“We had a big argument about it in class, and people took sides, getting really emotional and almost yelling. It was so stupid. Half the class believes they were burned at the stake, despite all the evidence to the contrary.”
“It’s one of the most hotly debated topics in town—”
“There’s nothing to debate,” Ellie interrupted, rolling her eyes.
“History is loaded with myths,” Natalie told her gently.
“Loaded with BS, you mean.”
“Myths can be stronger than facts.”
“Well, I guess it’s trendy to burn witches nowadays. I mean, where the hell would we be if we couldn’t burn witches in effigy every Halloween? How would the town survive? Who’d come to see them hang a bunch of mannequins?”
“Good point.” Natalie tried to think of something wise and comforting to say, but she was worried for Ellie—where was all this deflection coming from? “Are you saying that one of the students got angry at Daisy during this debate? Did one of the students act out inappropriately?”
“No,” she said, her face flushing. “Half the class was pissed off at the other half. Ms. Buckner tried to remind us that not every disagreement has a resolution. It’s just that … I think we should honor the dead by telling the truth about how they died, rather than capitalizing on their pain.” Ellie looked sorrowfully at Natalie. Tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? Why are you so upset?”
“I’ve been having awful dreams lately, where I’m tied to the stake like a witch, and I’m standing on a pyre of wood, and there’s no escape. People are laughing at me. They’re holding torches, and they want me dead.”
Natalie nodded, concerned for her.
“Then one of them lights the fire, and flames shoot up all around me, and I can hear my flesh sizzling … and I wake up screaming.”
“It’s just a nightmare,” Natalie said, not wanting her niece to hurt like this but wondering what was behind it.
“The worst part is—” She shook it off. “Never mind.”
“What, Ellie? Tell me.”
She turned away and said, “We’re here.”
Natalie pulled into Grace’s driveway and parked behind the Mini Cooper. “Ellie, why did you bring this up? What are you trying to say?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Ellie unbuckled her seat belt and got out.
Too much too soon, Natalie realized. She had crowded her niece. Ellie needed time to process her emotions, and yet Natalie couldn’t stop hammering her with questions.
Out here on Crenshaw Road, the woods nibbled at the edges of the green suburbs. Grace’s handsome post-and-beam-style home had three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and a heated garage. Open-concept living/dining/kitchen. A beautiful marble en suite on the upper level. Vaulted ceilings and natural woodwork. The house was ten years old. The fluffy clouds had blown away, and the air was crystal clear.
Grace greeted them at the door, but Ellie brushed right past her mother and disappeared into the house. “How was school?” Grace called after her.
“Lousy,” Ellie said before hurrying up the stairs.
“How was the remembrance ceremony?” Grace asked.
“Terrible, Mom. Everyone was sobbing. I could hardly breathe. Thanks for the ride, Aunt Natalie,” she said from the top of the stairs. Moments later, her bedroom door thumped shut.
“Sorry I missed it,” Grace said softly. “Come on in, Natalie.”
“Thanks.” Natalie wiped her shoes on the welcome mat.
Grace led the way inside, saying, “Sorry, but I’m an emotional wreck today. I can’t seem to focus on anything. Want some coffee?”
“Love a cup.”
“Follow me.”
They went into the kitchen. Top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances. Italian marble backsplash. Teak-and-leather bar stools hugging the kitchen island. Grace lived in one of the wealthier neighborhoods, along with people who yielded considerable influence in this town—doctors, bankers, lawyers, managers, consultants. Burke’s alimony and child support payments provided Grace and Ellie with an effort-free lifestyle, but it didn’t guarantee happiness. Grace was comfortable and her future was secure, but she wasn’t exactly Ms. Happy. Sometimes Natalie detected an aura of melancholy tremoring around Grace’s edges.
“Is now a good time to talk?” Natalie asked, hoping her sister wouldn’t say no. Grace was the only person besides Brandon who knew almost everything there was to know about Daisy.
“Yeah, sure.” Grace didn’t look well—disheveled hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail, nails bitten to the quick, eyes swollen from crying.
Natalie took out her notebook and pen, and Grace handed her a steaming mug of coffee.
“Let’s go into the living room.”
She followed her sister into the living room, juggling everything in her hands—coffee, napkin, spoon, pen, notebook.
“I really wanted to be there for my students today, but I didn’t want to melt down in front of them,” Grace explained, curling up on the sofa. “Ellie’s handling it pretty well, but I didn’t sleep a wink.”
Natalie took a sip of her French roast and put everything down on the glass-topped coffee table. “Walk me through Daisy’s schedule. Tell me about her typical day. What happens?”
“Oh God.” Grace folded her slender legs underneath her. “What happens? Let’s see. Daisy and I are usually the first to arrive. We’re the early birds, I guess. We get to school around six fifteen, make a pot of coffee, and vent in the faculty lounge. That’s our together time. We trade war stories and laugh a lot. Sometimes we get frustrated at the administration, because they keep changing the rules on us. So many forms to fill out. So much paperwork. We gripe and kvetch. Then we wish each other luck and go our separate ways.”
“And then what?”
“I head upstairs to my classroom and run around like a crazy person, trying to get things organized before the kids show up. Plug in my laptop, check my emails, stack the class assignments, write the highlights on the board.”
“What did you and Daisy talk about yesterday morning?”
Grace shrugged. “Nothing special.”
“She didn’t mention her problems with Riley?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We talked about things that would’ve been boring to anyone but us. Class size, student-teacher ratios. She mentioned her new barbecue. The baby, of course. By the way, she swore me to secrecy, Natalie, otherwise I would’ve told you right away. But anyway, the subject of Riley never came up.”
“Why not?”
“Well, the outburst happened a few weeks ago, and things had quieted down since then. I figured everything was chill. Guess I was wrong.”
Natalie nodded. “So what happens on a typical Wednesday?”
“The buses pull up, the kids come pouring out, and it’s chaos from that point on.” Grace smiled sadly. “My first class is at seven thirty. They last about fifty minutes. There are four periods before lunch, which is at eleven thirty. After lunch, there’s a planning period for teachers and a study hall for the students. I usually grade papers during that time.”
“When did Daisy leave school yesterday?”
“Gee, I don’t know.” She frowned. “I think she left around the same time I did.”
“When was that?”
“Two thirty on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. But on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we’ll stay until three thirty to help those kids who are struggling with the material. At the end of those extra-long days, Daisy and I will meet up again to chat. But yesterday was Wednesday, so we didn’t stay late.”
“And you didn’t see her leave the building?” Natalie asked.
“No.”
“Was her car in the lot?”
“I didn’t see it there.”
“So she may have left before you?” Natalie asked.
“It looks like it.”
“And you didn’t contact her afterwards? No phone calls or text messa
ges?”
“No. I had a lot of errands to run. I was preoccupied with the deathiversary.”
Natalie nodded. “Right.”
Grace plucked a tissue out of the box on the coffee table and said, “Can we get this over with? Do you mind, Natalie? Is that selfish of me?”
“No, I’ll try to keep it brief,” Natalie promised. “Did Daisy ever fear for her safety around Riley or any other students?”
“Fear? No.”
“She wasn’t afraid to be alone with Riley, for instance, after class?”
Grace reached for her big leather bag on the floor, then plopped it on the sofa next to her, and rummaged around for her cigarettes. She held the pack in her hand. “Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, Daisy wasn’t naïve, but she believed in second chances. She trusted in her ability to reach even the most troubled kids. Remember Jenny Barber and Dunham O’Brien? Everybody had written them off for good, but Daisy got them into college. She was such an empathetic person. She hated giving up on anyone. So if Riley wanted to talk to her after class, despite the issues between them, then yes … I can picture her feeling okay with that.”
“Even after he called her a cunt?”
“No, I think after that incident, she became a little wary of him. But that didn’t stop her from trying to help him. Daisy was pretty fearless. I’m not saying she’d embrace him or anything like that, but…” Her voice trailed off.
Natalie jotted it down. “Are the Buckners in the habit of keeping their doors unlocked?”
Grace leaned back. “You remember the Foresters, right? They hardly ever locked their doors. It wasn’t so unusual back in the nineties. Daisy’s mom loved having people over, and a bunch of us kids used to traipse through the house without knocking. They’d only lock their doors at night, or if they went on vacation. Daisy’s the same way.”
“No other difficult students? No other problems or concerns?”
“Well, there are always problems and concerns. There are always difficult students. But nothing that comes to mind.” Grace put down the pack of cigarettes, reached for her coffee, and took a small sip. “I heard Riley was in a coma. Is he going to make it?”
“It could go either way.”
“Really?”
“Dr. Swinton says he doesn’t know.”
“Maybe it’s karma?” Grace put down her coffee and wrung her hands. “Oh God, I don’t want to be that person … it’s not like I want him to die or anything.”
“We’re all that person sometimes,” Natalie said sympathetically.
“I mean, if he killed her…” Her eyes teared up. She plucked a tissue from the box and pressed it to her runny nose. “But who else could’ve done it?”
Which led Natalie to her next question. “Was Daisy happy in her marriage?”
“Happy? Yeah, of course. Why?” she asked apprehensively.
“No complaints? Just covering all the bases.”
“As far as I know, she was thrilled to be pregnant. It was a significant milestone for her, given her history. It was a blessing.”
“No marriage is perfect,” Natalie countered. “She must’ve complained a little…”
“She hardly ever complained about Brandon. She loved him, Natalie. He’s a good provider, very loyal. Sure, he has his faults, but he made her laugh. It’s so fucking tragic. She would’ve made a great mom.”
Natalie’s phone buzzed. It was Luke. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
“Sure.” Grace daubed at her eyes.
“We’ve identified the blood on Riley’s hoodie as A-positive, same blood type as Daisy’s,” Luke said. “Riley is AB-positive, and Brandon is O-negative—so we can rule them both out as the source. We also found blister packets at Haymarket Field with Riley’s prints on them. And a witness came forward identifying a vehicle speeding away from the Buckner residence last night that matches Riley’s Camaro. It’s enough to get a warrant. We’re about to serve papers on the Skinner residence, and I need you to be there. Meet me two blocks west of the property on O’Dell Road.”
“Okay, on my way.” She hung up. “Sorry, Grace. I have to go.”
Her sister walked her to the door. They paused on the threshold, and Grace gave her a heartfelt hug. “I worry about you, kid.”
Natalie smiled. Grace hadn’t called her “kid” in years. “You, too, Grace.”
“Be careful out there.”
Grace was the person who taught Natalie how to insert a tampon, how to get past Deborah’s rules. Grace showed her how to tie her hair in a French knot and buy the most ironic T-shirts at Walmart. When Natalie was twelve, before Grace went off to college, they’d sit by the open window, blowing the cigarette smoke outside and waving their hands so their mother couldn’t smell it. Grace and Deborah didn’t get along. Grace felt unloved, but Natalie loved her sister with all her heart and soul.
Now Natalie wiped the sweat off her brow and said, “Get some rest, sweetie.”
15
The Skinners lived a mile and a half past the old railroad depot on the west side of town, where the burdock and pigweed grew mangled and thick. Natalie knew every junker, every ailing family farm, every halfway house, every abandoned shed where drugs were sold, every trailer up on cement blocks. There were violent crimes she still couldn’t talk about without her voice cracking—the abduction of a young girl by an animal she’d helped put away; a baby so thin from parental neglect they all worried he might not survive (but he had); a seventy-year-old woman who’d been robbed and beaten by a thug with an angel’s face. But she’d also witnessed countless acts of kindness here. The west side was both a sick and a hopeful place. Beauty and ugliness cohabited side by side. A paradox, Joey used to say. All sorts of nefarious dealings took place in this neck of the woods, and if they were going to serve a warrant today, then it would have to be handled delicately.
Luke was waiting for her on O’Dell Road, along with a couple of patrol officers. She got out and greeted them, and the four of them stood strategizing by the side of the road.
“I have no idea how Dominic’s going to handle this,” Luke explained, “so I’d like you to serve papers, Natalie. We all know this guy and his temper. But whenever there’s a woman present, he mellows out.”
It was common knowledge that Dominic’s grandmother used to administer regular ass-whoopings, and if there was one thing the cagey ex-con feared to this day, it was a lady with a stick. He became polite and close-lipped whenever it came to the “fairer sex,” and so, having Natalie serve the warrant would give them a distinct advantage.
“No problem,” she told Luke. “I’ve dealt with Dominic before.”
“We’ll hang back but stay within range.” Luke gave her the paperwork. “Okay, let’s roll.”
They got back in their vehicles and drove past struggling farms and pastures full of dairy cows. The Skinner family had deep roots here. Its branches sagged with bushels of motherfuckers. Dominic didn’t just have a chip on his shoulder, he had a whole freaking iceberg. The kids in this neighborhood felt stuck in a nowhere town. They didn’t want to become farmers or tour guides like their parents, they wanted to have their own YouTube channels. Out here, you could sense the hopelessness of the disadvantaged youth and their desperate search for meaning. There were good people fighting off the darkness—ministers, teachers, cops, priests, social workers. They stood up to drugs, thievery, debauchery, and “darker things” like cults and prostitution. But it was an ongoing struggle.
Now Natalie pulled into the Skinners’ driveway, flanked by Luke and the cruisers, and got out of her vehicle. As she approached the house, Luke and the officers hung back. The Skinners lived in a crumbling wedding cake of a home, a sad-looking Gothic laced with rotting gingerbread trim and a sagging front porch. She rang the doorbell, and after a moment Riley’s younger brother, Peter, answered.
“Hi, I’m Detective Lockhart,” she said. “Is your dad home?”
“He’s asleep,” the recalcitrant ten-year-old said.
<
br /> “I’m here on official business. Can I come in?”
The boy stepped aside.
The living room was stuffy. The shades and curtains were drawn. The house was decorated with blocky bargain furniture. There were dirty glasses and cereal bowls everywhere you looked. The flat-screen TV dominated the living room, and a stale pizza box yawned open on the crumb-strewn coffee table.
“Go wake your dad,” she said, and the boy disappeared down the hallway.
Luke and the officers stepped inside, but stayed close to the entrance.
A few minutes later, Dominic Skinner stumbled out into the living room, barefoot and wearing a faded gray robe. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He had a meth-ravaged face, a gaunt body, and a tangle of greasy blond hair. Years of addiction made him look decades older than his early forties. It was hard to believe he used to be one of the cool guys back in high school. Now he was a hard-core ex-felon with bad knees and bad breath.
“What d’you want?” He scowled.
Natalie handed him the paperwork. “We have a warrant to search the premises.”
Dominic took it and said nothing. His face was mottled with grief. Beneath the open robe he wore a pair of blue cotton boxers and a T-shirt that read I LUV NEW YORK. His arms were covered with prison tats, mostly skulls, daggers, and serpents. Years ago, when she’d first entered the force, Natalie had privately—after hours—combed through Dominic’s arrest records in search of any incriminating birthmarks that might’ve ID’d him as the bogeyman, but there were no startled butterflies to be found on his drug-ravaged body.
“We’d like to start with Riley’s room,” she said. “These two officers will search the front and back yards, while the lieutenant and I go through the rest of the house. We appreciate your cooperation. We’re very sorry about your son. We’re here to gather evidence, that’s all.”
Dominic dropped the warrant on the floor. “Evidence of what?”
“Riley’s potential involvement in the murder of Daisy Buckner.”
His shoulders sagged as if the world had just crushed him flat.
“Are you carrying?” she asked.
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