Fox River. Emilie Richards
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something’s wrong, we’ll know soon enough,” Jake said. “Bad news travels fast.”
“How come?” Callie wiggled in the chair beside her mother and bumped Julia’s arm. “Mrs. Quinn told us about the way sound travels in science class. How does sound know if news is good or bad?”
“It’s just an expression,” Julia lowered her fork and started scooping food on it again. “It means people like to tell each other bad news.”
Callie’s silverware clattered against her plate. “I know some bad news.”
“The dinner table’s probably not the best place for that,” Julia said.
“Well, it was only bad news a long time ago. A bad man lived around here and he killed a girl.”
Everyone fell silent. Julia realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to speak. “This really isn’t the right time to discuss that.”
“How come?”
Maisy rescued Julia. “Because mealtime is a time for good thoughts.”
“Are sheriff’s cars good thoughts?”
“I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Jake said. “My fault.”
“Oh.” Callie was silent a moment.
Julia tried to think of a change of subject as she struggled not to show her distress.
“Too bad,” Callie said. “’Cause I know why they’re digging.”
The child’s words fell into empty space. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a Garfield the cat clock over the sink. Julia could envision the cat’s tail swishing back and forth, back and forth.
“I think you’d like to tell us why, wouldn’t you?” Maisy said at last.
Julia set down her fork. “Maisy—”
“Because when the bad man killed somebody, he buried her jewelry!” Callie said triumphantly. “And now he’s told them where.”
Even the clock seemed to stop ticking.
“How do you know this?” Maisy said.
Julia was stunned that her mother could ask the question as if it hardly mattered. Maisy was a better actress than Julia had guessed.
“Tiffany told me,” Callie said.
“How does Tiffany know?” Julia felt for her water glass. Tiffany was Callie’s best friend. Her mother Samantha trained horses at Claymore Park.
“Tiff said her mommy and a friend were talking about it.”
“Well, now we know,” Jake said. He didn’t quite manage nonchalance.
“Tiff said the bad man’s already in prison.”
“Callie, I think it’s time we moved on to another subject.” Julia was almost desperate.
“But if he’s in prison, there’s nothing wrong, is there? He did something wrong, now he’s helping. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
Julia could feel tears welling, tears that would be much too hard to explain to her daughter. For nine years she had believed in Christian Carver’s innocence. Now his daughter was discussing his confession as offhandedly as if she was discussing a friend’s birthday party.
Callie lowered her voice. “But Tiffany says he’s going to die soon. Even though he’s helping. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”
“Enough!”
“Julia…” Maisy’s warning was clear. “Callie, this is a sad story, and really not appropriate for the table. We can talk about it after dinner, okay?”
“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Callie muttered. “Those men in Florida are mean.”
“Florida?” Maisy said.
“Maisy, we can’t tell Callie not to talk about this at the dinner table, then keep the conversation going.” Jake was firm.
Julia had lost all appetite. “Callie, are you finished eating?”
“Yes,” Callie said sullenly. “I don’t like it when everybody yells at me.”
“Nobody yelled at you except me,” Julia said. “And I’m sorry. Let’s go in the other room and finish this conversation, okay? We can let Maisy and Jake eat in peace.”
“That’s not necessary,” Maisy began.
“No, Julia’s right,” Jake said. “She and Callie can talk in the living room. When we’re done, we’ll dish up pie for everybody. Your favorite,” he told Callie. “Lemon meringue.”
“Okay?” Julia said.
“I guess.” Callie’s chair scraped the floor. “But I want a big piece.”
“You know it,” Jake said.
Julia slid her chair back and gripped the table edge. She edged herself between her chair and Callie’s before she relinquished it. Then she slid her chair back in place and turned. She allowed Callie to lead her through the doorway.
In the living room, she paused to get her bearings. “The sofa’s over there?” She pointed.
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s sit there.”
Once they were settled, Julia put her arm over her daughter’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Callie was obviously still pouting. “I was just telling you what Tiffany told me.”
Julia didn’t know exactly what to say. “I know you were. And we started the conversation, didn’t we?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Callie, the girl who died a long time ago was my best friend. Her name was Fidelity. She was Flo and Frank Sutherland’s daughter.”
“Really?” Callie sounded more fascinated than shocked.
Julia played with her daughter’s pigtail. “That’s why it’s hard for me to hear about this.”
“Oh…How come nobody ever told me?”
“Well, it’s not something I like to talk about.”
“Why did the man kill her?”
“Nobody really knows. Until now…until now he said he didn’t kill her. I guess maybe he’ll explain.”
“You knew him?”
Julia had known Christian, yes. In all the ways one person could know another. “He was a friend of mine, too. And of Fidelity’s. It’s very, very hard to accept the fact that he murdered her.”
“Tiff said he was driftwood.”
“Driftwood?”
“Something like driftwood.” She paused. “Drifter.”
Julia was confused. “No, a drifter is somebody who moves around a lot. He lived at Claymore Park.”
Callie lowered her voice. For the first time, the severity of what had happened seemed to sink in. “Tiff said he killed a lot of people. I’m glad he didn’t kill you, Mommy.”
“He didn’t kill a lot of people, honey. I don’t know what Tiff heard, but that’s not true.”
“Tiff said they’re going to put him in a chair and kill him because he killed so many people in Florida.”
Julia had a sudden vision of chasing a fox and having it go to ground. One moment the fox was in sight, body tensed, the next it simply vanished. “Florida? Callie, what did—”
The telephone