the sort of dresses Lola’s mother might have worn. The flimsy flowered material strained tight across breasts and behinds that had filled out considerably during the years that those good dresses had waited in the back of the closet for the rare occasion demanding their appearance, their wearers stumping uncertainly along on heels no more frequently called into service than the dresses.
Lola had traded her cargo pants for a pair of black jeans and attempted to dress up her usual black pullover by draping her headscarf around her shoulders. She tucked her unwieldy hiking boots as far back under the pew as they would go, and tried not to think about the likely paucity of mourners at her own funeral when that day came, something she’d contemplated several times after close calls. Nothing she’d imagined involved anything like this rapidly filling church standing lonely sentinel over the prairie some miles from town. A plaque inside the vestibule told her it was the old mission church, abandoned a century earlier when the reservation
“Is that Joshua’s sister?”
The sheriff’s head whipped around. “How do you know about her?”
“Never mind. She looks cold. Why can’t she have a blanket? Or at least a sheet?”
“Suicide risk,” the sheriff said. “Look. I can talk to the people at the Sleep Inn, try to get you some kind of reduced rate. For that matter, the crime lab folks will be done up at Mary Alice’s by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest. Don’t know if you’d feel comfortable staying up there, but it’s an option. At least it’s free. And likely the safest place you could be right now. Whoever killed her is probably as far away as he could possibly get.”
Joshua’s sister moaned. She rolled from the bunk and fell onto the floor and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She wobbled a moment, then crabwalked toward the lidless metal toilet and wrapped her arms around it and heaved. Lola looked away. “No,” she said. “I would not feel comfortable with that. I can’t believe you even suggested it.”
“Shame to let the place sit empty. You all right, Judith?” he called into the cell. “I know this part’s rough. I’m going to call over to the clinic and have Margie come check you out.”
Judith’s voice surprised Lola with its strength. “She hates me.”
“That she does,” Charlie said. “Nonetheless.”
“How long before you get him?” Lola interrupted.
Charlie led her back down the hallway and into his office and locked the door behind them. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you—at least in part. Maybe you’ll remember something useful. I’ll talk to Verle again, too. And Jolee, of course. But please think back. Anything, no matter how insignificant, could help. Maybe there’s something you’re not telling us.”
“Nothing. There’s nothing.”
Lola slumped against the office wall, limp with a sudden realization. Charlie Laurendeau didn’t have the first notion as to who might have killed Mary Alice. She gathered herself for a final effort. “You can’t hold me here. That material witness stuff—that’s crime show bullshit.”
“Try me.”
Lola eased her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the buffalo horn cribbage peg, pressing the sharp tip into her palm until she felt the skin break, the sudden comforting warmth of blood sealing her inner vow. If Charlie couldn’t find the killer, she would. She looked again at the newspaper photo and this time met Mary Alice’s eyes. “Love you,” she whispered.
CHAPTER SIX
M ary Alice’s funeral drew a crowd.
Lola sat in the back of the whitewashed wooden church and watched them file in, the men in starched and creased jeans, big hats dangling from hard hands; the women, even the young ones, trussed up in the sort of dresses Lola’s mother might have worn. The flimsy flowered material strained tight across breasts and behinds that had filled out considerably during the years that those good dresses had waited in the back of the closet for the rare occasion demanding their appearance, their wearers stumping uncertainly along on heels no more frequently called into service than the dresses.
Lola had traded her cargo pants for a pair of black jeans and attempted to dress up her usual black pullover by draping her headscarf around her shoulders. She tucked her unwieldy hiking boots as far back under the pew as they would go, and tried not to think about the likely paucity of mourners at her own funeral when that day came, something she’d contemplated several times after close calls. Nothing she’d imagined involved anything like this rapidly filling church standing lonely sentinel over the prairie some miles from town. A plaque inside the vestibule told her it was the old mission church, abandoned a century earlier when the reservation
Similar Books
