Page 22 of My Girl
A flash of happiness blooms inside of me. Murder,notmurder-suicide. The young woman narrows her eyes at me, as if ready to interviewmeinstead of the other way around.
“You must be Penny, then,” I say, extending my hand.
She shakes it firmly. “I know all of our local crime history. It’s my passion.” A nervous laugh chortles out of me. Penny wrinkles her nose. “My dad works for the sheriff. Sometimes he even spills confidential details.”
“Ah,” I say. Another piece of evidence that law enforcement cannot be trusted. “So criminal justice is in your blood?”
Mrs. Line chirps in: “Your father is a good man.”
“Please don’t tell my dad I’m here, Mrs. Line,” Penny says quietly. “He doesn’t want me to go into criminal justice. He wants me to let it go.”
Those words ring close to home. My mother wants me to let go of the Hall case too.
“I was about to interview Mrs. Line,” I say.
“Go ahead,” Penny says.
The recording app blinks red, the duration numbers increasing at the bottom. I turn to Mrs. Line.
“Ned said you knew Michael Hall?” I ask.
“Good man,” Mrs. Line says. “A very good man. He always helped me carry my groceries to my car.”
My throat tightens. Penny chimes in with questions. I nod, pretending to believe every word Mrs. Line says. My mind goes blank. When I focus back on their words, Mrs. Line is lecturing us on the increased cost of groceries.
“So when it comes to Michael Hall”—I interrupt—“did you suspect that he was capable of murder?”
Mrs. Line crosses her arms over her chest, then sits up straight. “Well, I suppose anyone is capable of murder. But no, sweetheart. I never suspected a good man like Michael would kill his wife.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe.”
I can agree with that.
Like a nervous tick, Mrs. Line goes back to discussing inflation as Penny fights her to stay on topic. My brain drifts again. Mrs. Line is in her eighties. Back then, she still would’ve been an older woman. How can a murderous man help an old lady to her car? How can someone like that blend in so well?
That’s a stupid question though. Everyone blends in, even serial killers. It’s just another mask.
“Do you think the police are correct that it was murder-suicide?” I ask.
Penny raises a brow at me. Mrs. Line pulls at her sweater’s collar.
“Of course! You know, the sheriff is a good man,” Mrs. Line says quickly, her attention focused on Penny. “In fact, he was on the force right around that time. A young deputy, of course, but he could help your radio show. Why don’t you interview him?”
My mind flashes with different pictures from the old news articles, searching for the law enforcement in the background. It’s odd to think that the current sheriff worked on the Michael Hall case back then, but it makes sense. He may have even helped cover up the truth.
Ned said his brother works for the sheriff. What if his brother is hiding Ned’s involvement in the case?
A lightness flutters in my chest. Whether or not Ned is guilty, I can still ask his brother for help in the investigation.
“We’ll be in touch,” Penny says, shaking Mrs. Line’s hand. I startle, not realizing the interview had already ended. I shake Mrs. Line’s hand too, then turn to Penny.
“Can I talk to you for a few minutes?” I ask.
Penny looks down at her phone. “I’ve got to leave for college soon. Make it quick.”
“How much do you know about the Hall murder-suicide?” I ask.
“You mean themurders?” she corrects. My chest swells in excitement all over again. She gets it then; there was no mistaking her word choice earlier. “They say it was murder-suicide, but there was no definitive proof, especially with the type of drugs in Michael Hall’s system. There was a gunshot wound to his head, and the gun had his fingerprints, but if he wasthatdrugged, he wouldn’t have been able to lift a gun, let alone shoot himself. He would have been paralyzed.” Her head bobs with fervor. “Someone shot him. I’m certain of it.”
My heart pangs. Penny’s blue eyes—so much like Ned’s—blaze with anger, as if she’s tired of no one believing her. I can relate to that.
