Page 96 of Death on Riddle Road
“It’s not a weed.Clara, will you take pictures of it in place?”
She did, using her phone, while also saying, “But if it’s not a weed—Teague wouldn’t want you to disturb it if it might be evidence.”
She truly was worried to use Teague to try to stop me.
“Can’t be sure it’s evidence unless I look at it.Besides, it could blow away or disintegrate if it snows again.We have to preserve it.”I stretched again.
“I’m more worried about preserving you and—No, Sheila.No.”
“As you said, it’s not a cliff to throw yourself off.”
I slid my right foot down the slope and leaned farther over that leg.
“Donottest that theory, Sheila.If you fall...”
“Almost...have...it.”
Caught between the tips of my gloves, I secured a slip of grubby white paper that had been caught by the outstretched arms of the garlic mustard rosette.
Carefully, I pulled it closer.
Some fading from the snow, but still readable.
Robbie’s sudden switch in mood outside his father’s room.His near-flight from the hospice center, not waiting for Mamie.His side-trip home.His silence and speed as he came here, then tore up the path as if possessed.
I felt my gaze — and my mind — going unfocused.
Words we’d spoken about one person shifting to another...
My perspective shifted and it felt like when you shake a box that’s jammed and suddenly everything sorts out, the logjam’s gone.It all fits.
You see, really see, the crone and the girl in the big hat and more...all together.
The puzzle comes together.
Maybe.
I needed to think this through to be sure.
Robbie didn’t want to leave this at home, where the authorities could find it.Mamie not leaving him alone limited his options.He neither risked throwing it out and having her describe what he’d done, nor involved her by getting her to swear to secrecy, which she probably would have.
He got credit for that.
He also got credit for some decent thinking.
Not many passersby up here in the winter.In another month the earliest spring growth would likely cover it.And that’s if it didn’t deteriorate by then.
He just hadn’t counted on it catching on a garlic mustard weed.
“What is it?”Clara asked in a hushed voice.
“Garlic mustard weed.”
“Not the plant,” she said with asperity and regular volume.“I know that.What’s the piece of paper?”
“It’s a label from a prescription bottle.A prescription for Dova Dorrio from last year.”
“Last year?From when she had her accident?Oh...Oh,no.You think this meansRobbiekilled his father?Sheila, is that what you think?”
