Twenty minutes later Chase pulls up at Caroline Johnson’s house. We don’t have time to park far away like T.J. and I did when we searched the barn and Coach’s office, so Chase cruises behind the house and parks around back.
As we make our way to the front porch, I’m still fuming. “Jeremy never liked that woman. And he’s an excellent judge of character.”
“So you’ve said. On numerous occasions.” Chase tries the front doorknob. “Locked. I think we should leave, Hope.”
“So you’ve said on numerous occasions.”
He doesn’t smile.
“Please, Chase? Maybe there’s a key hidden around here.” I check under a pot sitting on the front porch, under the planters along the sidewalks, and all around the porch swing. Chase doesn’t help. He’s definitely getting restless. I don’t know how much longer I can keep him here.
“Let’s try the other door,” I suggest. I jog to the back of the house. The screen door is locked too. Chase comes up behind me. I rattle the screen. “Can’t we yank it open? Or cut the screen?”
“Not unless you want to end up in jail.” He steps in front of me and takes his car keys out of his pocket. “Here. It’s just a fall latch.”
I watch while he jimmies the latch and pulls open the door in one smooth move. “Where did you learn to do that?”
His mouth twists like somebody snapped a rubber band over his lips. Then he says, “I told you I ran with the wrong crowd in Boston. Enough said?” He says this like he’s mad at me.
“Enough said.” I shove in front of him and try the doorknob. It turns. I push the door until I can squeeze through. A strong odor hangs in the air-a mix of bacon grease, burned cookies, and sickness. Or maybe death. I don’t move from the doorway.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Chase asks, making it clear he doesn’t.
I turn and face him. It’s dark inside the house. Outside, the sun has stopped shining for the day. “I have to, for Jeremy. But you don’t. You could wait in the car.”
He sighs. “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”
“One of those checks to Rita maybe? A divorce paper? Or a journal, where Coach’s wife tells how she did it? Or a copy of a contract she gave to a contract killer?” I smile up at him, willing him to smile back.
He doesn’t. But with one finger, he pushes back a strand of my hair that’s sprung loose. “Well, we better hurry. They could bring her home any minute.”
I squeeze his arm and hope that he can read how grateful I am that he’s staying with me.
I’m afraid to turn on lights. Chase opens the back door wider so the remaining light of dusk sneaks in with us. I’ve never been inside this house before. The floor creaks with every step. The air is too moist, like in our house.
After a second, my eyes adjust to the shades of gray, and details sharpen, coming into focus as if I’m turning the lens of an expensive camera. I try to take it in: white lace on end tables that flank a light green sofa, doilies under lamps and vases, lacy curtains. The whole house is frilly. You’d think two old women lived here. On the walls and on the hall table are pictures of Caroline with her horses. Over the couch hangs a giant painting of a little girl holding the reins of a pony in one hand and a blue ribbon in the other. The kid has to be Caroline.
I bump into a table and hear something wobble. There are breakables all over this place. No wonder they never had kids. Children wouldn’t last two minutes in this house. “Chase?” I whisper. My heart thumps because I can’t see him.
“In the kitchen,” he calls out in a normal voice. Why not? If anybody’s here, they’ve already heard us.
I stumble over a recliner with the footrest still up, then make it to the kitchen. “Find anything?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think she’s bedfast like she claims. She’d have to get around pretty well to keep some of this stuff on top shelves.”
“She probably has a housekeeper.”
“True. How about you? Anything?”
“Way too many pictures of Caroline.” I open a cupboard by the fridge. I try to imagine how the murder might have taken place. “She pretends she can’t get out of that wheelchair, but she can. So maybe she got up early that morning. She could have had a blowout argument with her husband-about money, or about those checks to Rita, or a million other things married people argue over. She makes her way to the barn. Jeremy’s bat was there, so she grabbed it.” I’m picturing the whole thing: Caroline in a cotton nightgown, pink flowers and white lace. She’s screaming at her husband. She sees the bat, lunges for it, and-
“Hope, we have to finish up and get out of here.”
Chase is right. I need evidence. “I’ll take the den we passed when we came in. You take the bedroom. Check the bottoms of her shoes!” I cross back through the living room to the den, or study.
Before I reach the desk, Chase cries, “They’re back!”
I hear gravel crunch in the driveway. The sound of a car engine is drowned out by brakes. The engine cuts off.
“Great,” Chase mutters.
Please! I’m not sure if it’s a prayer or a wish. I grab Chase’s hand and pull him to the back door.
“What are you doing?” He tries to tug his hand away, but I hold on.
“Quiet!” I stumble and bump into the couch. It hurts my hip, but I keep going until we’re outside. I shut the door, then the screen. Reaching up, I straighten a lock of Chase’s hair, then smooth my own. “Let me do the talking.”
“Why? Hope, what-?”
I shush him and wait.
A car door slams. And another.
Part of me wants to run and hide. But Chase’s car sits six feet away in plain sight. I hear their footsteps on the front porch. A blend of voices. The front door being unlocked. Opened. They’re inside.
I haven’t let go of Chase’s hand. With another wordless prayer, the kind I may have inherited from Jeremy, I reach up and knock on the screen door, hard.
“Hope?” Chase whispers.
I ignore him and keep banging on the door, my heart thudding against my chest with every knock. “Hello? Anybody home?” I open the screen and bang even harder on the door, shouting, “Yoo-hoo! Mrs. Johnson?”
I hear footsteps storm through the house toward us. The back door opens, and Sheriff Wells frowns down at us. “What in blue Hades are you two doing here?”
Chase opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “Sheriff Wells? I was starting to think nobody was home.”
He ignores me. “Answer me, Chase! What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be mad, Dad. We just-”
“We just wanted to ask Mrs. Johnson a couple of questions.” Somehow, my voice is strong, friendly even.
“You what?” Sheriff Wells shouts. He glances back over his shoulder, then lowers his voice. “I can’t believe you’re this stupid.”
Chase flinches.
“We didn’t mean to cause anybody trouble,” I say reasonably. “It’s just that Mrs. Johnson said some things in court today that hurt Jeremy, and I thought if I could just talk to her for a minute-”
Sheriff Wells glares at me. “You want to ask her questions? Hasn’t your family done enough?”
“Dad!” Chase steps in front of me, like he thinks his dad might come after me. I wouldn’t be surprised. He looks mad enough to spit nails.
The sheriff takes a deep breath, sucking in anger through his teeth. “Look, miss, I have nothing against you. But you better leave this poor woman alone.”
“Poor woman?” I’d like to tell him what I really think about this poor woman.
He turns to me, and if looks could kill, the sheriff would be on trial for murder. “I just came from the doctor with her. Mrs. Johnson isn’t expected to live out the year. So you can tell your brother’s lawyer that she won’t be around long enough to collect that insurance money, much less spend it.”
In spite of everything, and even though I don’t want to, I feel sad for her. I wonder how long she’s known.
The sheriff straight-arms Chase in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. Then he turns to me. His bushy eyebrows meet above his nose, and his upper lip curls to show teeth. “You kids leave it alone, you hear? Leave it alone! ”
“We hear, Dad,” Chase says. He takes my hand and tugs me toward the car.
I let him. I let him because suddenly cold fear is slicing through me like sharp knives.
We drive a long way in silence, leaving the barn and the Johnson house behind us. A couple of times, I glance over at Chase, but it’s like he doesn’t even know I’m in the car with him. That’s how far away he seems. His forehead is wrinkled, and every now and then he rolls his lips over his teeth and makes a weird noise, almost like he’s fighting himself. I’d give a lot to know what’s going on inside his head, but I’m afraid to ask.
Finally, Chase speaks without looking at me. “My dad’s right, you know.”
“Right about what?”
“She didn’t do it.”
“Mrs. Johnson? Of course she did it! We just didn’t have time to-”
But he’s shaking his head and won’t let me finish. “To what? Find some kind of smoking gun? The police already have the weapon. And that woman, no matter how nasty she is to your brother, didn’t kill anybody. She’s dying, Hope. You heard what they said.”
“Maybe she’s not dying. Maybe she paid the doctor to-”
“Don’t even go there. This isn’t some big conspiracy, with the doctors and my dad and Mrs. Johnson all in on it together.”
“I didn’t say it was. But she’s the one with a motive-the only one with a motive.”
“The only one? How about Rita? Or Bob? Or T.J.?”
I don’t know why he’s so angry. “I can’t believe any of them would have killed Coach and let Jeremy be blamed for it.”
“Fine. If you can’t believe it, then I guess it isn’t true.” His sarcasm stings. “So get Jeremy’s attorney to use Mrs. Johnson for reasonable doubt, but I’m telling you nobody’s going to believe she did it for the insurance money. Why would she? You heard my dad. She won’t be around to spend any of it. And all you’re doing is ruining the little time she has left. But don’t listen to me. You won’t listen to anybody anyway.”
My throat burns. I don’t know what I did to make him so angry, why he’s changed on me all of a sudden. “Why are you doing this?” My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed sand.
“Enough is enough, Hope. Dad’s right. We’ve done enough.”
“I haven’t done enough until I get Jeremy out of prison!”
“Don’t shout at me.”
I hadn’t realized I was shouting. I take a deep breath. I hate this. We’ve been so close, so together in everything. “Chase, what is it? Is it your dad? Are you afraid of what he’ll do when you both get home?”
“Yeah, I am.” He glares over at me, and for a second he doesn’t look like Chase. His green eyes are black. He has his father’s mouth. “He’s really mad, Hope. And maybe he’s got good reason. I don’t know what he’ll do this time. Just be glad you don’t have to go home to him.”
“Right. Because I have it so much better going home to Rita.”
“You don’t understand how good you’ve got it having a mother who doesn’t care, instead of too many parents who care too much.”
That hurts. I know Rita doesn’t care, but it stings to hear Chase say it. I sting back. “Fine. I didn’t realize you were so scared of Sheriff Daddy. Just take me home.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
We don’t speak until he pulls up in front of my house. I pop the seat belt before he comes to a stop. I’m so mad that I’m fighting tears. “Thanks for the ride,” I mutter.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I won’t. Don’t worry.” I slam the door and stomp up the sidewalk.
Then I wheel around. “I was doing all right taking care of Jeremy on my own. I don’t need you, or T.J., or anybody else to help me now! It’s always been just me and Jeremy. I should have known better than to-” A lump fills my throat and blocks the words. So I turn and run into the house, slamming the door behind me.
Once inside, I can’t stop shaking. I collapse to the floor and cover my head with my hands, letting my hair make a tent around my face, shutting me off from everything and everyone.