“Hi,” she called to him while she hastily wiped her hands on her cutoff jeans. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“What have you got growing back here?” He asked as he walked toward her, a leather folder under his arm and a white cardboard box in his hand.
“A bunch of weeds.”
“Well, they certainly look robust. What are you feeding them?”
She laughed. “They’re apparently quite capable of feeding themselves. I’m afraid the plot’s gone unattended for two summers now. These things have taken over. My mother would be appalled if she could see it.”
She pulled off her gloves and tucked them between two pickets.
“There’s still mint.” He pointed to the far corner of the garden. “At least, it looks like mint from here.”
She went to the corner to check it out. “What do you know, it is.” She smiled up at him. “And I’ve been drinking my iced tea plain all week.”
She broke off a few stems and sniffed at them. “Nice. How’d you know what it was, from over there?”
“Hey, I grew up in New Jersey. They don’t call it the Garden State for nothing.”
She went through the gate and closed it behind her, making a mental note to come out tomorrow with a hammer and a few nails to mend the broken section of fence.
“Oh, here.” He handed her the white box.
“What’s this?”
“Peace offering.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“The best napoleons in Baltimore. Hands down.”
Lorna lifted the lid and peered inside. Four plump, sky-high pastries marched single file across the bottom of the box.
“How could you have known that this is my all-time favorite thing?”
“You look like a woman who understands good pastries.” He smiled. “My grandmother worked in a bakery back in Tuckerton, years ago. She used to bring these bad boys home for special treats. Good report cards. Winning touchdowns. Honor roll. Even college vacations, she’d drop off some before I left to go back to school.”
She held the box to her chest. “Well, I hope you bought a couple for yourself. I’m not sure I want to share.”
“Mine are in the trunk.”
“I was kidding. I’d share. Thank you. This wasn’t necessary, you know. You already apologized.”
“Some women like to drag that out awhile.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“So I won’t need to grovel?”
“Groveling is demeaning to the groveler as well as to the grovelee.”
“I’ll remember that. And thank you. I swear I didn’t mean to put you between a rock and a hard place.”
“We’re past that. Let’s just deal with what is, see what can be done.”
“Have you determined if Billie has used her get-out-of-jail card yet?” he asked.
“She’s home. I spoke with her earlier. She hitched a ride with someone who was visiting a relative out at the women’s prison earlier today.”
“Did you remind her not to leave town?”
“Yes, but she’s not going anywhere. Even she admitted she had nowhere to go but home.”
“I have the copies of the police reports, if you want to take a few minutes to look them over.”
“I would. Thanks. Come on in.” She waved him on and he followed her into the house. “I’m sorry it’s so hot in here. I’m pretty much dying without air-conditioning, but there’s only one old unit and it doesn’t work very well, especially since the humidity’s been so brutal.”
They walked into the dining room. She turned on the lamp on the sideboard, and hoped they’d finish up before it got dark enough that they’d need to turn on the overhead light. It was hot enough without it.
“Let me tuck this box into the refrigerator. Can I get you something to drink while I’m there?”
“A glass of water would be fine.”
She brought back two bottles of spring water, handed him one, and twisted the lid off the other and took a long drink.
“Thanks,” he said, setting the bottle on the table. “Where would you like to start?”
“You tell me.” She pulled out the chair at the head of the table and started to sit, gesturing for him to take a seat as well. He took the one to her left.
“I guess we’ll go in order.” He started pulling files from the leather folder.
“In order of what?”
“The crimes. Let’s start with the disappearance of your friend.”
“I remember that night very well.”
“Tell me again, everything, just as you remember it.”
She did.
“Was anyone with Jason when he arrived to pick up Melinda?”
“Not that I recall.” She chewed absently on a cuticle. “No, I’m pretty sure he was alone. I remember standing on the back porch and watching them walk out past the barn.”
“You lived here at the time?”
She nodded. “We’ve always lived here, as long as I can remember. My grandfather died when I was three, and my parents moved here so my grandmother wouldn’t be alone. We all grew up here.”
“Any chance anyone would have been waiting for Jason out near the barn?”
“I guess anything is possible. But I didn’t see anyone, and I was out there for a while.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking for a star to wish on.” She hesitated, then told him, “I was worried about Mellie’s mother finding out about the dress. We put it in a bag, and I was afraid she’d have trouble sneaking it into the house. That her mother would see it and punish her. I was looking for a star so I could wish that her mother wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You knew that Billie was rough with her kids?”
“I pretty much knew. I told myself that maybe I was wrong, but deep inside, I pretty much knew. If it turns out that it went too far that night, and that Billie really did kill her, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for every time I suspected something wasn’t right but kept my mouth shut.”
“Is that what this is really about? You trying to decide if you have to carry that guilt around for the rest of your life?” he asked softly. “Because if it is…”
She brushed him off. “So what else do you have?”
“I have the police reports from the night Melinda disappeared. Everyone they spoke with. Billie Eagan. Your mother. Your father. You. Jason. Someone named Evie Kemp.”
“She lived next door to the Eagans. Died a few years ago.” Lorna held out a hand. “May I see what she had to say?”
He handed her the file. Lorna quickly scanned the Kemp report.