loved it when her mother called him Tommy instead of Thomas. It made Dad sound young and Mom in love.
CJ Pierson seemed to find Rose more interesting than he had a moment ago. His voice was neither angry nor demanding, just working to follow her thoughts. “Rose, why deny it?”
I do deny it, she thought. Nobody would try to run me over. Or if they did, it doesn’t have anything to do with this. It was just a road rage nutcase and I happened to be there, a nice bright orange anonymous target.
“Everything you’ve done defies rational explanation, Rose. Yet from what I hear, you are a very rational young woman.”
Rose tried to look dense instead.
“Who owns a green or a black SUV?” her mother demanded of the police. She was shouting in her fear. She had not wiped the tears from her cheeks. She looked awful. “Does Milton Lofft?”
“Yes, he has two, as a matter of fact,” said the detective. “A black Benz and a green Range Rover. Problem is, half the population owns a dark SUV, Mrs. Lymond. Your son’s friend Alan Finney has a black Explorer. I have a steel gray Xterra, and my brother-in-law has a dark green Grand Cherokee. Eleven teachers in your daughter’s school drive dark SUVs. I bet I saw another half dozen parked in driveways on this street. Just for starters. So, Rose. You got any more detail on that car? You gonna be able to tell us the make? Model? Year? Plate numbers? You recognize the driver?”
Rose had forgotten that Alan Finney drove a black Explorer. Alan …who had asked which highway she would be working on. Her mind thrashed around like a fish on the sand. She stuck to her original lines because she had no others. “I didn’t see anything, Detective Pierson,” she said. It felt awkward to address him like that “I don’t know anything and why you won’t believe me, I cannot imagine.”
“Rose! We’re not dealing with the weekend you visited the Loffts!” shouted her father. “We’re dealing with somebody trying to run over you. Thousands of pounds of metal. Why didn’t you tell us? What’s the matter with you, Rose? You have to stop this nonsense! Somebody wants to hurt you!” He let go of Mom, who was still crying, and he said brokenly, “Rose, what would our lives be without you? There simply cannot be a good enough reason for your silence.”
She had never dreamed how deeply this invasion would stab. How badly silence would work as a strategy. But she didn’t have another one.
“They’re going to talk to everybody now,” said her mother, wiping away tears. “Your English teachers, in case you ever wrote a revealing essay. Your softball coach, in case you ever confided in her. Your art teacher. What kind of person will you look like when they’re done? It will look as if you’re some—”
Her father sprang immediately to her defense. “Now, Julia. Rose will look fine, because she is.”
“Fine but stupid,” said CJ Pierson. “Rose, a woman was murdered. Can you understand that? A hard, tough, demanding, high-energy woman who had the world on a string. Somebody ended her life very simply. One heavy rock against one fragile skull. Maybe she was as stupid as you at the end, maybe not. We don’t know much about Frannie Bailey’s death. Whoever you’re protecting, Rose, whether it’s Milton Lofft or somebody else, that person has decided he or she cannot count on your silence. That person has decided that eventually, you’ll tell us what you saw. So it’s better if you’re dead.”
Oh, no. It was infinitely better to be alive. Rose loved her life. The whole problem was that her life was precious just as it existed. She could allow nothing to interfere.
Being murdered would indeed interfere with life as Rose knew it.
“So what’s next, Rose?” said CJ Pierson, his voice getting louder. “We gonna find out we don’t know much about your death, either?”
Rose’s mother put her hands over her ears, wincing at the word “death.”
“You hoping
CJ Pierson seemed to find Rose more interesting than he had a moment ago. His voice was neither angry nor demanding, just working to follow her thoughts. “Rose, why deny it?”
I do deny it, she thought. Nobody would try to run me over. Or if they did, it doesn’t have anything to do with this. It was just a road rage nutcase and I happened to be there, a nice bright orange anonymous target.
“Everything you’ve done defies rational explanation, Rose. Yet from what I hear, you are a very rational young woman.”
Rose tried to look dense instead.
“Who owns a green or a black SUV?” her mother demanded of the police. She was shouting in her fear. She had not wiped the tears from her cheeks. She looked awful. “Does Milton Lofft?”
“Yes, he has two, as a matter of fact,” said the detective. “A black Benz and a green Range Rover. Problem is, half the population owns a dark SUV, Mrs. Lymond. Your son’s friend Alan Finney has a black Explorer. I have a steel gray Xterra, and my brother-in-law has a dark green Grand Cherokee. Eleven teachers in your daughter’s school drive dark SUVs. I bet I saw another half dozen parked in driveways on this street. Just for starters. So, Rose. You got any more detail on that car? You gonna be able to tell us the make? Model? Year? Plate numbers? You recognize the driver?”
Rose had forgotten that Alan Finney drove a black Explorer. Alan …who had asked which highway she would be working on. Her mind thrashed around like a fish on the sand. She stuck to her original lines because she had no others. “I didn’t see anything, Detective Pierson,” she said. It felt awkward to address him like that “I don’t know anything and why you won’t believe me, I cannot imagine.”
“Rose! We’re not dealing with the weekend you visited the Loffts!” shouted her father. “We’re dealing with somebody trying to run over you. Thousands of pounds of metal. Why didn’t you tell us? What’s the matter with you, Rose? You have to stop this nonsense! Somebody wants to hurt you!” He let go of Mom, who was still crying, and he said brokenly, “Rose, what would our lives be without you? There simply cannot be a good enough reason for your silence.”
She had never dreamed how deeply this invasion would stab. How badly silence would work as a strategy. But she didn’t have another one.
“They’re going to talk to everybody now,” said her mother, wiping away tears. “Your English teachers, in case you ever wrote a revealing essay. Your softball coach, in case you ever confided in her. Your art teacher. What kind of person will you look like when they’re done? It will look as if you’re some—”
Her father sprang immediately to her defense. “Now, Julia. Rose will look fine, because she is.”
“Fine but stupid,” said CJ Pierson. “Rose, a woman was murdered. Can you understand that? A hard, tough, demanding, high-energy woman who had the world on a string. Somebody ended her life very simply. One heavy rock against one fragile skull. Maybe she was as stupid as you at the end, maybe not. We don’t know much about Frannie Bailey’s death. Whoever you’re protecting, Rose, whether it’s Milton Lofft or somebody else, that person has decided he or she cannot count on your silence. That person has decided that eventually, you’ll tell us what you saw. So it’s better if you’re dead.”
Oh, no. It was infinitely better to be alive. Rose loved her life. The whole problem was that her life was precious just as it existed. She could allow nothing to interfere.
Being murdered would indeed interfere with life as Rose knew it.
“So what’s next, Rose?” said CJ Pierson, his voice getting louder. “We gonna find out we don’t know much about your death, either?”
Rose’s mother put her hands over her ears, wincing at the word “death.”
“You hoping
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