car with a large box that held the cake, plus a full meal in a half dozen little plastic containers, which her mother kept, of course, neatly stacked, sized, and color coded. And she realized that those little containers were order. Somewhere, there was order. She started the car feeling more hopeful than she had all day.
But when she got to Diamondâs house, she was stunned by all the activity. Three police cars were parked in the driveway. Several police officers huddled on the front lawn.
A television news van with a huge satellite extending from the top of it was positioned two doors down.
Yellow crime-scene tape encircled the yard. Why the drama tape? Mercedes thought. Itâs not like a crime happened here. Maybe it was just to keep the crowd awayâa good-size group of people, maybe neighbors, maybe just nosy folks whoâd heard the story on the news, hovered just outside the tape. Many had their cameras and cell phones out.
What do they think theyâll get a picture of? Mercedes thought, getting angry. Diamondâs cat? Her front door?
More police patrolled the taped area, warning onlookers to keep back.
She opened her door, then hesitated, not sure what to do or say. Grabbing the box of food items, she slammed her car door and then stomped up to the first police officer she saw. She didnât wait for him to try to keep her out.
âMy name is Mercedes Ford. I am Diamondâs best friend. I am delivering this box for my mother, and I need to get into that house right now.â
The officer was unimpressed. âDriverâs license, maâam.â
Mercedes wasnât sure whether to be thrilled or annoyed to be called maâam, but she set the box down, pulled her wallet from her purse, and handed over her license.
He examined it as if she might have been a criminal on the loose. Even though it was broad daylight, he took out his flashlight and peered at the license more closely.
Just as she was about to lose her patience, Mercedes heard a small voice yell out her name. âMercedes! Mama says come in! Hurry!â
The officer turned to see Shasta peeking out the front door. Cameras clicked at the movement and sound. Shasta disappeared in a hurry.
The policeman returned Mercedesâ license and lifted the yellow tape so that she could enter the yard. She was aware of being filmed and photographed as she made a quick dash to the house. Instead of entering through the front door, she went in the side entrance, the kitchen door she always used when she visited.
Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She went to place the food on the counter, but found there was barely enough room for her box. Dozens of store-bought cakes and pies, casserole dishes, soda bottles, and boxes of KFC chicken were already piled high, so she set her box on the kitchen table.
Mrs. Landers, her hair uncombed, her face blotchy, her eyes red, grabbed Mercedes and hugged her close. She began to weep. Mercedes found herself crying as well.
âThank you for coming,â Mrs. Landers said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping her eyes. âItâs so good to see you. You give me hope.â
âIâm so sorry, Mrs. L.â Mercedesâ voice wavered. âI . . . I feel like Iâm to blame here. We shoulda stayed together.â
âOh, Mercedes. Please donât give yourself that burden.â Diamondâs mom hugged her even tighter. âA horrible, horrible person did this. Not you.â
âYeah, but I donât know how else to feel.â
Mrs. Landers stepped back and took Mercedesâ hands in hers. âWe need your strengthâmaybe your brainpower.â
âHuh?â
âYouâre a teenager. You and Diamond think a lot alike. Where would you go? What would you do if youwere caught in something . . . terrible? Weâve got profilers here who might like to talk to you.â
âIâll do anything! Just tell
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