Cold Wind - C. J. Box [40]
“Neither Dulcie nor McLanahan would tell me,” Joe said. “But it’s got to come out soon. They can’t withhold the evidence from discovery. Hand will insist on them turning everything over sooner rather than later, especially since they seem to be rushing to press charges. Dulcie seemed pretty confident, and that makes me think. The rumor in the county building is the charges have been written up to be filed, including murder one, and the arraignment will be tomorrow in front of Judge Hewitt.”
Marybeth sat down and rested her chin in her hands. “It makes me think, too. And it makes me worry. From what you’ve told me, it appears Missy has been framed by someone who wanted Earl dead—or wanted to hurt her in the worst possible way. If she did it, would she keep the rifle in her car? Why would she even use that particular gun, since it was so easy to prove it came from Earl’s collection? Somebody stole it, shot Earl, and put it in her car for the sheriff to find.”
Joe nodded, urging her to continue.
Marybeth said, “My mother doesn’t know anything about guns, I don’t think. Are they suggesting she actually fired the shot? Are they thinking she carried The Earl’s body up a frigging wind tower and hung him by a chain? It’s ridiculous.”
Joe didn’t comment on his wife’s use of the word “frigging,” but took it to mean it was now an acceptable word in the household.
“No one’s saying that,” he said. “I think they’re assuming she hired a killer or had an accomplice to do the dirty work.”
“Who?” Marybeth asked sharply. “And most of all, why? My mother now has everything she’s ever schemed for. Why would she blow it like that? It doesn’t make any sense, Joe. It doesn’t make any sense that the sheriff and Dulcie could be so sure what they’re saying will hold up.”
Joe agreed.
“My mother is a lot of things,” she said. “But she’s not a murderer, for God’s sake.”
“Yes,” Joe said. “She’s a lot of things.”
“Joe.”
He got very interested in eating his plate of spaghetti and wanted to change the subject.
“It’s quiet in here,” he said. “What’s going on?” Meaning: How is April?
“She’s in her room in a huge snit since I took away her cell phone and told her she could use the computer only to do her homework. She acts like if she can’t text her friends it’s the same thing as being put into solitary confinement. Like we’ve cut her off from the rest of the world.”
He nodded.
“Lucy is trying out for a school play,” Marybeth said. “She said one of her friend’s moms would bring her home.”
“Do either of them know?”
“About Missy?”
“Yes.”
Marybeth sighed and shook her head. “I haven’t told either one. I was thinking we would have to do it tonight.”
Joe said, “We?”
“We. Coming up with the right words, though . . . that will be tough.”
“What about Sheridan?”
Marybeth said she’d sent her a text and asked her to call home as soon as she got a chance, but Sheridan had responded with a text of her own saying, “I know, Mom. Everybody knows. Did she do it?”
“And you told her what?” Joe asked.
Marybeth glared at him. “I told her it was all a big mistake.”
Lucy and April sat side by side on the living room couch. April smoldered with her arms crossed in front of her and her chin down, upturned eyes like daggers. Joe was distracted by Lucy. She hadn’t removed the makeup from the tryouts, and she looked strikingly mature and beautiful. It was as if she’d turned from a girl into a woman in a single night, and he didn’t welcome it because he was sure he wasn’t the only one to notice the transformation. Looking at her, he envisioned long nights ahead of sitting on his front porch with his shotgun across his knees, keeping high-school boys at bay. He was happy they’d moved so far out of town.
He wondered how they’d take the news. April had never been