“Yes. You remember this? We’re going to use it to tell me what you’re trying to say, okay?” An idea occurs to me. “Do you think you could point to the letters?” I lay the paper on her lap and place her hand on it gently, waiting.

She glares at me, and I swear she almost looks annoyed.

“Okay, okay.” I take the paper back and slowly move my finger across each letter. “Tap when I get to something. Oh, actually, wait!” I stand and cross the room again, searching for the notebook I just saw in the drawer with the laminated page. I tear out a piece of paper and pull the pencil from its rings before returning to the bed.

Slowly, I run my fingers across the letters, waiting and watching Mom closely. Just when I’m beginning to worry she’s losing the movement, she taps her finger.

T

I write it down on the paper. “Good job, Momma. T. Okay. T what?” I start back at the beginning of the alphabet. This time, when I land on E, she taps her finger. “Okay, T-E.” Again and again we go as I spell out the words she’s trying so desperately to tell me.

T

E

L

L

W

I

L

L

S

H

E

K

N

E

W

When I have that part figured out, I read it again. “She knew? Knew what?” I run my fingers across the letters, but she doesn’t tap her finger a single time. Slowly, I do it again. “Come on, Momma. What did Britney know?”

If she’s tired, she shows no signs of it. Her eyes are still open and watching me, but she’s refusing to tap. That’s the whole message. I spin the paper back around, rereading the note.

“But this makes no sense. What did she know?”

She stares at me.

“Did someone hurt Britney?”

Still, nothing.

“Fine. Something else, then. Um, oh! Do you know who wrote the note I showed you the other day? The one that said, ‘Murderer?’ Do you remember what I’m talking about?”

Blink. Blink.Yes.

“You do? Do you know who wrote it?”