meant—the beads were blue glass with a little yellow flower painted on each one, the Madonna and crucifix were silver. Sidney always had it with her. In addition to everything else, my sister had always been a better Catholic than me. But I was touched by the gesture. Just knowing something familiar and beloved was nearby was comforting.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice breaking. “Are you going to wake up?”
The door squeaked open.
“May I help you?” Sidney asked, and I could tell from the tone of her voice she was addressing a man.
Did I mention Sidney is gorgeous?
“Pardon the intrusion,” the man said. “I’m Detective Jack Terry from the Atlanta Police Department. Are you Sidney Kemp?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“The accident you were in with your sister,” he said in a tone that asked what else would it be about?
“I gave a statement the day after the accident.”
“I have the notes here. I was hoping to clarify a few details.”
“How did you know I was here?”
My sister was going to make a great lawyer.
“I stopped by your parents’ home. They told me where I could find you.”
“You work on Sundays, Detective?”
“Is it Sunday? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Can’t this wait?”
“I suppose,” he said agreeably. “But since we’re both here, you’d do me a big favor by letting me tie up some loose ends. I’ll try to be brief.”
“Okay. Of course I’ll help any way I can. Has Keith Young been charged?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t speak for the district attorney’s office, but I’m told Young’s toxicology results aren’t yet available.”
“It’s been weeks, how is that possible?”
“This isn’t a TV show, ma’am… the state labs are so jammed up, we’ll be lucky to hear back within another month.”
“So much for the victim’s right to a speedy trial,” Sidney said dryly.
“Ah, yes, I read in the report that you’re a law student.”
“That’s right.”
“What year?”
“I start my third year at Boston U this fall.”
“So you’re almost done, good for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m really sorry about your sister.”
He had a handsome voice and I wondered if he looked the way he sounded.
“So am I,” Sidney said, her voice defiant. “What questions do you have about the accident?”
He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start from the beginning. I understand your sister Marianne—”
“Marigold. Her name is Marigold.”
“Right—sorry. I understand Marigold picked you up from the airport Memorial Day weekend, on that Saturday?”
I didn’t remember any of this, so I was riveted.
“Yes. I came home for summer break.”
“What time did the two of you leave the airport?”
“Around nine that evening.”
“And your sister was driving a tan-colored 2010 Ford Escort?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay. The report says you drove straight home?”
“Yes.”
“I found a receipt in the Escort from a convenience store with a timestamp around the time of the accident.”
“Oh, right. I forgot—Marigold wanted to stop and get a lottery ticket. It’s silly... a psychic once told her she was going to win the lottery, so she was a little obsessed with it.”
I wouldn’t have used the word “obsessed”… dedicated , maybe.
“Was any alcohol purchased?”
“No.”
“Did you make any other stops?”
“No. From the convenience store, we headed home.”
“To 558 Northwind Drive?”
“Yes. We were maybe five miles from my parents’ house when Keith Young hit us.”
“Did you notice his car before the accident?”
“What do you mean?”
“Keith Young drives a yellow Jaguar—it stands out. You must’ve seen it coming toward you?”
“I… wasn’t looking, I guess. Besides, it was dark.”
“About that—do you remember if your sister had her car lights on?”
“I… would assume so. Marigold is a very responsible
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice breaking. “Are you going to wake up?”
The door squeaked open.
“May I help you?” Sidney asked, and I could tell from the tone of her voice she was addressing a man.
Did I mention Sidney is gorgeous?
“Pardon the intrusion,” the man said. “I’m Detective Jack Terry from the Atlanta Police Department. Are you Sidney Kemp?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“The accident you were in with your sister,” he said in a tone that asked what else would it be about?
“I gave a statement the day after the accident.”
“I have the notes here. I was hoping to clarify a few details.”
“How did you know I was here?”
My sister was going to make a great lawyer.
“I stopped by your parents’ home. They told me where I could find you.”
“You work on Sundays, Detective?”
“Is it Sunday? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Can’t this wait?”
“I suppose,” he said agreeably. “But since we’re both here, you’d do me a big favor by letting me tie up some loose ends. I’ll try to be brief.”
“Okay. Of course I’ll help any way I can. Has Keith Young been charged?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t speak for the district attorney’s office, but I’m told Young’s toxicology results aren’t yet available.”
“It’s been weeks, how is that possible?”
“This isn’t a TV show, ma’am… the state labs are so jammed up, we’ll be lucky to hear back within another month.”
“So much for the victim’s right to a speedy trial,” Sidney said dryly.
“Ah, yes, I read in the report that you’re a law student.”
“That’s right.”
“What year?”
“I start my third year at Boston U this fall.”
“So you’re almost done, good for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m really sorry about your sister.”
He had a handsome voice and I wondered if he looked the way he sounded.
“So am I,” Sidney said, her voice defiant. “What questions do you have about the accident?”
He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start from the beginning. I understand your sister Marianne—”
“Marigold. Her name is Marigold.”
“Right—sorry. I understand Marigold picked you up from the airport Memorial Day weekend, on that Saturday?”
I didn’t remember any of this, so I was riveted.
“Yes. I came home for summer break.”
“What time did the two of you leave the airport?”
“Around nine that evening.”
“And your sister was driving a tan-colored 2010 Ford Escort?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay. The report says you drove straight home?”
“Yes.”
“I found a receipt in the Escort from a convenience store with a timestamp around the time of the accident.”
“Oh, right. I forgot—Marigold wanted to stop and get a lottery ticket. It’s silly... a psychic once told her she was going to win the lottery, so she was a little obsessed with it.”
I wouldn’t have used the word “obsessed”… dedicated , maybe.
“Was any alcohol purchased?”
“No.”
“Did you make any other stops?”
“No. From the convenience store, we headed home.”
“To 558 Northwind Drive?”
“Yes. We were maybe five miles from my parents’ house when Keith Young hit us.”
“Did you notice his car before the accident?”
“What do you mean?”
“Keith Young drives a yellow Jaguar—it stands out. You must’ve seen it coming toward you?”
“I… wasn’t looking, I guess. Besides, it was dark.”
“About that—do you remember if your sister had her car lights on?”
“I… would assume so. Marigold is a very responsible
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