what she said and blushed to the roots of her white hair. “You know what I mean. How was I to know that the girl was in real trouble?”
He could say the same for Charlie and yet she had blamed herself all these years. “What were the parents like?”
“Busy.” She looked away for a moment before lowering her voice in confidence even though there was no one else to hear. “It was a second marriage, I heard.” She raised an eyebrow as if that said it all. “They were never home. Those girls were just allowed to run wild. I felt sorry for them. No wonder they were always fighting. It was clear that the older one, the blonde? She was always picking on the other one, the dark-haired one.”
He found it interesting that a woman who lived a half block away had noticed but Charlie’s father hadn’t. “Any idea who might have wanted to harm the older one?”
She shook her head. “The police said it was probably just someone coming through town. We’re so near the train tracks in this part of town. It used to be even more industrial out here. Lots of old warehouses standing empty. Could have been some hobo living in one of them.”
Hobo. The word made him smile to himself. “The father was killed that night in a car accident. Did you ever see the mother again?”
Edna nodded. “Came back after she got out of the hospital just long enough to pack up her things. Had some man with her.”
“Did they appear to be a couple?”
“Not at all. I suspect she’d hired him to help her.”
“How did she seem?” he asked.
“Upset, crying, throwing things into what looked like a rental truck. I got the feeling she couldn’t wait to get out of that house and who can blame her after what happened there. After that, the house was rented to a lot of different people, college students mostly. The police gave up looking for the killer. Everyone just forgot about all of it.”
Not everyone, he thought, reminded of what Charlie must have been going through all these years.
“I often wondered what happened to the little dark-haired girl,” Edna said. “I saw her that day when social services took her away. Poor child. She looked devastated. I remember she was wearing this rust-colored sweater and had her arms locked around a large book.” The photo album and that rust sweater he later saw her in at boot camp. “How does a child get over something like that?”
“Sometimes they don’t,” he said. “But in her case, I hope she is able to put it behind her.”
* * *
AFTER WT LEFT, Meg smiled to herself. She hadn’t been sure that he would even remember their conversation. It had been years ago. They’d been so young, so full of themselves, so sure they were going to make their mark in the world. WT had. She’d followed his career. She’d even started a program like the one he had, to give youth that came before her a second chance.
She’d felt bold and brazen on the bench and off. But she’d felt vulnerable and a little scared when she contacted WT. Mostly because she wasn’t sure he would remember—let alone reply. Yet he’d driven to Bozeman, her note in his pocket and he’d remembered their conversation just as she had as if he’d thought of it long after—just as she had.
From her desk, she picked up the photograph of Hal. He’d been her English professor her freshman year. A good thirteen years older, he’d been her first. She’d spent her high school years with her nose in a book, and Hal had brought out the shy girl she’d been. He’d always been there for her, encouraging her, taking care of her and yet never holding her back.
She could smile back at the man in the photo instead of cry, but it had taken a full year. Having always advised others to wait a year before making any big decisions, she’d taken her own advice. And was now glad that she had.
Hal was her past. She had no idea what the future held—but she had a date tomorrow night and that was a good place to start.
At a tap on her door, she turned to see her assistant with an armful of papers. “You asked for these?”
Meg took them, thanking the young woman. Hannah was studying criminology and getting a second degree in criminal law.
“Was that WT Landusky I saw leave