Mavis looked down at her shoes, which suddenly seemed more fascinating than the disapproving stare of the police detective.
Hattie couldn’t restrain herself. “Seventeen years, Mavis! For seventeen years Lanier Ragan’s daughter has agonized over what happened to her mother. And for most of that time, you knew. You’re a horrible person, you know that? And you’re just as bad as those low-life cousins of yours. How do you even look at yourself in the mirror every morning?”
“Get off my porch,” the old woman said with a snarl.
With the toe of her shoe Hattie tipped over the plaster Virgin Mary. It broke into four or five large chunks.
“Oops.”
* * *
She was sitting in the front seat of the cruiser, still fuming, when Makarowicz returned a few minutes later.
“You should have hauled her bony ass off to jail like the rest of her miserable family,” Hattie said, as Mak started the car and turned the air-conditioning to the max.
“I’ll admit, it would have felt good, but the truth is, no judge or jury in this town is going to convict an octogenarian white lady for being a spiteful old hag. Sometimes, just knowing the truth has to be enough.”
“How do you do it?” Hattie asked, glancing over at the detective’s calm demeanor.
“You mean dealing with people like her?”
“Yeah. All of it. People stealing, lying, raping, killing. How do you stay sane?”
“It’s not all bad stuff. Some days I get to return a kid’s stolen bike, or lock up a dirtbag who’s been abusing his wife. Crimefighting 101.”
He looked over at Hattie. “Do you have time for one more stop? It’s not far.”
“Sure.”
* * *
They picked up iced coffee at the counter at Foxy Loxy, then walked out to the courtyard. The young woman was sitting at a table under an umbrella, reading a book. She was a tiny, blond sprite, with tattoos.
“Detective Mak,” she exclaimed, standing up and giving him a hug.
Makarowicz blushed, and gestured to Hattie. “Emma Ragan, this is Hattie Kavanaugh.”
Hattie felt suddenly shy. “Hi, Emma,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“No, it’s nice to meet you,” Emma said. “I hear you knew my mom.”
“She was my favorite teacher,” Hattie said, sitting down at the table. She cocked her head. “You look like her, you know.”
“I get that a lot.”
Makarowicz handed Emma a manila envelope. The girl opened it and pulled out some photos. She spread them out on the tabletop. One was obviously a school picture of a little girl dressed in a frilly blue dress, another was a family photo, a handsome young couple and their daughter.
“That’s me. Wearing my favorite dress,” Emma said, tapping the picture. She shuffled the pictures. “Me on the swing in our backyard.” Another photo showed Lanier Ragan cradling an infant in a baby blanket. “I’ve never seen this one,” she said.
“They’re copies, and not very good ones,” Makarowicz said apologetically. “I can’t give you the actual pictures from her billfold until all the court stuff is done.”
Emma nodded. “My mom’s wedding ring?” she said hopefully.
“It shouldn’t be long now. Davis Hoffman’s lawyer wants to spare his family the spectacle of a long, drawn-out trial.”
“But they’ll all go to prison for what they did to my mom, right?” Emma asked. “Even the Creedmores?”
“The district attorney assures me that he’s going to ask for the max for all of them, but then it’s up to the judge. You’re willing to give a victim impact statement, right?”
Emma lifted her chin. “Absolutely. My dad will give one too.”
She turned to Hattie. “Now that it’s all over, I’m going to have a service for her. He wants to come. Do you think I should let him?”
Hattie thought of her fractured relationship with her own father, how it had grown colder and more distant with the passing years. Would things have been different if he’d reached out to her earlier? If he’d expressed remorse? She’d probably never know. Her last visit with him had reinforced the wideness of the gulf. It was too late.
“I don’t know, Emma,” she said, answering the girl’s question. “He’s the only family you’ve got, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong. But, if he wants to see you, and you think he can change, or if you can find a way to forgive him, maybe give him another chance.”