Everything You Want Me to Be(78)

“Thought you said you ended the relationship.”

“I did. I mean, I tried—”

“You lie to me one more time and I will have your balls. Do you understand me?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and his voice was like shards of gravel. I nodded.

“Good. What time did you get to the barn?”

“After ten. I dropped my car off at the farm and walked over. Maybe closer to ten thirty.”

“And then?”

I laid my hands deliberately on the table and tried to gather my thoughts. “She wanted to give me my money back, she said. When I got there, though, I found out she’d already spent it. I didn’t know that until after . . .”

“After you had sex with her?”

I had a sudden moment of clarity, a premonition of how this interview was going to proceed, and saw exactly how guilty it would make me look. Hattie had told me about the money. She told me and then she threatened me.

“I want a lawyer.”



The sheriff didn’t seem surprised by my request to invoke my Miranda rights. He’d switched off the recording equipment and tossed me in the cell with hardly a word. While I waited for the county defender to show up, the deputy led Mary back into the holding area.

“You’ve got ten minutes. Don’t touch the bars. Don’t try to hand him anything. I’ll be watching.” The deputy nodded to the security camera and set a chair down for her before leaving again. Mary rested a hand lightly on her stomach. She must have played the pregnancy card.

She sat down and glanced around the room, her eyes flitting everywhere except to me. Eventually they settled on the security camera and she stared intently at its red blinking eye.

“I told Mom I was going to the grocery store,” she said to the camera.

“Mary.”

“She asked for peaches. She’s been wanting peaches all week and they’re eight months out of season. It doesn’t matter, though.” Her head dropped. “She won’t remember that she asked for them by the time I get home.”

I swallowed. The weight of Mary’s life smothered the already oppressive room. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m in here?”

“They told me.” She said it to her lap, while her hand made small, deliberate circles on her abdomen. “They said you were here for lying. It’s nice to know that lying is a crime, at least sometimes.”

“They think I killed her.” I tried to talk low, casting a glance toward the door and then the camera. They were probably listening to every word.

“Because you were sleeping with her.”

Shock jolted through me. There was no change in her tone or expression, no indication that she had any feelings one way or the other about the matter, except for the fact that she finally lifted her head and pinned me with her clear, passive gaze.

“They must know that by now,” she added, waiting for my reply.

I had no idea how to respond. I’m sorry came to mind, but it was ludicrous, unimaginable. Apologies were for spilled drinks and bumps in the hallway; they were the courtesies of people whose lives progressed along predictable, uncomplicated arcs. I’m sorry had no place between us anymore.

“How did you find out?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she got up and went to the door, peeking through its lead-glass window. After a moment, she came back to the bars and stood opposite me.

“I never imagined I’d raise the child of a murderer.”

“I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill Hattie. Christ, I couldn’t even kill a chicken.”

She ignored me and spoke again in that eerie, passive voice.

“I don’t know why I brought the knife.”

The words were so soft I almost didn’t hear them. Then I was sure I heard wrong. The blood in my head started pounding and I lurched forward. She automatically stepped back, turning away.

“What did you say? Mary, look at me.”

She wouldn’t. Her profile was stark, emotionless except for her concentration on the memory.

“I heard you drive up on Friday. I was in the barn, cleaning the knives. Always maintain your tools, Dad used to say. Clean them and put them away. I looked out and saw you walking away from the house. I followed you. I didn’t realize I was still holding the knife I’d been sharpening until we were crossing the Erickson woods. By then I’d figured out where you were going. And when I got there, I saw why.”

A dread too awful to name filled my chest. It was worse than when I’d first heard a body was discovered in the barn, worse than when Hattie hadn’t shown up to Saturday’s performance and I was seized with the knowledge of her death, worse even than when I thought Tommy had murdered her. Good God, it was Mary? The horror curdled in my stomach and broke over my skin in a clammy sweat.

“Mary . . .” I choked on her name. “What did you do?”

She looked back at me and there were angry tears in her eyes now, but not a drop fell.

“I saw you with her, Peter. I saw how she looked at you like you were hers.” The anger flashed and smoldered. Her hand pressed tight on her stomach. “How could you do it? After I’d worked so hard to build something here. Did you think you could hide it? That I wouldn’t find out in my own hometown?”