Page 36 of I Know She Was There

“Only one reason,” she said instantly, as if she’d been expecting my question. “Whoever killed the woman you saw in that neighborhood wants to discover what you know about it.”

I reflexively hit my brake, in the middle of the street, shooting us both forward. Again. “You think?”

“Good God, girl, remind me not to speak when you’re driving,” Mary griped, rubbing the skin between her clavicle and the seat belt. “You need all your faculties to focus on the task at hand.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Hmph,” she said, refusing to say another word until we hit the main street in the downtown area, where she directed me to a parking spot.

After we stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a florist shop, she finally said, “I think it’s true, you know. Someone was in your house looking for tangible evidence linking you to that bleeding woman you saw. Did you take anything from her house that night?”

I looked at Mary as if seeing her for the first time. “You sound like a cop. Do you have a background in law enforcement?” I realized as I asked that I had no idea what Mary had done for a living in the years before we’d met.

“No, but I was an insurance adjuster back in the seventies. The stories I could tell you about people. The bonkers stuff folks do to cash in on claims.”

“Really?” Thinking about the nail fragment, I hoped I’d distracted Mary from her question. I hadn’t taken anything from the Pine Hill housethat night.

“You bet, especially down by the city, where we lived before moving to the Capital District. Everyone’s nuts down there. Too many people, living too close together. Makes you stir crazy.”

We dipped into a card store. It wasn’t crowded yet; the woman behind the counter merely nodded when we walked in, a look on her face like she’d just had an unexpected sip of Mary’s specialty coffee. I urged my neighbor out the door after one pass around the card racks and followed her into a pharmacy across the street.

I perused the shelves while Mary stood in line for her prescriptions. As I neared the front of the store, I heard the two teen girls behind the counter gossiping, but an oversized endcap filled with beachballs prevented me from seeing them.

“Did you notice those two women who just came in...?” A hushed voice. I looked around, seeing only one other patron, a man at the other end of the aisle. “One of them’s crazy.”

“Which one?” asked the second voice.

“The one who...” The first voice lowered. I stepped closer to the front counter, as far as I could get without being seen. “She’s a murderer. Can’t believe she’s allowed to walk around in public after what she’s done.”

Thoughts swirled in my head, making me slightly dizzy. So, Mary had been truthful when she’d told me about her part in her husband’s death. And it appeared to be common knowledge among the townsfolk. But that didn’t give them the right to gossip about her. How dare they disparage someone without knowing the whole story. Mary had issues, of course she did, but who among us was perfect? If she wasn’t behind bars, it was because someone wiser than two wretched teens had decided she didn’t belong there.

I stepped past the ball-laden endcap, into the space in front of the counter, and stared down the girls, who stopped talking as soon as they saw me.

“Well, that about does it for me,” came Mary’s voice from behind me. “Got my scripts filled, so we can...”

“Go,” I finished, noticing the girls each looking at the floor, as if something engrossing was happening at their feet. “There’s clearly no reason to stay.”

As we walked back to my car in the escalating morning heat, Mary asked what I’d meant by my odd remark in the pharmacy.

I sighed. “Nothing, really. I overheard gossiping. God, I’m glad I’m new here. There seems to be nothing quite like having a history in a small town.”

“True,” Mary agreed. “People in a town like this remember everything. They’ll dredge up history just to have current events to talk about.” She cackled, finding her own joke amusing.

She babbled on as we crossed the blanched sidewalk and slid into the scorching interior of my Honda, not needing, it seemed, any contribution from me, but we drove home in silence. Mary must have thought I was concentrating on improving my driving while I was really seething. The shopkeepers had been unfriendly and downright rude. I was glad I got all my prescriptions refilled through the mail.

I rounded the bend and pulled onto our street, slowing when I realized someone else was standing on my doorstep. I rolled my eyes. Tasha Turner was back.

CHAPTER18

FRIDAY NOON, SEPTEMBER 8

Tasha took a sip of the steaming mint tea I grudgingly made her, looking dainty and comfortable in the oppressive heat of my kitchen. I reached across the counter and turned on a tabletop fan, wondering how she could, quite literally, keep her cool in the tinderbox that was my house. And even drink a hot beverage!

“Why are you here on a Friday?” I asked, crossing to my fridge and pulling out a pitcher of water. I realized I didn’t sound particularly friendly.

She placed the mug gently on the table, as though not wanting to risk a drop of it spilling. “I’m out in the field today. My client, Olivia, lives a couple miles from here, so I figured I’d swing by you during my lunch hour.”

“That was nice of you,” I said. And it was. Tasha and I might have had different ideas about parenting, but she consistently carved out time to see me. Whatever her hectic, child-filled schedule would allow.

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