“A TV detective?”
“Sure. Here’s what the detective would say: If Glenda looked out her window, she could have seen a strange car parked in front of the house. She could have seen that the drapes to Mr. Garnett’s office were suddenly open, so she figured someone was in the house. Then, if she looked in the window, she could have seen us.”
“There’s more to it than that, Sara. Honestly. I got her mental message. I looked up and saw Glenda in the doorway. Then into my mind came the thought that we should be very quiet. I felt the danger.”
“She’s into mental telepathy too?” Sara sounded angry. “And you’re buying that stuff? Come on, Holly. What’s happening to you?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. And Sara was quiet. We were almost into Bellaire when she added more gently, “Holly, the house is scary because we know what happened there, so I can see why you’d start believing the weird things that woman said. But think about it. You said you don’t believe she opened the door herself, that someone else did.”
“That’s right,” I said. “That noise you thought you heard … that could have been the back door opening or shutting.”
“Okay, let’s say that’s what I heard, and someone else opened the door, not Glenda. Now hear me out. I hate to do this, but who’d be the best one to know where extra keys to the house are hidden?”
I twisted toward her as the answer shocked me.
“And who knew you’d be in the house?”
“Sara, don’t say it. Don’t even think it!” I cried.
“You’d better think about it,” Sara answered. “No matter how much you want to believe in him, you’ve got to face the truth. Who else could have come in the house so easily and at just the time we’d be there? Only one person—Cody.”
Chapter Ten
Monday. 4:35 P.M. When we arrived at my house, Sara came in to say hello to Mom, but we found a note she’d left saying she had to stay for parent meetings. There was frozen lasagna to microwave.
“Come on home with me,” Sara suggested. “This morning Mom started a pot of beef stew to slow-cook all day while she was at work. There’s going to be plenty, and I think you need some company.”
Mrs. Madison was a great cook, and I could almost taste her stew. The dinner would be noisy and fun, and for just a moment I was jealous that Sara had that kind of family and I didn’t. Ashamed of myself, I started to turn down her invitation, but I didn’t want to eat alone. I thanked her for the invitation, the ride, and everything and said I’d come.
Sara wandered into the screened porch. “Your mom has a real green thumb,” she said. There was silence for a moment; then she said, “What’s this?”
As I joined her, I saw that she was holding the pad of paper I’d put on the table when I’d thought that Cody and I could try to figure things out.
“What does this mean—‘Pros and Cons’?” Sara asked.
“Oh, that,” I said. “Nothing. Cody and I were going to work on it, but we didn’t.” I reached for the pad, but she pulled it away.
“Pros and cons,” she said and sat on the glider. “Writing them down is a good idea.”
“Not now.”
“Yes, now,” Sara said. “It might help you see how everything fits. Come on, Holly. I did what you wanted me to do, so now sit down and let’s figure this out.”
Unwillingly, I perched beside her. Sara had picked up the pen and was already writing. I didn’t say anything, but I could see she had written only on the Cons side of the page.
“This isn’t going to help,” I said.
“Yes it is. I’ll read these aloud, one by one. You come up with the Pros. Okay, let’s start. Cody returned to the house to get the key to the lake house. He was there during the time the medical examiner said the murders took place.”
“The medical examiner adds extra time before and after, depending on the temperature of the room and so on. He can’t be exact on the time down to the minute. Cody left before his parents were killed. And there’s something important the media left out. The radio wasn’t on while Cody was there. Somebody turned it on later.”
“Can anyone help him prove this? How about the neighbor across the street who saw him drive away?”
“No.” I could feel my temper rising. “She couldn’t remember when she heard the music, but it’s true. Cody said so.”
“Don’t get defensive,” Sara said quietly. “Let’s stick to the facts and keep our minds open, and we may figure out something that will help Cody.”
That made sense. I took a couple of deep breaths and forced myself to calm down.
“Next point,” Sara continued. “There’s nothing to prove that Cody was ever at the lake house.”
“He stopped on the way back for something to eat.”
“Good,” she said, her pen poised over the Pro side. “Did anybody identify him?”
Miserable, I shook my head. “He stopped at one of those little doughnut shops off the road. He didn’t remember which one.”
“Let’s hope that the police checked them all. Ask your dad.” She studied the list. “There was no sign of forced entry, and Cody had a key to the house.”
“Sara! A lot of the time when there’s a crime, the police say there was no sign of forced entry. That’s because most people open their door if someone rings the bell.”
“I’ll give him that,” she said, and wrote on the Pro side.
“Don’t forget to put down on the Pro side that there was a robbery,” I said. Rings and watches and a gold bracelet.” I didn’t tell her Dad’s opinion that the robbery could have been faked in order to lead investigators in the wrong direction.
When Sara had finished writing, she asked, “Anything else?”
“Yes. Cody’s car checked out clean.”
As Sara wrote, the world became a little brighter. The Pro column was growing longer than the Con side.
“Does Cody get all his parents’ money?” Sara asked.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A lot,” she said. “It gives him a motive.”
I didn’t answer, but she wrote in the Con column anyway. “Anything else?” she asked.
I shook my head and got to my feet. “You were wrong. Writing everything down didn’t help. At least the Pro column is as long as the Con.”
As Sara stood, she dropped the pad and pen on the table. “It doesn’t matter how long the lists are, Holly. What matters is what’s in them. Cody could have been on the scene at the time of the murders, he has no one to back up his alibi, and he had a motive.”
My head began to hurt, and I felt sick to my stomach. “He didn’t do it,” I insisted.
“I’m just saying he could have.” Sara grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look at her. “Holly, don’t be so stubborn about this that you do something crazy. What if Cody did commit the murders and you keep seeing him?”
“Sara, I can’t believe that Cody’s the killer. That would be giving up, and I can’t do that. I promised to help him.”
“You’re not listening. You’re not even trying to have an open mind.”
Angrily, I jerked away from her. “What if you were the one suspected of murdering someone? Wouldn’t you want me to stick by you? Wouldn’t you expect me to keep believing in you?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because I wouldn’t murder anyone.”
“Neither would Cody!”
“How much do you really know about him?” Sara scooped up the pad of paper and shoved it at me. “Read this. Think about it.”
I knocked the pad out of her hand. “Stop it!” I shouted and began to cry.
Sara walked into the kitchen. I could hear her filling a glass with cold water from the spigot in the refrigerator door. She returned and handed me the water. “Here,” she said. “This might help.”
I wiped my face with a ragged tissue I found in my pocket and gulped some of the water.
“Wash your face,
” Sara said, trying to make her voice cheerful, “and we’ll head for my house and Mom’s beef stew.”
I put down the glass of water and stood up, shaking my head. “Thanks, but I’m going to stay here,” I said.
“Please come, Holly.”
“No. I’m not hungry, and I feel like being alone.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to make you see both sides of the situation.”
“You don’t understand,” I told Sara. “Can you think of anything worse than being tried and convicted for a murder you didn’t commit—especially the murder of your own parents? It’s horrible enough to lose your parents.” My voice was rising and my breathing was becoming raspy, so I forced myself to calm down before I said, “I promised Cody I’d help him prove his innocence. I have to. I can’t let an injustice pass. It would haunt me forever.”
“You don’t have to keep that promise. Not if …”
“Sara, do you remember before we were friends when I was in Ms. Donavan’s sixth grade? There was a girl named Paula. Mindy was in that class too.”
Sara made a face as she thought. “I don’t remember a Paula, but Mindy? What does this have to do with them? You’re not friends with Mindy, and neither am I.”
My cheeks burned, and I could hardly look at Sara as I answered. “On Ms. Donavan’s desk was a little Lladro statue of a girl reading. Well, Mindy was playing with it. I remember so clearly. Paula told her not to. Then Mindy got mad, because she always wanted to be boss, and tossed it to Paula. Paula missed catching it, and it broke. When Ms. Donavan saw it, she looked heartbroken. I let Paula take the blame.”
“So?”
“You don’t understand, Sara. I saw what happened and didn’t tell Ms. Donavan the truth.”
Sara stared at me for a minute, then said, “Good gosh, Holly, that was in sixth grade! And if Paula dropped it, she did break it, didn’t she?”
“Technically, but …”
“What are you telling me? That you’re on some kind of guilt trip? That you’re being so stubborn about Cody’s innocence because of something that happened way back when you were twelve?”
“Sara!” I repeated, as I felt the tears start again. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I’m trying, but I don’t.”
“Then go home! Please go home!”
Sara looked at me. I could see she was hurt, but I didn’t even walk to the door with her.
In all my life I had never felt so miserable. I wanted to call after Sara and beg her to come back. I needed a friend like Sara. I remembered when we’d started spending more and more time together. I always liked the noisy Madisons, and when my parents’ marriage started to fall apart, I’d wanted Mom to turn into warm, funny Mrs. Madison. For a long, selfish moment I wished I could run far away from Cody and his horrendous problems.
I put my hands over my face and sobbed loudly, the way a little child would cry. What did it matter? There was no one to hear me. I was alone.
Monday. 8:40 P.M. By the time Mom arrived, I had pulled myself together. I greeted her by throwing my arms around her neck and hugging her tightly. “I missed you,” I told her. “I love you, Mom.”
“My goodness!” Mom answered. She hugged me back, and it felt so good I hung on for a while.
Finally, as I stepped back, Mom studied my face and quietly asked, “Want to talk about it, Holly? Can I help?”
I tried to hang on to a smile and said, “I just needed a hug. And to tell you I love you. I guess I need to hear it too.”
“Oh, sweetie, you know I love you.”
“You haven’t called me sweetie since I was a little girl.” I chuckled.
Mom laughed too. “I haven’t because you strongly insisted you were much too old to be called sweetie.”
“I know,” I said, “but this time it sounded good.” I followed Mom to her bedroom and flopped on the end of her bed while she changed clothes. “You used to call Dad sweetie too. I never heard him complain.”
As she backed out of the closet, Mom gave me a sharp look. “That’s enough about your father and me.”
I didn’t want to break the warm rapport between us, so I quickly changed the subject. “It was awful at school today, Mom. Everybody stared at me as if I were lucky to still be alive, and some of them said things like … Well, I guess a few of them were trying to be nice, but some were just …”
I rolled onto my back. “You know those fish in the aquarium who come right up to the glass and stare at you with those goggle eyes, while their mouths are going back and forth and back and forth? Well, that’s how I felt—like I was getting stared at by hundreds of those nosy fish.”
Mom sat down beside me. As she finished buttoning the last button on her blouse, she took my hand and held it tightly. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. I relaxed. Suddenly I felt as if things would work out. I’d find the answers that would help Cody, and soon everything would be all right.
The phone rang, and I answered. Cody’s voice was low and dry. “About the funeral tomorrow …,” he began.
“I’ll be there,” I assured him.
“No,” he said. “You can’t. That is, it’s going to be a private ceremony tomorrow morning with just Uncle Frank and me there.” His voice dropped so I could hardly hear. “My parents are going to be cremated.”
“Oh,” I murmured, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Cody broke the silence. “I don’t like it either,” he said, “but Mr. Ormond—you know, my attorney—said it would be better. With any other kind of funeral service, the place would be overrun with cameramen and reporters.”
His voice broke in a sob, and I hurried to cover for him. “I’m sorry, Cody. I can’t even begin to guess how hard this is for you.”
“It’s awful,” he said. “It tore me up to lose both of my parents, but now … well, it’s like I can’t give them the respect they deserve. I don’t think they would have wanted—I mean, I think they’d have preferred a proper burial.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Oh, Cody, I’m so very, very sorry.”
“Holly,” Cody said, and I could hear a subtle change in his voice, “you promised to help me, and I’m counting on you. Mr. Ormond was talking to your dad, and … uh … well, all I’m asking is, since you know I’m not the killer, could you … uh … put in a good word for me with him?”
My stomach clutched. Cody expected me to influence Dad? Cody didn’t know what he was asking. “It will take more than that. It will take proof,” I answered.
“Right,” Cody said, as though he hadn’t heard me or didn’t understand. He simply repeated, “Holly, I’m counting on you.”
Dad actually got home before Mom went to bed. He sank into his favorite comfortable chair and leaned his head back against the headrest. He smothered a belch and pressed one hand against his chest. “One of these days I’m going to wind things up early, and I’ll make it home in time to enjoy a real dinner,” he said.
Mom got a cynical look on her face. She opened her mouth to answer, then quickly shut it again. I wondered if she’d just remembered what I’d said about the days when she used to call Dad sweetie.
Looking a little surprised that there was no comeback, Dad shifted in his chair the way he was probably shifting his thinking. “That’s a nice blouse, Lynn,” he said. “Is it new?”
“Thanks,” Mom said. “I’m glad you like it.” I was proud of her for not telling him the blouse was at least two years old.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed it before. Probably he hadn’t even seen it. If Dad were home more often, like other husbands, he wouldn’t have asked such a dumb question. I ached for Mom and the feelings of resentment toward Dad for being so obsessed with his work that he neglected his family.
The three of us managed to talk for a little while about nothing much, like, “Ms. Winn—you know, she teaches kindergarten—just had her baby … a girl.”
And “How’s everything going at sc
hool, Holly?”
I’d already dumped on Mom about school, and I had something more important I wanted to bring up with Dad. Ever since my conversation with Cody, his words sat like a rock in the pit of my stomach. He was counting on me to help him. I had to come through.
About the time I was beginning to wonder if married people could just run out of things to talk about, Mom got up, rubbed the back of her neck, and announced, “School tomorrow. I need my sleep.” She paused and added, “And so do you, Holly.”
Dad moved to get up, but I quickly said, “In a minute, Mom. I need to talk to Dad.”
“If this is about …,” Dad began, as Mom turned and walked upstairs.
“It won’t take long. I promise,” I begged. “First, I just want to know something about Cody inheriting his parents’ money.”
Dad settled back, but his tone was sharp. “Cody is too young to inherit. His attorney has petitioned the court, at Cody’s request, to appoint Cody’s uncle as his guardian.”
“Cody said that his uncle was going to sell his house for him.”
“I know nothing about that,” Dad said, making it clear that he didn’t care either. He looked at me sternly. “Your mother told me that Cody came to the house at your invitation, and she made it clear to you that my rule included every type of opportunity to see him. Have you broken the rule again?”
I couldn’t help snapping back. “No! I was talking to Cody on the phone. I promised you I wouldn’t go out with him, and I told Mom I wouldn’t ask him again to come to the house. Dad, you can trust me.”
“I know I can,” he said. “I was out of line in asking.” For a moment he squeezed his eyes shut and kneaded his forehead with his fingertips. When he relaxed and looked at me again, he said, “Tell me, why are you asking about Cody’s inheritance?”
“Sara told me that since Cody inherits a lot of money, it looks bad for him, but if Cody’s too young to use the money he inherited, as you said, then getting the money can’t possibly be a motive.”
“I agree with you that getting the money wasn’t a motive.”
“You do?” I grinned. “Dad, does that mean you’re beginning to think Cody’s innocent?”
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