4

      Charlie sniffed her sunglasses as she walked toward Lenore’s car. She knew she was acting like a foolish girl in a teen romance, but she wanted to smell Ben. What she got instead was a whiff of her own sweat tinged with vomit.

      Lenore leaned across the car to push open the door. “You put those on your nose, sweetheart, not in front of it.”

      Charlie couldn’t put anything on her nose. She tossed the cheap glasses onto the dashboard as she got in. “Did Daddy send you?”

      “Ben texted me, but, listen, your dad wants us to fetch the Wilsons and bring them back to the office. Coin’s trying to execute a search warrant. I brought your court clothes to change into.”

      Charlie had started shaking her head as soon as she heard the words “your dad wants.” She asked, “Where’s Rusty?”

      “At the hospital with the Wilson girl.”

      Charlie huffed a laugh. Ben had really honed his deception skills. “How long before Dad figured out she wasn’t being held at the station?”

      “Over an hour.”

      Charlie put on her seat belt. “I was thinking how much Coin loves to play his games.” She had no doubt the district attorney had put Kelly Wilson in the back of an ambulance for the trip to the hospital. By maintaining the illusion that she wasn’t in police custody, he could argue that any statement she made absent counsel was voluntary. “She’s eighteen years old.”

      “Rusty told me. The girl was practically catatonic at the hospital. He barely got her mama’s phone number out of her.”

      “That’s how she was when I saw her. Almost in a fugue state.” Charlie hoped Kelly Wilson snapped out of it soon. At the moment, she was Rusty’s most vital source of information. Until he received the discovery materials from Ken Coin—witness lists, police statements, investigators’ notes, forensics—her father would be flying blind.

      Lenore put her hand on the gear. “Where am I taking you?”

      Charlie pictured herself at home, standing under a hot shower, surrounding herself with pillows in bed. And then she remembered that Ben wouldn’t be there and said, “I guess to the Wilsons.”

      “They live on the backside of the Holler.” Lenore put the car in gear. She made a wide U-turn and drove up the street. “There’s no street address. Your dad sent me country directions—take a left at the old white dog, take a right at the crooked oak tree.”

      “That’s good news for Kelly, I guess.” Rusty could break a search warrant that didn’t have the right address or at least a proper description of the house. The odds were against Ken Coin to come up with either. There were hundreds of rental houses and trailers up and down the Holler. No one knew exactly how many people lived there, what their names were or whether or not their children were attending school. The slumlords didn’t bother with leases or background checks so long as the right amount of cash showed up every week.

      Charlie asked, “How long do you think we have before Ken locates the house?”

      “No idea. They brought in a helicopter from Atlanta an hour ago, but from what I can tell, it’s on the other side of the mountain.”

      Charlie knew that she could find the Wilson house. She was in the Holler at least twice a month chasing down past-due legal bills. Ben had been horrified when she’d casually mentioned her night-time excursions. Sixty percent of the crime in Pikeville was committed in or near Sadie’s Holler.

      Lenore said, “I packed a sandwich for you.”

      “I’m not hungry.” Charlie looked at the clock on the dash: 11:52 AM. Less than five hours ago, she’d been looking inside the darkened front office at the middle school. Less than ten minutes after that, two people were dead, another was shot, and Charlie was about to get her nose broken.

      Lenore said, “You should eat.”

      “I will.” Charlie stared out the window. Sunlight strobed through the tall trees behind the buildings. The flickering light flashed images into her mind like an old-timey slideshow. Charlie allowed herself the rare indulgence of lingering on the ones of Gamma and Sam—running down the long driveway to the farmhouse, giggling over a thrown plastic fork. She knew what came later, so she fast-forwarded until Sam and Gamma were firmly back in the past and all that remained was the aftermath of this morning.

      Lucy Alexander. Mr. Pinkman.

      A little girl. A middle-school principal.

      The victims didn’t seem to have much in common except that they had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Charlie had to guess, she would assume that Kelly Wilson’s plan was to stand in the middle of the hall, revolver out in front of her, and wait for the bell to ring.

      Then little Lucy Alexander rounded the corner.

       Pop.

      Then Mr. Pinkman rushed out of his office.

       Pop-pop-pop.

      Then the bell had rung and, but for some quick-thinking staff, a sea of fresh victims would have rushed down that same hallway.

      Goth. Loner. Held back a grade.

      Kelly Wilson was the exact type of girl who got bullied. Alone at the lunch table, last to get picked during gym, attending the school dance with a boy who only wanted one thing.

      Why had Kelly picked up a gun when Charlie hadn’t?

      Lenore said, “At least drink that Coke in the cooler. It’ll help with the shock.”

      “I’m not in shock.”

      “I bet you think your nose isn’t broken, either.”

      “Actually, I do think it’s broken.” Lenore’s persistent mentions of Charlie’s health finally made Charlie aware that her health wasn’t that great. Her head was in a vise. Her nose had its own heartbeat. Her eyelids felt like they were weighed down with honey. She gave in for a few seconds, letting them close, welcoming the blankness.

      Over the hum of the engine, she could hear Lenore’s feet working the pedals as she shifted gears. She always drove barefooted