crooned. Scout sat on her haunches and remained at my eye level. “She’s a Great Dane.”
“My pig is in the car,” June announced. Mrs. Benefiel blinked behind her glasses. “I’m sorry, my dear, did you say pig?”
“Yes. Her name is Marie Curie,” June said.
I blinked. June had just given her pig an alias.
She dug her phone out of her back pocket. “Would you like to see some pictures?”
“Well, if she's in the car, why don't you bring her inside?" Mrs. Benefiel suggested, putting her reading glasses on to better admire June’s pig.
“Sheila’s puppy is in the car as well,” June mentioned.
“Oh! Scout loves puppies,” our hostess exclaimed.
While I was trying to discern whether she meant Scout loved puppies for breakfast or as playmates, June trotted outside to retrieve our pets.
Five minutes later a pig, a dog, and a horse—because there was no way Scout was a dog—were chasing each other all over the first floor of Mrs. Benefiel’s home while June and I drank green tea and ate freshly iced sugar cookies.
“Now, tell me about this project of yours, Sheila and July,” Mrs. Benefiel insisted.
Scout tore through the living room chased by an ecstatic Billy Ray. Katherine trotted through at a more leisurely pace.
“Mrs. Benefiel I’m sure you’ve taught hundreds of children over the years,” I began. “I’m sure you had a few favorites.”
June grabbed a second cookie.
Mrs. Benefiel chuckled. “Well, now dear, we try not to have favorites. But there are always a few students every year that stand out.”
“How many years did you teach?” I asked.
“Thirty-two years. And nearly every day was a delight.”
“I imagine you’ve seen it all in your career,” I ventured. “Good and bad.”
“Oh, certainly.” She nodded, her glasses swinging on the chain around her neck. “Teaching is more than just rules and grades and summers off. We’re peacekeepers and protectors, too.”
That was my opening. I went for it, swinging for the fences. “Do you remember Callie Kendall?” I asked.
A flicker of wariness danced across her face, and her teacup trembled on its saucer in her lap.
“What kind of project is this?” she asked, softer this time.
Billy Ray chose that moment to trot into the room proudly dragging a six-foot-long stuffed snake toy. Scout was on the other end of the snake, putting up a good show of playing tug. I hoped my sweet puppy’s antics assured her that I wasn’t an enemy.
“Mrs. Benefiel, I am in grad school, but I also have a license in social work. I know that you filed a complaint with Henrico County Children Services in 1998.”
She set her cup and saucer down with a definitive snap.
“I made a mistake,” she said, coming to her feet. “A terrible, terrible mistake. And I told the authorities that.” That was fear etched on her face. Stark fear caused by some unknown threat.
I rose. June’s hand snaked out for another cookie, sensing our visit was coming to an abrupt end.
“Mrs. Benefiel, I think that maybe you weren’t wrong,” I said softly. “I don’t know what happened, but I think you saw something, and you were right to report it.”
“She was a good girl. Bright and sweet. So quiet. But she came alive in music class. She loved music of all kinds,” Mrs. Benefiel said, her hands bunching into fists at her sides. “But I was wrong.”
June stood up, too. “I am confused by this conversation. You say you were wrong, but you are acting as though you are supposed to say that you are wrong.”
“Are you working for him?” she whispered, eyes glistening. “Because I haven’t done anything wrong. I did what I said I would. I kept my promises.”
“Who, Mrs. Benefiel? Who are you afraid of? We aren’t working for anyone. No one knows we’re here.”
“He knows. Or he will,” she said flatly.
“I promise that no one knows we’re here. We came because our friends’ father is a person of interest in her murder.”
“Callie Kendall deserved better than what she got in this life,” Mrs. Benefiel said, her voice shaking. “Now, please leave.”
“We can help you,” I said earnestly. “If you need help, we can figure it out together.”
She shook her head. “No. Please go.”
“I’m very sorry for upsetting you,” I said, gathering my purse.
“Garth. Marie Curie,” June called. “Come.” Pig and puppy jogged into the room, tails wagging.
She showed us to the door, tension in every movement.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.” Her eyes implored me, and then she was looking past me and at the family photos on the wall