Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes(14)
The officer opened the back door of the patrol car and I slid across the seat, the vinyl sticking to the dampness on the back of my legs. He shut the door and a wave of claustrophobia choked me. What if they arrested me? What if I went into the police station and I never saw the light of day again?
I searched the crowd for Violet, desperate to see her face. I found her several rows back, her cell phone against her cheek and her worried eyes on me. My heart broke for her. Not only did she lose Momma, but now she was stuck worrying about me.
Ernie got in the car. We remained silent the short drive to the police station. He helped me out and escorted me to a small room with a table, telling me someone would be in soon. A short time later, Detective Taylor entered the room and sat down across from me.
“It’s been a busy night, Ms. Gardner, hasn’t it?”
My mouth dried up and I swallowed, my heart pounding fast and furious. I looked down at my hands, which I twisted in my lap. “I refuse to answer any questions without an attorney present.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Now, Ms. Gardner,” he said, emphasizing Ms. in a condescending, a no-nonsense tone that let me know he wouldn’t put up with any foolishness. “There’s no need for that. I just want to ask a few questions. We can all go home and go to bed if you'll just cooperate and answer a few more questions.”
I squirmed in my seat. I had nothing to hide, but Joe seemed so insistent I remain silent, not to mention I could see the truth about the potential laziness of the Henryetta law enforcement. I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye, surprised at my backbone. “I’ll wait for my attorney.”
He grumbled under his breath and left the room. Exhausted, I laid my head on the table and wondered how long I would have to wait for my lawyer, whoever that might be. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes, go to sleep, and wake up to find this was all a God-awful nightmare.
An hour later, the door opened and a woman entered and shut the door behind her. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’m Deanna Crawfield, your attorney. The police have agreed to let you go for now, but you have been warned not to leave Fenton County.”
She was not what I expected for my lawyer. I presumed she would actually be a he, a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit to be specific. It took me a moment for her words to sink in. “But I didn’t do anythin’.”
“It doesn't matter whether you did or not at this point. What matters is the police department of Henryetta, Arkansas think you did. We’ll meet first thing Tuesday morning after the holiday so I can get your side of the story, but if they come to talk to you between now and then, you call me.” Deanna handed me her business card. “I highly suggest you don’t forget and go cross the county line. Trust me, they’ll be looking for a reason to arrest you.”
I took the card and shook my head. “I rarely leave the county anyway.”
Deanna held the door open. “Let’s get you out of here so you can get some sleep. Your sister’s worried sick about you.”
I followed her down the hall to the front of the police station. Violet and Mike sat in plastic chairs, and Violet was wringing her hands like she was trying to squeeze the water out of a dish rag. They both looked up and Violet ran to me, wrapping her arms around my back in a tight embrace. She began to cry into my hair. I glanced helplessly over her shoulder at Mike. He gave me a half smile, then patted Violet on the back.
“Come on, honey. Let the girl breathe.”
Violet pulled away and smoothed the hair out of my face. “Let’s get you home, sweetie.”
I nodded, holding back my own tears. The sooner I got out of there, the better.
We walked out the front doors, with Deanna reminding Violet that I needed to call her office first thing Tuesday morning.
At Violet’s house, Mike put Ashley in their room so I could sleep in hers. Violet gave me a nightgown to sleep in. I changed and collapsed under the covers, too exhausted to turn off the pink princess lamp on the table. A few minutes later, Violet rapped on the door, pushing it open before I said anything. She came in, wearing a nightgown, and sat at the edge of the mattress.
“Are you okay, Rose?”
Momma was dead. I discovered her disfigured body. The police thought I murdered her. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No.”
Violet lay next to me and I scooted over, making room for the two of us on the twin-sized bed. She took my hand in hers, slowly and deliberately threading our fingers together, like she used to do when we were little girls. And just like that, I felt six years old again, with my eight-year-old sister next to me, shaking in fear as we listened to one of Momma’s tirades outside our bedroom. My eyes flooded with tears while I gripped her hand, hanging on for dear life. Violet softly hummed the old lullaby she made up years ago, the one she used to sing to me when I was scared or sad. I drifted off to sleep, lulled into a false sense of security.