Dorothy M. Place

Al, the criminal trial expert, invited Sarah to his place to have dinner and go over her change of venue report.  From Columbia, he was renting in a Mount Vernon style house that had been divided into four apartments. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.  “Mac and cheese,” he called out though the beaded curtain that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. She suppressed a laugh. “That your specialty?” she asked.

The quiet stateliness of the building reminded Sarah of law school and restored her confidence that there might be some justice for JoBeth. Maybe the golf course business was nothing to worry about. She hoped so, because once the trial started, Eight Mile Junction would be turned into a stage for a grand media event. The memory of JoBeth as a young girl and her love for her children would be pushed aside, leaving only the image of the monster who killed them.

When Sarah interviewed JoBeth’s mother, Vera Ruland met her at the door, opening it before the bell rang. She wore a red and blue geometric-patterned caftan with a red floor-length sleeveless over-cloak, and was smoking a cigarette plugged into a charcoal filter. It was balanced between her middle and forefinger and held slightly above her shoulder. She might have been recreating a pose she had seen in a 1930’s movie.

At Mrs. Weeber’s luncheon, Ceily commented on the murders. “Well, I hope those lawyers of hers don’t say she’s crazy. If they do, they’ll send JoBeth off to one of those mental hospitals downstate and she’ll never be punished."

Sarah passed Gladys' Hair Shop where she and JoBeth had had their hair done for graduation. The interior was exactly as it had been that day. The hair dryers were hunched over the same chairs that sprouted spidery legs, dozens of fashion magazines lay scattered about the tables, and the floor was littered with bunches of hair. The chairs where they had sat were still in place, facing the same mirrored walls stenciled with now fading lilies and ferns. Gladys, her henna-dyed hair tied up in a bright orange scarf, was still doing her best to create beauty.

John-Two called Janet, the receptionist over the intercom. She walked into the room, smiled at Sarah, and handed John-Two some papers. He quickly signed them. His signature looked like a long line with the Roman numeral two at the end. “Fax them right away,” he said. “And Janet, fix up the corner of the library as an office for the young lady. Get her a desk lamp. You know, everything she needs to work in there. And oh yes, I don’t think she knows how to make coffee.” He winked at Sarah.

On Sarah’s return to Eight Mile Junction, she found that everything in her bedroom remained exactly as she had left it. Raggedy Ann and Andy rested hand-in-hand on the bed, Grandmother Solonsky’s wedding picture stood on the dresser in its silver frame with lilies trumpeting from its four corners, her high school graduation honor ribbons hung from the curtain valance, and the sheepskin rug her uncle had sent from New Zealand waited to caress her feet each morning. The room, like her mother, continually awaited her return.

At the end of her interview with Dora Channing, Sarah said, “Just one more thing. Why do you think JoBeth murdered her children?”
“Never know what goes on in a person’s mind until they do something, do you?” Dora turned to go, then stopped. “If you ask me, that girl was pulled apart and couldn’t find no way to get her herself back together. My granddaddy used to say that if you kick a dog long enough, it’s gonna turn around and bite somebody.”

But still, she couldn’t believe JoBeth had intentionally come to Fenton Lake to murder her children.  The scene was so bucolic. Surely, if a murder had been committed here, there would be something different about the place. She tried to conjure up a mental picture of JoBeth standing, watching the car roll into the water, knowing that her children were going to drown, but her mind rebelled.  It seemed more like a bad joke than something that actually happened.