“Sure it is.” Lacy pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Let’s get you dressed.” She gathered the Polaroids into a stack and handed them to me before leading me back downstairs. When she reached the bottom, she spun and asked me a question, confusion on her face. “Why don’t you want the sheriff’s help?”
I thought of the pinky ring in my aunt’s room. “Because if I hand these to him, he’ll give me nothing, and I could be feeding him material to use against Aunt DeeDee.”
“I don’t think he’s working against you,” Lacy mused without sounding condescending. “Do you know what his platform was?”
“No.”
“It was, ‘Help me help you.’”
I snorted. “That’s dumb.”
“But it worked,” Lacy said. “And more importantly, I think he means it.”
“I don’t know,” I said, imagining him leading my aunt away in handcuffs.
“He’s requiring additional training for all officers and he’s implementing de-escalation tactics and body cameras,” Lacy added.
“How do you know all that?”
“I’m a concerned citizen,” Lacy answered.
I gave her a look that asked for the real reason.
“I had to hire some of his officers for security detail this weekend. They like him, or if they don’t, they at least respect him.” She put a hand on my shoulder as if to reassure me. “Despite what you saw yesterday, I think he’s a good guy.”
EIGHTEEN
In my imagination, the Blue Ridge Mountains have always had a mood, an air, if you will. On the day I won first place for my chicken coop in sixth grade, they were proud and majestic. On the day I started working at the stables in high school, they were tentative but enthusiastic, and on the day I left home for college, they were pensive. On the day Momma died, they were somber, mourning with me.
Today the mountains were confused as I gripped my fingers around a clutch Lacy had given me and held it over my head on the way to the morning tea. A sprinkle of rain—almost a mist—had descended over the Rose Palace and I could barely see the peaks in the distance. I could only imagine the frustrated contestants, railing against the humid air teasing their coifs.
My clutch contained lip gloss—Lacy’s idea—and the five Polaroids with the accusation—also her idea.
SHE KILLED BOTH OF THEM. These five words ran through my mind, repeating over and over like a mantra. I tried to consider all the ways I could figure out who had placed them in my bed without telling the sheriff—who was suddenly at my side.
Sheriff Strong wore the same uniform, but he’d added a cowboy hat that made him look like a sheriff from the Wild West. His brow was knitted and his eyes were on his feet, ignoring me completely.
“Good morning to you too,” I said, causing him to stop.
He stared at me as if puzzled about who I was.
“Dakota Green,” I reminded him. “You gave my aunt some fancy new bracelets before hauling her to jail.”
“I know who you are, Ms. Green,” he said, as if I was the one being rude.
“Okay. At ease,” I told him, confused by his rigid stance. I thought that perhaps there’d been a spark of something yesterday—but that had been before he’d arrested my aunt.
“I apologize. I’m on my way to…” He pointed toward the mansion. “Did you need something?” Impatience practically oozed from him. There was no way this man deserved my evidence.
“No, nothing from you,” I said, my tone icy.
“As solitary as a fisher,” he mused, almost to himself.
“Excuse me?” I scoffed. “I hate fishing.”
“No… a fisher, as in the mammal that lives in Canada. My grandparents are from Alberta and used to say that.”
“I prefer the term ‘lone wolf.’ Much scrappier.”
