sports, sheriff. It’s about confidence. It’s about pushing your limits. She taught me how to do that. And she did so much for my son, and the same is true of all students with whom she came in contact. She was like no other teacher here, and everyone knew it.”
They stopped and looked across a meadow to a line of scarlet maples. Sarah brushed away a tear. “If I had had a friend like Ashleigh when I was twenty, I think I would have lived my life in a very different way.”
Ray looked over at her. It wasn’t the first time that he’d noticed how attractive she was.
15
Ray could see Ma French’s battered Jimmy parked next to the laundry building as he approached. The rear window, or what had been the rear window, was covered by a piece of plastic sheeting secured by duct tape. The tailgate was fastened by two bungee cords running from the roof rack to the bumper in a crisscross pattern. Bungee cords also zigzagged across the passenger door, holding it closed. The vehicle was clearly unsafe, but it was her only source of transportation to a job that she and her family desperately needed. Ma, in her late sixties, supported a mentally disabled child and a husband incapacitated by emphysema. Since the decrepit vehicle was only used to get her from their crumbling farmhouse a few miles away to work and the village for groceries, Ray tried to overlook its dilapidated condition, hoping that nothing would happen that would come back to haunt him.
The noise, humidity, and bleach-tinged odors of a laundry hit him as he pushed his way through the double doors, dual hinged with battered stainless steel kick plates at the bottom. Ma, a big pear-shaped women with salt-and-pepper hair pulled tight in a large bun, stood at the center of a large table, a pile of clean laundry on her left, folded clothes on her right next to a basket. A mournful country and western song wailed in the background over the machine sounds as she skillfully smoothed wrinkles and folded the wash.
She greeted Ray with a bright smile, brushing a few strands of loose hair from her face with her left hand. “Afternoon, sheriff.”
“Hi, Ma. How you doing?”
“Better than she is.” She gestured toward the radio, the singer recounting a woeful tale of deception and lost love.
“How are Pa and Bobby?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know about Pa,” slowly moving her head from side to side. “Since they’ve put him on oxygen, I think he’s going downhill. But he keeps telling me he’s feeling fine. He wants to go deer hunting with Junior. Says he’ll take the portable tank with him. And the man’s so stubborn I’ll probably have to let him go.” She paused and took a breath, “Bobby, well, he’s just the same. But nothing is bothering him none. Never does.” She moved a pile of folded wash from the counter to the plastic basket at her right. “Don’t imagine you came around to check on the family, sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“Got a couple of questions about Arnie Vedder I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Poor Arnie,” a look of sorrow spread across her heavy features. “Poor kid never had a chance. I wish I could have done more. I just didn’t see it coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this talk about him taking things and such.”
“I’ve heard about missing articles of clothing. You don’t think there’s any truth to these stories?”
“No. None. Arnie is a good boy. I’ve known him almost since he was born. I know teenage boys do stuff like that. But I don’t think Arnie did.”
“Why not?”
“Kids are losing things all the time. Half of ’em would lose their ass if it weren’t attached. And when some clothes is lost, they come over here thinking I musta lost it.” She waved in the direction of a row of baskets, plastic, identical in shape, size, and color—an institutional gray—standing on a long counter. Each one had a label across the front with a student name and dorm. “The kids bring
They stopped and looked across a meadow to a line of scarlet maples. Sarah brushed away a tear. “If I had had a friend like Ashleigh when I was twenty, I think I would have lived my life in a very different way.”
Ray looked over at her. It wasn’t the first time that he’d noticed how attractive she was.
15
Ray could see Ma French’s battered Jimmy parked next to the laundry building as he approached. The rear window, or what had been the rear window, was covered by a piece of plastic sheeting secured by duct tape. The tailgate was fastened by two bungee cords running from the roof rack to the bumper in a crisscross pattern. Bungee cords also zigzagged across the passenger door, holding it closed. The vehicle was clearly unsafe, but it was her only source of transportation to a job that she and her family desperately needed. Ma, in her late sixties, supported a mentally disabled child and a husband incapacitated by emphysema. Since the decrepit vehicle was only used to get her from their crumbling farmhouse a few miles away to work and the village for groceries, Ray tried to overlook its dilapidated condition, hoping that nothing would happen that would come back to haunt him.
The noise, humidity, and bleach-tinged odors of a laundry hit him as he pushed his way through the double doors, dual hinged with battered stainless steel kick plates at the bottom. Ma, a big pear-shaped women with salt-and-pepper hair pulled tight in a large bun, stood at the center of a large table, a pile of clean laundry on her left, folded clothes on her right next to a basket. A mournful country and western song wailed in the background over the machine sounds as she skillfully smoothed wrinkles and folded the wash.
She greeted Ray with a bright smile, brushing a few strands of loose hair from her face with her left hand. “Afternoon, sheriff.”
“Hi, Ma. How you doing?”
“Better than she is.” She gestured toward the radio, the singer recounting a woeful tale of deception and lost love.
“How are Pa and Bobby?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know about Pa,” slowly moving her head from side to side. “Since they’ve put him on oxygen, I think he’s going downhill. But he keeps telling me he’s feeling fine. He wants to go deer hunting with Junior. Says he’ll take the portable tank with him. And the man’s so stubborn I’ll probably have to let him go.” She paused and took a breath, “Bobby, well, he’s just the same. But nothing is bothering him none. Never does.” She moved a pile of folded wash from the counter to the plastic basket at her right. “Don’t imagine you came around to check on the family, sheriff. What can I do for you?”
“Got a couple of questions about Arnie Vedder I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Poor Arnie,” a look of sorrow spread across her heavy features. “Poor kid never had a chance. I wish I could have done more. I just didn’t see it coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this talk about him taking things and such.”
“I’ve heard about missing articles of clothing. You don’t think there’s any truth to these stories?”
“No. None. Arnie is a good boy. I’ve known him almost since he was born. I know teenage boys do stuff like that. But I don’t think Arnie did.”
“Why not?”
“Kids are losing things all the time. Half of ’em would lose their ass if it weren’t attached. And when some clothes is lost, they come over here thinking I musta lost it.” She waved in the direction of a row of baskets, plastic, identical in shape, size, and color—an institutional gray—standing on a long counter. Each one had a label across the front with a student name and dorm. “The kids bring
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