“It was.” There was a bit of an awkward pause, then Lorna asked, “Did you talk to your lawyer? The one the court gave you?”

“Only that one time.”

“I think you should call him and let him know where you are.”

“It’s Saturday. And besides, wouldn’t they tell him I’ve been released?”

“I have no idea, but even if someone did, it doesn’t matter. He’s your lawyer-Saturday and every other day of the week. You need to communicate with him yourself, as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“I wrote it down, let me get it for you. Hold on…” Lorna searched the pile of paper scraps next to her computer until she found the one on which she’d written Joel Morgan’s phone number. She read it off to Billie, adding, “Call him now. Leave a message if he isn’t there. And if you haven’t heard from him by noon on Monday, call him again. Make sure you get to talk to him.”

“I hate to bother him like that.”

“Bother him. He’s your lawyer. He works for you in this, remember, not the other way around.”

“All right. I’ll call him.”

“Billie, do you know what the charges are against you?”

“Seems there were three things.” Billie was breathing heavily into the receiver. “Third-degree murder, that was one. Then some manslaughter. And something else… I forget what it was. My lawyer should know that, though.”

So should you. Lorna shook her head at Billie’s nonchalance.

“Billie, one more thing. I was thinking about hiring a private detective to look into this. I don’t know how much real investigation the police are doing. I’m afraid they just assume you’re guilty and they believe that having found Jason so near to your house is enough. If we’re ever going to find out the truth about what happened back then, we’ll have to do it on our own.” She paused to let it sink in. “How do you feel about that?”

“About finding out what happened to my kids?” Billie said softly. “I still wonder, every night. But that’s going to cost way more money than I’ll ever see. I appreciate the thought, Lorna, I really do, but I can’t see how I can pay for such a thing.”

“Let me figure that out.” She was thinking about using an IOU for some of her share of the proceeds from the sale of the farm. She wasn’t sure what the property was worth, but she knew it would be a substantial amount. She hoped T. J. Dawson would accept that, and figured anything she spent would be more than covered. “I’m sure it’s what my mother would do, if she were here.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, I swear I don’t. And it’s too much for you to do.”

“Maybe we won’t be able to find out what happened back then, but I do believe it’s worth a try. I don’t know how much I can put into this, but once the investigator looks over all the reports and statements from back then, maybe he’ll have some ideas. If he thinks he can find something, we’ll give him a chance to do that. If he thinks otherwise, well, then, we’ll deal with that. I only ask that you cooperate with him.”

“I’ll do whatever he wants.” Billie started to sob quietly. “I don’t know why you’d do all this for me.”

“Melinda was my friend. It’s time we found out what happened to her.”

“You sure are your momma’s daughter, Lorna Stiles.” Billie blew her nose. “You surely are.”

“Thank you. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Now, don’t forget to call Joel Morgan,” Lorna reminded her. “It’s very important that you speak with him.”

Lorna hung up, wondering how hard Billie would try to track down her lawyer. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if she had to call him herself before next week was out. The woman didn’t seem to have a lot of motivation, even considering what was at stake.

It occurred to Lorna that maybe Billie had expected to be arrested, sooner or later, that maybe she’d lived with that expectation for the past twenty-five years. Does she believe her conviction is a given? Are her expectations from life so low that she assumes she’ll be found guilty? Or does she expect to be found guilty because she is guilty?

Maybe Billie felt guilty not because of what she did, it occurred to Lorna, but because of what she’d failed to do. Failed to cherish her children, failed to protect them, failed to care for them when she had them. Billie Eagan had been a crappy mother, and maybe, after all these years, she expected to be punished for it.

Either way, it’s time to find out, Lorna told herself. No more second-guessing-should I commit to this, should I not. Just move it along, find the truth, then get on with my life.

The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed five. She saved her work and turned off the computer and went into the kitchen to scramble some eggs for dinner. She tossed in a handful of cheddar cheese and some hot peppers she’d picked up at the Amish farmers’ market stand two miles down the road. One of the best things about living out in the sticks, as Bonnie called it, was being able to buy directly from the farms, if you didn’t garden yourself. Her grandmother had had a wonderful garden, right out there past the magnolia. Her mother had kept it up until she’d fallen ill. Then all her energies had been diverted to beating back the tumors that seemed to come from nowhere to invade her body. Lorna finished eating and walked out the back door.

The bones of the garden remained, and she stepped through the gate and inside the white fence that surrounded it. She leaned over to pick up the pickets that had loosened and fallen to the ground over the past two years, and she stood them up in their places. The stakes her grandfather had cut to tie up the tomatoes were still lined across the back of the garden, though the plants were long gone. The weeds had grown out of control, and without thinking, she stooped and started to pull the tallest ones. Where her mother had planted green beans that last year, wild thistles now stood. They were thorny and deep-rooted, and her bare hands were no match for them. She went into the small potting shed and searched for a pair of garden gloves and a weed digger, then set out to annihilate the invaders. A large pile of the offenders lay on the pebbled path when she heard a car pull into the drive. She looked up to see T.J. unfold from the small sports car sitting so low to the ground. She wondered how he got out when the top was up.

“Hi,” she called to him while she hastily wiped her hands on her cutoff jeans. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“What have you got growing back here?” He asked as he walked toward her, a leather folder under his arm and a white cardboard box in his hand.

“A bunch of weeds.”

“Well, they certainly look robust. What are you feeding them?”

She laughed. “They’re apparently quite capable of feeding themselves. I’m afraid the plot’s gone unattended for two summers now. These things have taken over. My mother would be appalled if she could see it.”

She pulled off her gloves and tucked them between two pickets.

“There’s still mint.” He pointed to the far corner of the garden. “At least, it looks like mint from here.”

She went to the corner to check it out. “What do you know, it is.” She smiled up at him. “And I’ve been drinking my iced tea plain all week.”

She broke off a few stems and sniffed at them. “Nice. How’d you know what it was, from over there?”

“Hey, I grew up in New Jersey. They don’t call it the Garden State for nothing.”

She went through the gate and closed it behind her, making a mental note to come out tomorrow with a hammer and a few nails to mend the broken section of fence.

“Oh, here.” He handed her the white box.

“What’s this?”

“Peace offering.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The best napoleons in Baltimore. Hands down.”

Lorna lifted the lid and peered inside. Four plump, sky-high pastries marched single file across the bottom of the box.