her head.
“If you know, you need to tell us,” Rachel said, her voice harsh and demanding. “We’re his best hope of—”
“If I knew I would,” she said.
I looked at Rachel with narrowed eyes and shook my head.
“Sorry,” she said to Wanda. “Your daughter wasn’t helpful and made it clear she didn’t ever intend to be.”
“My daughter’s under a lot of pressure. ’Course she puts it on herself. She’s very hard on herself. Doesn’t feel as though she can relax or let her guard down. Not even for a minute. She feels she has so much to overcome, to prove.”
“Why?” Rachel asked.
I knew the answer and was hoping Rachel wouldn’t ask
the question.
“Because,” Wanda said, “her father’s a cripple, her brother’s in prison, and her mother’s a janitor.”
I thought about how much more comfortable Wanda was with herself than Tracy. She had nothing to prove, nothing to apologize for, no agendas or motives. She just was. And it was a thing of beauty. How does a mother like Wanda have a daughter like Tracy?
“What I’ve seen,” I said, “her mother’s the best thing going for her.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Nothing happened with you or your husband that might make Michael think he had to get out now, did it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing has changed. Things are very difficult for us—financially I mean. We can’t afford to live here anymore. We’ll probably move up to Pottersville. Somewhere like that. Might be your neighbors. But we’ve always been poor, and I haven’t said anything to Michael.”
“What about a girlfriend?” I asked.
“If he has one I don’t know anything about it.”
“If he contacted you or came to see you would you tell us?” Rachel asked.
She shook her head again. “No. Probably wouldn’t.”
This was a direct contradiction of what she had said earlier, but I didn’t say anything.
“So he could be hiding at your house right now and you wouldn’t report him?”
She nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “But he’s not. You’re welcome to check.”
“We will,” Rachel said.
“No we won’t,” I said.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Mills,” Wanda said, “I’d try to talk Michael into turning himself in, but I wouldn’t turn him in. I couldn’t.”
“I understand,” I said. “If you think of anything, please let us know. You can reach me through the prison or the sheriff’s department anytime.”
“I will,” she said. “Michael talked very highly of you. Please find him. Please don’t let anybody hurt him. He’ll have had a good reason for running. Bet my soul on it. Please find him before anybody else do. I don’t want some trigger-happy kid to kill my boy.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“I still can’t believe you made me ride in this thing,” Rachel said.
We were getting back into the pimped-out Monte Carlo in the mostly empty Gulf/Franklin Center parking lot.
“Hate the game not the player,” I said with a smile.
She laughed.
When I cranked the car and turned on the headlights, I could see Wanda Jensen’s coworker walking toward us. I cut the lights, switched off the car, and Rachel and I got out.
“That your ride?” he asked, his voice matching his incredulous look.
“Doesn’t look like a pimp, does he?” Rachel said.
“It’s a loaner,” I said.
“From who?”
“My dad.”
He looked even more confused.
“You and Wanda work together?” I asked.
He nodded.
Soft spoken and easy going, he was as much as six inches taller than my six feet. His dark skin shined even in the dim light from the street lamp above us, and I couldn’t tell if its sheen was the result of oil, sweat, or the thick humidity of the moist night air.
“You know her family?”
“Daughter teaches here,” he said. “Son’s in prison.”
“They racist?”
“Miss Wanda’s not,” he said
“What about Michael?”
He shrugged. “’Bout like most people ’round here. He kill that brother on
“If you know, you need to tell us,” Rachel said, her voice harsh and demanding. “We’re his best hope of—”
“If I knew I would,” she said.
I looked at Rachel with narrowed eyes and shook my head.
“Sorry,” she said to Wanda. “Your daughter wasn’t helpful and made it clear she didn’t ever intend to be.”
“My daughter’s under a lot of pressure. ’Course she puts it on herself. She’s very hard on herself. Doesn’t feel as though she can relax or let her guard down. Not even for a minute. She feels she has so much to overcome, to prove.”
“Why?” Rachel asked.
I knew the answer and was hoping Rachel wouldn’t ask
the question.
“Because,” Wanda said, “her father’s a cripple, her brother’s in prison, and her mother’s a janitor.”
I thought about how much more comfortable Wanda was with herself than Tracy. She had nothing to prove, nothing to apologize for, no agendas or motives. She just was. And it was a thing of beauty. How does a mother like Wanda have a daughter like Tracy?
“What I’ve seen,” I said, “her mother’s the best thing going for her.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Nothing happened with you or your husband that might make Michael think he had to get out now, did it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing has changed. Things are very difficult for us—financially I mean. We can’t afford to live here anymore. We’ll probably move up to Pottersville. Somewhere like that. Might be your neighbors. But we’ve always been poor, and I haven’t said anything to Michael.”
“What about a girlfriend?” I asked.
“If he has one I don’t know anything about it.”
“If he contacted you or came to see you would you tell us?” Rachel asked.
She shook her head again. “No. Probably wouldn’t.”
This was a direct contradiction of what she had said earlier, but I didn’t say anything.
“So he could be hiding at your house right now and you wouldn’t report him?”
She nodded. “That’s right,” she said. “But he’s not. You’re welcome to check.”
“We will,” Rachel said.
“No we won’t,” I said.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Mills,” Wanda said, “I’d try to talk Michael into turning himself in, but I wouldn’t turn him in. I couldn’t.”
“I understand,” I said. “If you think of anything, please let us know. You can reach me through the prison or the sheriff’s department anytime.”
“I will,” she said. “Michael talked very highly of you. Please find him. Please don’t let anybody hurt him. He’ll have had a good reason for running. Bet my soul on it. Please find him before anybody else do. I don’t want some trigger-happy kid to kill my boy.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“I still can’t believe you made me ride in this thing,” Rachel said.
We were getting back into the pimped-out Monte Carlo in the mostly empty Gulf/Franklin Center parking lot.
“Hate the game not the player,” I said with a smile.
She laughed.
When I cranked the car and turned on the headlights, I could see Wanda Jensen’s coworker walking toward us. I cut the lights, switched off the car, and Rachel and I got out.
“That your ride?” he asked, his voice matching his incredulous look.
“Doesn’t look like a pimp, does he?” Rachel said.
“It’s a loaner,” I said.
“From who?”
“My dad.”
He looked even more confused.
“You and Wanda work together?” I asked.
He nodded.
Soft spoken and easy going, he was as much as six inches taller than my six feet. His dark skin shined even in the dim light from the street lamp above us, and I couldn’t tell if its sheen was the result of oil, sweat, or the thick humidity of the moist night air.
“You know her family?”
“Daughter teaches here,” he said. “Son’s in prison.”
“They racist?”
“Miss Wanda’s not,” he said
“What about Michael?”
He shrugged. “’Bout like most people ’round here. He kill that brother on
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