department cars on the dirt road that runs between them.”
The family was enjoying a late-night supper. Julia was halfway through a plate of lasagna, some portion of which had landed on her napkin. A long day had passed as she had struggled to reorient herself to the house that had once been home.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Maisy said, from the other end of the table. “I hope nobody’s been hurt.”
“If some kind of crime was committed, it’ll be used as another argument against development,” Jake said. “If it wasn’t, somebody will point out how important it is to keep the county rural and safe.”
Development was a hot topic in western Loudoun County. The picturesque country life they all enjoyed was constantly threatened by developers who wanted to break up the area’s farms and estates and build mini-estates or, worse, town houses. There was fear that an entire way of life would vanish into suburban sprawl.
“You didn’t hear anything when you were in town?” Julia used her index finger to scoop a bite of lasagna onto her fork.
“Kay Granville thought she glimpsed men digging a line along the fence,” he said.
“That seems odd, doesn’t it? If it was a water or power line that malfunctioned, they wouldn’t send the sheriff, would they?”
“They might if everyone else was tied up and it was important enough.”
“I could call the Sutherlands,” Maisy said. “They expect me to call for odd reasons.”
Julia’s hand paused on the way to her mouth. “We’ll find out soon enough. Flo and Frank have probably already fielded half a dozen calls.”
“If something’s wrong, we should know. So we can help.”
“If something’s wrong, we’ll know soon enough,” Jake said. “Bad news travels fast.”
“How come?” Callie wiggled in the chair beside her mother and bumped Julia’s arm. “Mrs. Quinn told us about the way sound travels in science class. How does sound know if news is good or bad?”
“It’s just an expression,” Julia lowered her fork and started scooping food on it again. “It means people like to tell each other bad news.”
Callie’s silverware clattered against her plate. “I know some bad news.”
“The dinner table’s probably not the best place for that,” Julia said.
“Well, it was only bad news a long time ago. A bad man lived around here and he killed a girl.”
Everyone fell silent. Julia realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to speak. “This really isn’t the right time to discuss that.”
“How come?”
Maisy rescued Julia. “Because mealtime is a time for good thoughts.”
“Are sheriff’s cars good thoughts?”
“I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Jake said. “My fault.”
“Oh.” Callie was silent a moment.
Julia tried to think of a change of subject as she struggled not to show her distress.
“Too bad,” Callie said. “’Cause I know why they’re digging.”
The child’s words fell into empty space. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a Garfield the cat clock over the sink. Julia could envision the cat’s tail swishing back and forth, back and forth.
“I think you’d like to tell us why, wouldn’t you?” Maisy said at last.
Julia set down her fork. “Maisy—”
“Because when the bad man killed somebody, he buried her jewelry!” Callie said triumphantly. “And now he’s told them where.”
Even the clock seemed to stop ticking.
“How do you know this?” Maisy said.
Julia was stunned that her mother could ask the question as if it hardly mattered. Maisy was a better actress than Julia had guessed.
“Tiffany told me,” Callie said.
“How does Tiffany know?” Julia felt for her water glass. Tiffany was Callie’s best friend. Her mother Samantha trained horses at Claymore Park.
“Tiff said her mommy and a friend were talking about it.”
“Well, now we know,” Jake said. He didn’t quite manage nonchalance.
“Tiff said the bad man’s already in prison.”
“Callie, I think it’s time we moved on to another subject.” Julia was almost desperate.
“But if he’s in prison, there’s nothing wrong, is there? He did something wrong, now he’s helping. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
Julia could feel tears welling, tears that would be much too hard to explain to her daughter. For nine years she had believed in Christian Carver’s innocence. Now his daughter was discussing his confession as offhandedly as if she was discussing a friend’s birthday party.
Callie lowered her voice. “But Tiffany says he’s going to die soon. Even though he’s helping. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”
“Enough!”
“Julia…” Maisy’s warning was clear. “Callie, this is a sad story, and really not appropriate for the table. We can talk about it after dinner, okay?”
“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Callie muttered. “Those men in Florida are mean.”
“Florida?” Maisy said.
“Maisy, we can’t tell Callie not to talk about this at the dinner table, then keep the conversation going.” Jake was firm.
Julia had lost all appetite. “Callie, are you finished eating?”
“Yes,” Callie said sullenly. “I don’t like it when everybody yells at me.”
“Nobody yelled at you except me,” Julia said. “And I’m sorry. Let’s go in the other room and finish this conversation, okay? We can let Maisy and Jake eat in peace.”
“That’s not necessary,” Maisy began.
“No, Julia’s right,” Jake said. “She and Callie can talk in the living room. When we’re done, we’ll dish up pie for everybody. Your favorite,” he told Callie. “Lemon meringue.”
“Okay?” Julia said.
“I guess.” Callie’s chair scraped the floor. “But I want a big piece.”
“You know it,” Jake said.
Julia
