She walked along the concrete walkway that fronted the trailers, thinking it was strange that Charlotte had been slotted back behind the school. Surely she had enough seniority to warrant a real classroom inside the building. Then again, the woman was lucky to have her job. Judging from the letters Lena had found, Hank had been Charlotte 's AA sponsor. Up until a year ago, it'd taken the woman a swig of gin just to get out of bed.

'Do you want to go see the principal?' a teacher's voice bellowed from an open door, and Lena cringed, remembering the many times teachers had asked her the same thing. Not that it was a question; if you got them mad enough to ask, you were pretty much going to the office anyway.

The trailer at the very end was Charlotte 's, and it looked to be the worst of the lot. The bottom stair had rotted through and someone had placed cinder blocks on the ground to make up the step. The door was open, a screen door hanging crookedly from the jamb. Inside, Lena could see two long rows of desks facing the back of the trailer where Charlotte was bent over a stack of papers. No one else in the classroom.

Lena stood outside the door, watching Charlotte grade papers. Now that she was here, she did not know what to say to the woman. Lena felt as if she'd somehow violated Charlotte by reading her letters. Maybe she had. Charlotte 's words were deeply personal, meant only for Hank. If the shoe were on the other foot, if Charlotte had read Lena's personal letters, Lena would have been furious.

Still, it was clear now that Charlotte knew more about Hank than she'd let on in the library. The two had obviously shared a deep friendship. God knew the woman could keep a secret. Lena was used to getting people to blab their darkest deeds, whether it was stealing a car or murdering a spouse. She had to think of this as an interview for a case rather than something that affected her personally. Jeffrey's words echoed in her ears: Make the suspect comfortable, make some small talk, then make her tell the truth.

Lena knocked on the screen door once before she realized it wasn't attached to anything. It started to fall to the side and she caught it, a shard of wood piercing the fleshy part of her palm.

'Shit,' she hissed, letting the screen hit the ground.

'Splinter?' Charlotte asked. She had managed to cross the trailer while Lena wrestled with the door.

Lena sucked at her hand, nodding.

'Come on in,' Charlotte offered. If she was surprised to see Lena, she didn't say so.

'Why do they have you stuck out here?' Lena asked, walking inside. Bright posters decorated the walls and the room was clean and orderly, but there was no hiding the fact that it was little more than a tin box baking in the sun. The floor was springy under her feet and someone had used a bright silver tape to try to seal up the single-paned windows.

Charlotte pulled the door to and turned on the air-conditioning unit hanging on the wall. She had to raise her voice over the hum of the machine when she offered, 'You want me to look at your hand?'

Lena sat on the edge of Charlotte 's desk and held out her hand.

'Not too bad,' Charlotte appraised, squinting at the splinter. She was more relaxed in the classroom than she'd been in the library. She seemed like an adult here, as if she were in her element. 'I can get that out with a needle if you-'

Lena jerked her hand back. 'No, thanks. It'll work itself out.'

Charlotte smiled, sitting in one of the student desks. 'Still scared of needles?'

'Still scared of clowns?'

Charlotte laughed as if she'd forgotten her childhood terror. 'You can get used to a lot of things.'

Except having sex with your husband, Lena thought. She looked around the trailer, saw the water stains on the ceiling and felt the breeze from the poorly insulated windows. 'Who'd you piss off?'

'Sue Kurylowicz.' When Lena didn't react, she explained, 'You'd remember her as Sue Swallows.'

'Swallowin' Sue who used to blow guys behind the Stop 'n' Save?'

Charlotte laughed again; another thing she had forgotten. 'Sue's the assistant principal now.'

'Jesus Christ, no wonder this place is a sty.'

'That's not Sue's fault,' Charlotte defended. She indicated the room, the school. 'You can't put pearls on a pig.'

'She sure did blow plenty of 'em, though.' Lena shook her head. 'I can't believe she's your boss. God, that must suck.'

'Oh, she's not that bad,' Charlotte murmured, smoothing down her skirt with the palm of her hand. She was more like the Charlotte from the library now: quiet, subdued. 'I know it doesn't look that way, but Sue's been a really good friend to me these last few years.'

'Like Sibyl?'

She pressed her lips together. 'No. Nothing like Sibyl'

Lena had caught the flash of fear in the other woman's eyes, and some of her resolve wavered. The desire to tread softly was new to her, but she tried to go with it, asking, 'When did the bar close down?'

'I think it was two weeks ago,' Charlotte answered. 'I read about it in the paper. The bartender was selling meth along with shots, apparently.'

'Deacon?' Lena asked, shaking her head as she said the name. Deacon Simms had worked for Hank going on thirty years now. He had a felony record and a surly attitude, which made him perfect for the bar but virtually unemployable anywhere else. Hank loved him like a brother.

Charlotte told her, 'Deacon left a while back. This was some new guy.'

Hank hadn't told her that Deacon was gone, but then he hadn't told Lena a lot of things. She knew the bartender had a temper – he was always clashing with Hank – but over the years, Deacon had thrown up his hands a million times and sworn he was never coming back. The longest he'd ever managed to stay away was for three days. He'd run into Hank at one of their AA meetings and all was forgiven.

Lena wondered if Charlotte had seen Deacon at any A A meetings. Of course, if Charlotte was anything like Hank, she wouldn't have told anyone if she'd seen the Pope himself there, munching on free cookies and drinking coffee. Still, she tried, 'Do you know where Deacon went?'

'I haven't seen him around.'

'There was this guy,' Lena began. 'I saw him outside Hank's house. He had a swastika tattooed on his arm.'

'In plain sight?' Charlotte looked outraged. 'That's disgusting. Who was it?'

'I was hoping you could tell me,' Lena admitted. The guy was going to be harder to find than she'd thought. Lena was getting close to the point where, short of driving aimlessly around town looking for the thug, she was going to have to get some help. She just had to figure out how to ask Jeffrey for assistance without implicating Hank. It wasn't like Lena could call up her boss and ask him to help her track down her uncle's dealer.

'I'm sorry I can't help you,' Charlotte said softly.

Lena shrugged off the apology. 'Why do you think Hank's using again?'

'Who knows?' she answered, picking at an invisible spot on her skirt. 'Maybe he's just tired of feeling things.'

She sounded like someone who knew what she was talking about. And, of course, Lena knew the truth behind her words. 'I found your letters.'

Charlotte laughed again, but this time there was no joy in the sound. She looked at her hands, then the floor – anything but Lena. 'I suppose you read them?'

'I wish I hadn't,' Lena admitted.

Charlotte let out a slow stream of air between her lips. 'There were so many things I said in those letters. Things I've never told anyone.'

'You tried to kill yourself.'

She nodded and shrugged at the same time.

'Why?' Lena asked. 'If you're so miserable here-'

'What, just leave?'

'Yeah.'

'It's so easy for you,' Charlotte began. 'You don't have kids or a house you worked on making a home or a husband who loves you so much he's willing to give up everything or…' She stopped herself, reining in her emotions. 'I love my husband. I really, really do. I can't tell you what my life would be without Larry. He's stood by me through all this crap I've dragged my family through. Even when I…' Her voice trailed off. 'When I took those pills, he was there. He's the one who called the ambulance. He was the first one I saw when I woke up in the hospital. He took a leave of absence from work even though it cost him a promotion. He cleaned the house and fed the kids and did the shopping and at night he worked part-time at the God-awful motel so we could afford for me to keep seeing the therapist. He did everything while I laid up in bed feeling sorry for myself.'