her coat pocket. This she placed on top of the pile, noting that Martha’s eyes had picked it up immediately.
Evelyn Carson came out of the small office bathroom drying her hands. She saw Caroline, tipped her head toward Martha, and said, “I’ve got her cleaned up, but she still hasn’t said anything.”
“Where’s her apron?” Caroline asked, keeping her gaze fixed on Martha.
“In the bathroom, here. Haven’t dealt with it. I’ve been trying to talk with Martha, but it’s like before. She hears and knows almost everything, but won’t respond.”
“Not even with her eyes?”
“They track, and the pupils are normal, but they don’t register any response to what I say.”
“She’s afraid to talk?”
“Not quite.”
“That’s how she was back then.”
“That’s only partly true. But, today, she seems resolved not to talk. It’s not so much a clinical muteness as a willful one. It was like that then, too, only to a lesser extent because she was so young.”
“You think she can talk, but chooses not to?” Caroline asked. She took a seat beside Martha and held one of her hands.
Evelyn Carson sat down on the other side of the girl. “She always could talk, Caroline, even then. But like then, I suspect, she has compelling reasons not to talk, now.”
“We’ve got to figure out why, if we’re to help her,” Caroline said. “Martha, tell us what has happened.”
Martha did not turn to Caroline. She stiffened slightly, eyes locked straight ahead. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Slowly, she shook her head side to side, shut her eyes, and this time squeezed them tight.
Caroline looked past Martha to Evelyn and nodded toward the bathroom door. The two got up and opened the door to the bathroom, stepping in. On the back of the door, Dr. Carson showed Caroline where she had hung Martha’s stained apron. Then she said, “I checked her car when you were gone.”
“Evelyn! We shouldn’t be leaving her alone.”
“She’s not going anywhere. She isn’t running from anything, Caroline. It’s like before. If she wanted to run away, she wouldn’t have come here at all. No. She’s protecting someone. There’s a reason for her silence, just as there was years ago. She was protecting her younger siblings, then. It was self-sacrificial. It could very well be the same thing, now—protecting herself, or someone else.”
“She knows we’ll have to turn this apron over to Bruce Robertson, if it figures into his investigation.”
“There’s blood in her Lexus, too,” Carson said.
“It’s Sonny Favor’s Lexus.”
“Well, there is blood in the car. On the steering wheel and on the door handles.”
“This could mean anything, Evelyn.”
“It could mean the most obvious of things. Prepare yourself for the worst,” Evelyn said. “Have you spoken with your husband again?”
“His cell is off.”
“Great.”
“I know. We could call the Favor residence and ask for him.”
“If we tell him anything, then he is obliged to report that, right?”
“Yes,” Caroline said, following the doctor’s train of thought. “OK. Maybe he has done that on purpose, then—switching his phone off.”
Evelyn agreed. “The longer he gives us with her, the better it’ll be right now. Let’s get what we can from her and wait for him to call you.”
Caroline pulled strands of her long auburn hair around in front and fiddled with the ends, leaning back against the bathroom sink. Evelyn Carson had been her friend for nearly ten years, Caroline and Mike having helped Martha Lehman when the young teenager had been Evelyn’s patient. And the Brandens had seen to Martha’s education when she had started college. Now the psychiatrist studied Caroline’s eyes and read both present concern and past tragedy, a child in jeopardy being the one thing, she realized, that still could call Caroline’s deep faith into question. But where despair might rule, Cal Troyer had
Evelyn Carson came out of the small office bathroom drying her hands. She saw Caroline, tipped her head toward Martha, and said, “I’ve got her cleaned up, but she still hasn’t said anything.”
“Where’s her apron?” Caroline asked, keeping her gaze fixed on Martha.
“In the bathroom, here. Haven’t dealt with it. I’ve been trying to talk with Martha, but it’s like before. She hears and knows almost everything, but won’t respond.”
“Not even with her eyes?”
“They track, and the pupils are normal, but they don’t register any response to what I say.”
“She’s afraid to talk?”
“Not quite.”
“That’s how she was back then.”
“That’s only partly true. But, today, she seems resolved not to talk. It’s not so much a clinical muteness as a willful one. It was like that then, too, only to a lesser extent because she was so young.”
“You think she can talk, but chooses not to?” Caroline asked. She took a seat beside Martha and held one of her hands.
Evelyn Carson sat down on the other side of the girl. “She always could talk, Caroline, even then. But like then, I suspect, she has compelling reasons not to talk, now.”
“We’ve got to figure out why, if we’re to help her,” Caroline said. “Martha, tell us what has happened.”
Martha did not turn to Caroline. She stiffened slightly, eyes locked straight ahead. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Slowly, she shook her head side to side, shut her eyes, and this time squeezed them tight.
Caroline looked past Martha to Evelyn and nodded toward the bathroom door. The two got up and opened the door to the bathroom, stepping in. On the back of the door, Dr. Carson showed Caroline where she had hung Martha’s stained apron. Then she said, “I checked her car when you were gone.”
“Evelyn! We shouldn’t be leaving her alone.”
“She’s not going anywhere. She isn’t running from anything, Caroline. It’s like before. If she wanted to run away, she wouldn’t have come here at all. No. She’s protecting someone. There’s a reason for her silence, just as there was years ago. She was protecting her younger siblings, then. It was self-sacrificial. It could very well be the same thing, now—protecting herself, or someone else.”
“She knows we’ll have to turn this apron over to Bruce Robertson, if it figures into his investigation.”
“There’s blood in her Lexus, too,” Carson said.
“It’s Sonny Favor’s Lexus.”
“Well, there is blood in the car. On the steering wheel and on the door handles.”
“This could mean anything, Evelyn.”
“It could mean the most obvious of things. Prepare yourself for the worst,” Evelyn said. “Have you spoken with your husband again?”
“His cell is off.”
“Great.”
“I know. We could call the Favor residence and ask for him.”
“If we tell him anything, then he is obliged to report that, right?”
“Yes,” Caroline said, following the doctor’s train of thought. “OK. Maybe he has done that on purpose, then—switching his phone off.”
Evelyn agreed. “The longer he gives us with her, the better it’ll be right now. Let’s get what we can from her and wait for him to call you.”
Caroline pulled strands of her long auburn hair around in front and fiddled with the ends, leaning back against the bathroom sink. Evelyn Carson had been her friend for nearly ten years, Caroline and Mike having helped Martha Lehman when the young teenager had been Evelyn’s patient. And the Brandens had seen to Martha’s education when she had started college. Now the psychiatrist studied Caroline’s eyes and read both present concern and past tragedy, a child in jeopardy being the one thing, she realized, that still could call Caroline’s deep faith into question. But where despair might rule, Cal Troyer had
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