Deputy Fuentes appeared in the hallway wearing a grave expression.
“She’s in a bad way,” he said. “I hope you ladies can help because I’ve got to ask her some questions. Right now, I don’t think she’ll talk to anyone.”
Anger flared in June’s eyes. “She just lost her baby girl!”
Nora squeezed her friend’s hand. “All we can do is offer her comfort,” she told Fuentes. “She’s probably too shocked to take anything in. What if we just talked to her while you listened? Or Deputy Wiggins? I have a feeling Celeste would prefer the company of women right now.”
“Okay, let’s see how it goes,” Fuentes said. “And, thanks for being here. I know it’s late and this is hard. We’re still waiting on our social worker. She’s on her way, but it’ll be another twenty minutes.”
Nora considered the night Fuentes had ahead of him. After handling the various challenges of a festival crowd, he now had to investigate the death of a young woman. Fuentes was from a large family. He had two brothers and four sisters. His youngest sister was close to Bren in age, and that sister would probably be on his mind while he worked Bren’s case.
But as challenging as Fuentes’s night would be, it was nothing compared to Celeste’s torment.
Fuentes and Wiggins physically supported Celeste on the way to a small room containing a worn sofa and several mismatched chairs. After gently lowering Celeste onto the sofa, Wiggins retreated to the hall.
“I’ll get some drinks from the vending machine,” she said. “Be right back.”
Nora sat on the empty cushion to Celeste’s right, and June took the cushion to the left. Celeste’s face was almost as gray as her hair. Her eyes were vacant, and she stared at the doorway as if it were a portal to another world.
For a minute or two, the three women sat in awkward silence while Fuentes gazed at his notebook. Then Nora reached for Celeste’s hand. Her fingers were like ice, so Nora stroked the limp hand, hoping warmth would return to the chilled skin.
June leaned forward a little, giving Nora a barely perceptible nod. It was time to see if Celeste had anything to say.
“Honey, we’re here for you.” June’s voice was calm and reassuring. “We’re going to sit here with you. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to. We just want you to know that you’re not alone. We’re here with you.”
To Nora’s surprise, June began to hum. Nora didn’t recognize the melody, but it was lovely. Celeste began to sway as if the music was rocking her in its arms.
“We’re here,” Nora whispered.
Water pooled in Celeste’s eyes, and as June continued to hum, the tears spilled over and ran down Celeste’s cheeks. Nora pressed a tissue into Celeste’s hand, but she didn’t notice it. She kept swaying and crying.
Wiggins returned. She placed two sodas and three bottles of water on the table and took Fuentes’s seat. Fuentes left and Wiggins opened her notebook to a blank page and waited.
When June’s song came to an end, Nora let the silence settle around them again. This time, it wasn’t awkward. A bond had formed between the women on the sofa. It was fragile, but it would have to be enough. The deputies needed to know who Bren Leopold was. So did Nora.
“Brenna’s such a pretty name,” she said. “And unique. Where’s it from?”
Celeste smiled. “It’s Celtic. It means ‘raven-haired beauty.’ Brenna’s like Snow White. She can’t tan at all. She goes from milk-pale to lobster-red in sixty seconds. She spent her whole childhood wearing floppy hats and sunglasses like some kind of movie star. Now she’s into the color black. She says it’s the color of power. Of rebellion. And secrets.”
Nora noted Celeste’s use of the present tense. This was also her second time mentioning Bren’s secrets.
“I saw Bren tonight,” she said. “At the festival. We talked for a bit.”
Celeste’s gaze grew sharper. She reminded Nora of a diver who’d surfaced too quickly. She was disoriented but fighting to regain focus.
“You talked?” she asked.
Nora wouldn’t add to Celeste’s grief by repeating everything Bren had said. Instead, she described the radiance of the harvest moon and how the festival music drifted over to Bren’s park bench. She said that Bren must have enjoyed the food because all that was left on her cardboard tray was a balled-up burger wrapper and a few waffle fries.