by Ann McMan
Table of Contents
Titlepage
Dedication
Books by Ann McMan
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About Bywater
For Dorothy and Gayle—little girls who grew up too fast.
And for Bruno, who helped me find the voice to tell these stories.
Books by Ann McMan
Novels
Hoosier Daddy
Festival Nurse
Backcast
Beowulf for Cretins: A Love Story
The Big Tow
The Jericho Series
Jericho
Aftermath
Goldenrod
Covenant
Evan Reed Mysteries
Dust
Galileo
Story Collections
Sidecar
Three Plus One
“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
–John 8:32
Chapter One
Recorded Interview
Preliminary Inquest Investigation
Death of Mayor Gerald Watson
“My name is Dorothy Gale.”
The old ones will tell you they can sense when a change is coming. They watch for signs—the way poplar leaves curl up before a thunderstorm. Or how bones that have been broken will ache and grow stiff ahead of a snow.
“It was an accident.”
I had my own ways of knowing. The broken parts of me would buzz and bang against my insides like flies inside a hot car—warning me to escape. Telling me to run. So I paid attention to them, and I learned how to read his signs.
“I didn’t mean to hit him so hard.”
He wasn’t always so mean. He used to try to do better. He used to fight his darkness. But he gave up on all of that when Mama died. After her funeral, he sat at the kitchen table drinking from a big bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He sat there for hours. It was that night he told me there was an ugly animal inside him, and it wanted to hurt people. I didn’t believe him at first. But then I began to see flashes of it moving behind his eyes. His animal. Waking up. Moving around. Hungry, and crazy to find a way out.
“I was just trying to stop him.”
Sometimes, I could get away before his animal got loose. Most times I couldn’t.
“If I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve killed Buddy. I could see it in his eyes. His animal was out.”
At first, I tried to fight him. To make him stop. But when I did, he just got madder. Then he would hurt me worse, and do . . . other things. So when I knew I couldn’t hide, I didn’t struggle.
“I didn’t mean to hit him so hard.”
I only fought back on that day because I had to. I had to.
“My name is Dorothy Gale, and I killed my father.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Clair de Lune.
She recognized it immediately. Nothing else sounded like that—especially the way her mother played it. Quiet. Tentative. Full of nuance. Pianissimo, she reminded herself. Softly. How many times did Celine caution her? Slow her down? Tell her to linger over the notes? Not to be in such a hurry?
They could’ve been talking about a thousand different things.
Probably, they had been. It was about as direct as any of their conversations got back in those days.
“Debussy meant for us to take our time here,” she’d say. “He wanted us to set our own pace for the transitions from note to note.”
As it happened, Maddie’s preferred pace was always a bit more presto than Celine’s.
The simple truth was that Maddie never cared much about connecting with the music in the ways her mother did—in the ways her mother desperately wanted her to. It took decades for Maddie to understand the method behind her mother’s passion: music was Celine’s currency. It had been the common language of the Heller family—the only vehicle Celine’s parents ever used to convey their deepest emotions. Growing up, Maddie learned to gauge her mother’s moods by how she played her piano.
She leaned against a support post on the front porch of Celine’s bungalow and listened while her mother finished the piece.
After three days, it had finally stopped raining, although the late summer heat had not abated one bit.
The tempo of the music perfectly matched the sun’s slow descent behind Buck Mountain. Maddie waited and watched as the color slowly drained from a wide meadow filled with soft yellow sedge and the pale red of early autumn azaleas.
Celine was sad today.
That wasn’t hard to understand. Ever since the nightmarish events at the river on July 4th, the entire town had been moving slow. They were all a bit sluggish, like unmoored boats dragging their anchors. They were like refugees from an Emily Dickinson poem.
“The Feet, mechanical, go round—A Wooden way . . .”
She felt it herself: that same creeping malaise. It was impossible to shake off. Watson’s murder had changed everything. Had changed everyone. Jericho had lost its innocence. Now its residents slept, if they slept at all, with one eye open.
“Knock, knock.” She opened the front door and stepped inside.
“In here,” Celine called back. Her voice came from the kitchen.
Maddie was confused, but made her way from the small foyer to the bungalow’s big kitchen. Celine was standing at the island, pitting cherries from a large bowl. Something smelled wonderful—spicy and exotic. Chili maybe?
“What are you making?” She hugged her mother from behind. “It smells great.”
Celine leaned back against her. “Chickpea lentil stew. These cherries are for the couscous.”
“Oh, man.” Maddie released her and walked over to the stove so she could peer inside the large Dutch oven. “For about two seconds there, you had my hopes up.” She replaced the heavy lid. “How’d you get in here so fast?”
Celine looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“From in there.” Maddie jerked a thumb toward the living room. “Did you fold space or something? I was just on the porch, listening to you play.”
“Oh.” Celine smiled. “That wasn’t me.”
“It wasn’t? What was it? The stereo?”
“Nope. Go duck your head into the living room.”
“Okay . . .” Maddie left the kitchen and crossed the foyer to peek into the living room.
Dorothy heard her approach and looked up from the piano. She’d been flipping pages of sheet music. “Hey, Maddie.” She pushed the stool back and stood up. “Are you here for dinner? Byron’s coming, too.” Her tone was hopeful.
“Um. No. Was that you playing when I got here?”
Dorothy dropped her eyes. “I know it wasn’t right. I’ve been trying to practice.”
“Are you kidding me? It was perfect. I thought it was Mom.”
Dorothy’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Maddie could tell the girl was trying hard not to smile. “You’re a natural.”
“There’s nothing ‘natural’ about it,” Celine’s voice carried across from the kitchen. “It’s hard work and determination.”
Maddie raised her eyes to take in the ceiling before bending toward Dorothy and lowering her voice. “This is the bane of my existence.”
Dorothy did smile now. Maddie was moved by how the simple action drained the years from her young face. Dorothy didn’t smile much these days. She didn’t have a lot of reason to. Maddie was conf
ident that her coming to live with Celine would change that.
“Come on, kiddo.” She held out a hand. “Let’s go to the kitchen and liberate some cherries.”
Dorothy crossed toward her and only hesitated a second before taking her hand.
Progress, Maddie thought. She tightened her hold and led Dorothy back to the kitchen.
“Want me to finish pitting those for you, Mom?” Maddie offered.
Celine eyed her with suspicion. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Maddie was disappointed. Something occurred to her. “Hey . . . I’d do it right.”
Celine selected a fat cherry from the stoneware bowl and wielded her stainless steel pitter with a flourish. “Doubtful.”
“Excuse me.” Maddie feigned exaggerated umbrage. “I did a standard surgical rotation.”
“It’s not your facility with implements that concerns me,” Celine replied. She expertly pitted another cherry. “It’s how much product I would lose in the exercise of so much beneficence.”
Maddie looked at Dorothy for support.
“I don’t really know what beneficence means,” Dorothy said. She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a cardboard container. “But we do have these extra ones.”
“Culls,” Celine added.
“Seriously? You culled the cherries?” Maddie asked.
Celine lowered her head and looked at her daughter over the rims of her glasses. “Do you know me at all?”
“Good point.” Maddie pulled up a stool and sat down at the kitchen island. “Come on, Dorothy. Let’s dispatch the culls.”
Dorothy joined her. Together they sorted through the carton of cherries deemed deficient, dividing them into two piles: mushy; or still viable with blotchy bits of skin. Maddie was amused by the way they fell into the same sorting rhythm without advance discussion.
“This one’s a goner.” Maddie held one up. Dark red juice ran down her fingers.
Dorothy regarded it. “I’d eat it anyway.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Maddie popped the offending fruit into her mouth.
“Do you want to stay and eat with us?” Celine offered. “We have plenty.”
“That’s very generous. But Syd and Henry are meeting me at the café for dinner. We’re celebrating,” she added.
“Oh?” Celine asked. “What are you celebrating?”
Maddie smiled “Henry finally mastered his multiplication tables. We promised him a dinner at the restaurant of his choice.”
“And he chose the Riverside Café? That surprises me. I thought he shared your penchant for fast food.”
“Me, too.” Maddie shrugged. “I asked him three times if he wouldn’t rather go to Aunt Bea’s.”
“It’s Wednesday,” Dorothy explained. Maddie and Celine both looked at her. “The special on Wednesday is chicken and biscuits.”
Of course. Enlightenment dawned for Maddie. “You mean fairy sprinkles?”
Dorothy nodded.
“Nadine puts red pepper flakes in her biscuits,” Maddie reminded Celine. “David convinced Henry that they’re ‘fairy sprinkles.’”
Celine laughed. “Too bad he was never able to persuade you that zucchini is a green banana in disguise.”
Dorothy gave Maddie a look of solidarity. “I hate zucchini, too.”
“See?” Maddie argued. “It’s slimy.”
“That’s okra, not zucchini.” Celine finished pitting her cherries and headed for the prep sink to rinse her hands.
“You say tomato . . .” Maddie glanced at her watch. “What time did you say Byron was getting here?”
“I didn’t say. But I suspect it’ll be soon.” Celine looked at her. “Do you need to talk with him?”
Before Maddie could answer her, Dorothy got up from her stool and headed for the atrium door that led to the patio. “I hear his car,” she said with excitement. “I’ll go get him.”
She left them alone in the kitchen.
Maddie was surprised by Dorothy’s hasty exit. “She seems happy to see him. That’s a good thing.”
“I think so, too. Although it could as easily be Django. Those two have bonded.”
“Really?”
Celine nodded. “Sometimes Byron leaves him here overnight. He sleeps on the end of Dorothy’s bed.”
“No kidding?” Maddie thought about that. “I bet she’d enjoy a few sleepovers with Before, too.”
“Nice try. Henry’s 900-pound heifer is not coming over here.”
“You have no sense of adventure.”
“You accuse the resident cougar of that—even as her cub arrives for dinner?”
Maddie laughed. “You never cease to amaze me, Mom.”
“Why stop now?” Celine retrieved a small saucepan from a shelf. “I’m on a roll.”
“In fact, I did want to run something by you—about Dorothy.”
“Oh? What is it?”
Maddie glanced toward the patio doors. “I found out last week that Avi Zakariya, a classmate of mine from Penn, is doing a locum for a pal in Roanoke and is looking to move her practice when that arrangement ends. She’s a top-notch child psychologist. I touched base with her earlier today, just to get caught up.”
Celine nodded. “And in the course of your conversation, it occurred to you that perhaps Avi could meet with Dorothy?”
“Exactly. I wanted to see what you and Byron thought about it before I pursued setting anything up.”
“I’ll talk with him about it, certainly. But at first blush, I think it’s a good idea. Would Avi be willing to come here?”
“I honestly think she might. She expressed interest in possibly setting up a practice in this area, versus looking at more lucrative markets. There may be possibilities for her to use space in my clinic.” Maddie was lost in thought for a moment. “Avi came to visit a couple of times when Dad was still alive. Even then, she created quite a stir in town.”
“Why was that?”
“She’s androgynous—or was back then. Although,” Maddie recalled, “she always used female pronouns. I honestly have no idea how she identifies now, and it felt absurd to inquire—not to mention, it’s totally irrelevant. I fell all over myself trying to avoid the pitfalls of making assumptions—like any of that even mattered. It was mortifying. I’m sure I sounded like an idiot.”
“I doubt that.” Celine smiled at her. “We’re all playing catch up. But the good news is that every time our understandings evolve, we end up with more winners than losers.”
“You should run for office.”
“I don’t think so.” Celine pitted another cherry before magnanimously offering it to Maddie. “Besides, we already have a woke mayor.”
“Are you talking about David?”
“Is there more than one mayor?”
“No,” Maddie admitted. “Just the one. I confess it’s still a struggle to get my head around the idea that David is now the chief executive of Jericho.”
“It is rather a paradigm shift.”
Maddie laughed. “That’s putting it mildly. It seems like only a week ago that he was shoplifting cigarettes from Freemantle’s market.”
“I’d prefer not to be reminded about those exploits of yours.”
“Mine? He was the aspiring felon. I was just his stooge.”
Celine glared at her. “Spoken like every accomplice who denies culpability.”
“Who’s denying culpability?” Byron entered the kitchen from the patio with Dorothy following close behind. His mutt, Django danced happily around her heels.
Celine smiled at him. “We were discussing Maddie’s former life of crime.”
Byron laughed and crossed over to where Celine stood. He peered into her bowl before kissing the side of her head. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “Gladys Pitzer’s car alarm kept going off and she was positive it meant someone was trying to steal her dry goods. I had to go over there to persuade her that the culprit was rusted battery terminals.”
“Her dry
goods?” Celine asked. “Why on earth does she keep them in the car?”
“Wait a minute.” Maddie held up a hand. “Before you answer, what the hell are ‘dry goods’?”
“Seriously?” Celine glared at her.
“It’s stuff like flour and sugar,” Dorothy interjected. “Things you use in baking.”
“Hence your unfamiliarity with the term.” Celine shook her head.
“Yeah, whatever.” Maddie looked at Byron. “So why is she keeping her ‘dry goods’ in the car?”
Byron shrugged. “She said the damp nights we’ve been having are making the mice come inside. Apparently, Sonny is running behind and hasn’t been out there yet to deal with them.”
Maddie was baffled by Gladys’s logic. “Why doesn’t she just store the stuff in airtight containers?”
“That one is above my pay grade.” Byron crossed to the stove and inspected the savory concoction simmering in the big Dutch oven. “You’re making chickpea stew? It’s my favorite.”
“I gathered that,” Celine observed. “Especially after I found the cookbook opened to this page no less than five times.”
“So sue me.” Byron returned the lid to the big pot. “Sometimes it takes you a while to pick up the clue phone.”
“You could always just ask for it,” Celine replied, “and avoid the obfuscation.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Celine swatted him with a dishtowel.
Maddie was charmed by their casual intimacy. She couldn’t recall any interactions like this between her parents. They’d always been polite to each other, but had behaved more like professional colleagues than life partners.
“Besides,” Byron continued, “we like a bit of obfuscation now and then, don’t we, Dorothy?”
Dorothy looked at Maddie for help.
“I am so not getting into the middle of this one.” Maddie checked her watch. “I gotta scoot. Walk me to my car, Dorothy?”
“Sure.” Dorothy patted the side of her leg. “Come on, Django.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom. See you around, Byron.”
Byron gave her a small salute. “Watch for deer by the river,” he cautioned. “I passed a half dozen of them on my way in here.”