Mad Honey: A Novel by Jodi Picoult, Jennifer Finney Boylan Page A

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    Bang bang bang bang .
    Did you see him?
    I have no idea who he is talking about. My father has been dead for years.
    Did you let him touch you, you slut?
    Did he take my son on a tour of the fucking police station?
    This is about Mike? We haven’t seen him for months. I haven’t thought about him or talked about him.
    Braden, I say evenly, all I did was check the bees.
    There is another heavy knock, like he’s fallen against the door. You’re killing me, Liv. You know that, right? You’d probably love it if I died. You’d be free.
    Shivering, I turn the knob. I open my arms to him.
    When you’re gone, all I can think about is that you’re not coming back, Braden says. If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t be so crazy .
    We sit on the bed, me holding him, even though my heart is still racing and my mouth is dry. Yet even with Braden on this side of the door, the hammering hasn’t stopped.
----
    —
    I ROLL OVER in bed, drenched in sweat, blinking into the darkness. Someone is still pounding downstairs. I glance at my phone: 12:24  a.m .
    I pull on a sweatshirt and flannel pants and hurry to the front door. When I open it, Mike is standing there, along with two uniformed officers—one male and one female. It has been only hours since we left the station. Instinctively, I think: When the police come to your door in the middle of the night, it is never good news .
    “I have a warrant for Asher’s arrest,” Mike says quietly.
    As if he has been summoned, I hear Asher’s voice behind me. “Mom?”
    He is wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants; his hair is sticking up. He looks like he is tangled in the net of a dream. I put my body between the stairs and the detective.
    Mike moves past me. The other two officers are pulled in his wake. I try to make eye contact with the female officer, hoping to see a glimmer of sympathy, but she is already at Asher’s side.
    “Asher Fields,” Mike says, “you are under arrest for the murder of Lily Campanello. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—”
    An attorney. Jordan is on his way, on the first flight he could get out of Dublin. He would know what to do, but he isn’t here, and won’t be until morning.
    Mike keeps reciting Asher’s rights. “Mom?” Asher says, his voice quivering.
    “Mike, this is a mistake—”
    “Please turn around and put your hands behind your back,” Mike continues, talking over me as if I haven’t spoken.
    “There has to be a better way. I’ll bring him in later. I’ll—”
    The female officer firmly pivots Asher. The male officer, more roughly, jerks his wrists into handcuffs.
    “We also have a warrant to seize and search the contents of your cellphone and computer,” Mike says. “Where are they?”
    “In my room,” Asher says quietly, and the female officer climbs the stairs.
    I push forward. “Why do you need them?”
    “It’s okay, Mom,” Asher says. “I have nothing to hide.”
    “This is a mistake,” I repeat.
    Finally, Mike turns to me and meets my gaze. “This is routine, Liv. Nothing unusual. We’d be remiss if we didn’t secure the electronics.”
    The female officer clatters down the stairs, holding Asher’s phone and laptop and a pair of sneakers. She tosses them onto the floor in front of Asher.
    But he is handcuffed.
    I kneel down in front of him, slipping one shoe on at a time, tying the laces. The last time I did this, he was five.
    “Let’s go,” Mike says.
    With one uniformed officer on either side of my son, they follow Mike out the front door. Asher doesn’t have a coat; he is in short sleeves; he will freeze. “Wait,” I say, but then realize a jacket is the least of the problems. “Where are you taking him?”
    I follow them outside and watch them open the rear door of the police car and duck Asher into the seat. He perches awkwardly, his hands still caught behind his back, his