“Lola, mainly.”
Noelle is going to cry. Mary Beth senses it, like a drop in air pressure. It’s coming. It’s happening. She can’t let that sway her.
“These things belonged to Lola? Why are they here? Why would you take them from her?”
“Because I can.” Her daughter sniffles, but there’s something in the performance that today, for once, Mary Beth isn’t entirely convinced by. “She lets me.”
“That’s not very nice.” Mary Beth stares down at the pile of odds and ends. What are the chances Lola Morton gave these to Noelle, let her have all this stuff for keeps? She bites her lip, unsure of whether she wants to know the answer. Normally she could call Darby and ask, but Darby’s in jail.
“Noelle, how long have you been taking things from Lola?”
No actual tears have fallen. Her face is red and her eyes squinted together, but where are the tears? She’s in big trouble. She does know that, doesn’t she?
“Since … since school started … I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to.”
Oh my god. Mary Beth sinks down onto the foot of the mattress.
“Mommy, please don’t be mad. It was an accident.”
There’s a layer of ice crystallizing over Mary Beth’s heart. She will admit to wishful thinking. Fine, yes, she thought her prayers were answered, that she had faith the size of a mustard seed that could move mountains. When Darby called and said it was Lola’s footprints that were found at the scene of the crime, Mary Beth breathed the deepest sigh of relief. Because she was wrong. Slowly, she turns to face her daughter, who looks back at her with clear, dry eyes.
“Noelle,” she says. “Whose shoes are in the Target dumpster?”
TRANSCRIPT OF INTERVIEW OF WITNESS, ASHER BRAZLE
APPEARANCES:
Detective Wanda Bright
PROCEEDINGS
DET. BRIGHT: Asher, I’m hoping you can help me figure out what some of your friends have been trying to tell me. Do you think you could help me out?
ASHER BRAZLE: My dad says never commit to a timeline.
MR. BRAZLE: That’s my boy.
DET. BRIGHT: Okay. Well. Thank you for that honesty. Something I’m sure we both value. Asher, I want you to look at these two pictures and tell me what about the two pictures is different. It’s a game. Can you do that for me?
ASHER BRAZLE: Okay …
DET BRIGHT: Okay … Do you need help getting started?
ASHER BRAZLE: Yeah.
DET. BRIGHT: Well, see, in this picture, the turtle is wearing a red hat. In this other picture the turtle’s wearing a blue one. That’s different.
ASHER BRAZLE: That’s funny. Oh! Look! Here the squirrel is eating a hot dog and in the other one he’s not eating anything.
DET. BRIGHT: Exactly!
ASHER BRAZLE: And in this one the dog is riding a unicycle and in the other, that’s a motorcycle. Dogs can’t ride motorcycles.
DET. BRIGHT: Very good. That’s exactly what I mean. You get it. Now pretend that day, the last day you saw Miss Ollie, pretend that day is like one of these pictures. I’m trying to understand what about that day was different from your normal days. Make sense? What can you tell me, Asher?
ASHER BRAZLE: Lots of things. It was a crazy day! That’s what Miss Ollie said.
DET. BRIGHT: Tell me about that. What made it crazy?
ASHER BRAZLE: Mr. Smiley wasn’t there to take our pictures. That was one thing. And then, in chapel, we learned about David and Goliath and that’s when Lola got in trouble.
DET. BRIGHT: Why did Lola get in trouble?
ASHER BRAZLE: Because she threw a pebble at Noelle and it hit her in the eye. Just like in the story.
DET. BRIGHT: Where was this?
ASHER BRAZLE: In chapel. Lola had a rock stuck in the bottom of her shoe and she took it out and she threw it.
DET. BRIGHT: Then what?
ASHER BRAZLE: Then we stopped chapel so that Miss Ollie could take Lola to Mrs. Parker’s office for a talking-to.
DET. BRIGHT: Did you stay in the sanctuary during that time?
ASHER BRAZLE: No. We got walked back. Oh. That was another different thing about that day. Instead of Ms. Neary doing our story, we had a special guest.
DET. BRIGHT: Who was the special guest, Asher?
ASHER BRAZLE: His name is Pastor Ben.
THIRTY-FIVE
Darby wasn’t strip-searched; she really wishes she could announce that to everyone at once— Hi, I didn’t have to bend over and cough, thank you so much for your attention, carry on. But so far she hasn’t found a natural way to work that into conversation.
She met the custody sergeant, went over the reasons for her arrest, handed over the things in her pockets, which he placed gingerly in a plastic bag for safekeeping; she spoke with her new lawyer, she sat in a cell for hours, she went over again with the police how, yes, she did pick up Lola, and no, she did not know where those shoes were and, no, she did not purposefully get rid of them. The first release review came six hours after her admission into the station, right on schedule, as her lawyer had warned her. And then the next, nine hours after that one, when they announced they did not have enough to justify continuing to hold her.
After fifteen hours at the police station, Darby was a free woman. Griff was sheet white when he came to collect her. He looked worse off than she was. “What did you tell them?” he asked.
There was nothing much to discuss. They both knew what he was really asking, whether she told the police officers she saw him at school that day, whether she believes their daughter could have killed her teacher.
A private email arrived from the school administrator the very next day: We think it might be best if you kept Lola home for the foreseeable future, considering recent developments in the case of Erin Ollie.
And Darby thought: Who is “we”？ Is the Queen of England speaking or was an entire committee elected while Darby’s back was turned? Either way, she didn’t care for the tone. It implied her daughter was a menace, a danger, and, most horribly of all, guilty.
“We are not going to hide ourselves away.” Darby pulls up to the school with both of her children buckled into the back seat, prisoners to their mother’s monologue. She feels like a whole new person. Less self-deprecating, less compliant, maybe she has been hardened by the system. “We’re not going to lay low until things have blown over. You’re not Typhoid Mary. We pay tuition. On time. Most of the time.”
“Is Noelle going to be there?” Lola shakes her bangs, which are in desperate need of a trim, out of her eyes.
“Of course, sweetie. Okay, just remember to keep your head held high. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. And you know you didn’t do anything wrong.” Though Darby’s conviction on this point has wobbled over the last couple of days. The thing is, Darby bought those Crocs for Lola’s birthday. They’re her favorite shoes because of the hideous sparkles. And now they’ve vanished into thin air. There has to be a logical explanation except, for the life of her, she can’t think of one. She can’t remember which shoes Lola wore on which day.
Lola nods, all business. Darby goes around the sides of the car and gets her kids out. She and Lola high-five and she feels a little braver, a little more justified. The Morton ladies have got this covered. Lola is Lola. And Darby will make every single person at this school look her in the eye before condemning her or her child. So there.