“Sure. My first crush.” Lorna turned away from the window.

“He’s married to Sarah Watts, you remember her?”

“Two years ahead of me in school, sure.”

“Yes. Well, they live out on Cannon Road in a nice little ranch house. Two kids. Michael and Fritz bought that gas station and convenience store, the one that sits right before the intersection, after their mother died. Pooled their inheritance, I suppose, and bought the business.”

“Quik Stop?” Lorna frowned, trying to recall if she’d heard that news before. “I don’t think I knew that. I’m surprised I haven’t seen Fritz or Mike there. I buy my coffee at Quik Stop every morning.”

“I heard lots of folks do, they say the coffee’s good. The boys are doing real well, from what I hear. But Fritz,” another solemn shake of the head, “he’s an odd duck.”

“In what way?”

“Well, he’s got no life. Spends most of his time in that house or working. Takes a week off here and there and takes himself on trips. Don’t know where he goes, but he leaves every other week or so.”

Sounds like me. Without the trips. Hope he goes someplace good. “I’m sure he gets bored, staying in that house alone all the time. And if he works that much, he’s probably tired and just needs to relax.”

“Yes, well, then there are the roses.”

“What roses?”

“I swear, every time I look out the window, Fritz is planting another rosebush. Says his mother loved roses, so he plants them for her.”

“Did he plant them for her when she was still alive?”

“Oh, yes. Just look at their backyard. It’s one huge rose garden.”

“I’d think you’d like that. It must be very fragrant early in the summer. And it’s got to look beautiful from your house.”

“Well, it does that. Strange, though. He’s still odd, in my book.”

“Fritz always was a little shy, Mrs. Hammond. Maybe he still is.”

“Could be. His father never had much to say either, though God knows his mother made up for that. She could talk the ears off a-”

Another rumble of thunder, louder, closer.

“I think I should go before the rain hits,” Lorna said.

“I won’t argue with you, dear. They’re predicting quite a storm.” Mrs. Hammond reached for her cane, then eased herself out of her chair. “But you’ll have to come back to see me again soon.”

“I’d love to,” Lorna said.

“Well, I’ll look forward to that.” The old woman leaned upon her cane. “Now, I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, far as Billie is concerned, and I don’t know that anything I say could sway you, one way or another, and that’s fine. We’re all entitled. I suspect you’re inclined much as your mother was, and if I told her once, I told her a hundred times, I said, ‘Mary Beth, that is not a good woman. She beat her children, she drank half of every dime she ever made,’ and like I told you, she’d say, ‘Miss Veronica, that was a long time ago. Billie’s stopped drinking, she’s worked hard to clean up her life, she’ll never forgive herself for the way she treated her kids,’ ” Mrs. Hammond sighed. “Sounded like too little too late to me, but you know how your mother was, Lorna. If any woman ever had a softer heart, I swear I never met her. I suppose if Billie Eagan said the right words and shed enough tears, Mary Beth would have bought into it. I never did. I’m thinking you have, though.”

“You really think she’s guilty?”

“Yes, I do. I think sure as I’m standing here, Billie Eagan smacked that boy in the head and broke his skull. And I can’t help but wonder if she hadn’t done the same to that little girl of hers.” Mrs. Hammond leaned heavily on her cane. “And don’t you have to wonder what your mother would be saying if she were alive today.”

“I think she’d say, ‘Innocent until proven guilty.’ ”

8

The cardboard coffee container all but singeing the skin of the palm of her hand, Lorna sat it on the kitchen counter and grabbed at the ringing phone just in time to hear the click on the other end.

“Nuts.”

She took a mug down from the cupboard and poured the hot liquid into it, at the same time questioning her choice of a hot drink over a cold one when the temperature was climbing and the humidity was closing in around the house like a damp cloak after a night of pounding rain. Old habits die hard, she told herself, and went into the dining room to turn on her computer.

She watched out the window as a red-winged blackbird chased a hawk, the larger bird soaring ever higher, the smaller one flapping wildly to keep up. The blackbird swooped and pecked, harassing the hawk, who calmly continued to soar upward. The goal was to lure the hawk as far from the blackbird’s nest as possible, but in the process, the constant flapping of the smaller bird’s wings would wear it down, while the hawk rode the thermals and expended little energy. Once the blackbird had exhausted itself, the hawk could raid the nest to feed its young.

Lorna had to turn away from the window. She loved the hawks, loved watching them circle overhead, but hated that they preyed on the smaller, weaker birds. She understood all too well the ways of nature, but hated to watch when she knew what was inevitably in store for the blackbirds.

She read email from her closest friend back in Woodboro, who wanted to know how long she’d be staying in the sticks. Lorna smiled. Bonnie was from Los Angeles, and considered even Pittsburgh, where she was currently living, somewhat bucolic. She had no real conception of life in a small rural community like Callen, and so fell back on every farm and small-town stereotype she’d ever heard to tease Lorna. Today’s email contained a list of all the worst farmer’s daughters jokes she could find. Lorna laughed and shot back a quick response, then turned off her email and prepared to go to work.

The phone rang just as she opened her first files of the day. Roger the bail bondsman from West Chester had forms for her to fill out. He’d be there until ten. If she wanted Billie out that day, she had to get into his office before then. Since it was Saturday, he was taking the afternoon off to go to the track. Oh, and bring cash. Seven thousand dollars in cash.

Lorna showered and changed, then at nine A.M. drove to the savings and loan where her mother had kept her savings account. Mary Beth had added Lorna’s name to the account two years ago, so withdrawing the funds wasn’t a problem. What would be a problem would be explaining to her sister and brother where the funds went if Billie should bolt.

Lorna made it to the bail office in just under thirty-five minutes. Not bad, considering all the roadwork they were doing on Route 896. Roger had all of the paperwork laid out for her on the worn and pocked counter in the front room of his two-room office, and after a quick ten minutes, the deed was done.

“Your friend should be out by late this afternoon,” he told her.

“How will she get home?”

He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign tongue.

“That’s her problem.”

“How will I know when they release her?”

“You can call the prison in a few hours and someone there should be able to tell you.”

“Well, how does this work?”

“I go to the courthouse-which, lucky for you, is open till noon-and tell them that bail has been posted. The clerk will give me what they call a Release of Prisoner form. I take that to the prison, they let her out. I don’t provide transportation home, though. That’s on her. Oh, and you just make sure she shows up at the preliminary hearing, or it’s bye-bye.” He held up the envelope containing the cash she’d handed over.

“She’ll be there.”

“She’d better be. Else I’ll have to go out and find her. I hate it when I have to do that.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered as she walked out.

Unsure as to when and where to pick up Billie, Lorna stopped at the Callen police station on her way home. Chief Walker would know what to do.