Like a worn soldier, I headed into the kitchen.
For Mom’s dinner, a ham sandwich would have to suffice.
By rote I made the sandwich, my sodden thoughts turning to my next challenges. First, I still had to convince Mom to leave the house with me. When we reached the station I would have to tell Deputy Harcroft everything. Including how I’d lied to him the first time around. That wouldn’t be fun.
I wrapped the sandwich and put the ingredients back into the refrigerator. Went into my bedroom to pull the flash drive out of my computer. My hand stopped just as I touched it. I stared at the rolling pictures of my screen saver, biting my lip.
Did I really want to give away my one copy of the video? Why I would ever need to see the thing again, I didn’t know. But too many strange things had happened already . . .
With a sigh at my own doggedness, I copied the video onto my computer’s hard drive.
Mom’s bedroom door opened, her music still on. She walked into my room, purple hat on her head. Her face looked worn, as it always did after one of her episodes. Did she even remember it had happened?
She might be placid now, though more from exhaustion than anything.
She spread her hands. “I’m hungry.”
My head nodded. “I made you a sandwich. We need to take it with us to see the deputy, remember?”
“What for?”
“We have to talk to them about Morton.”
Mom’s expression softened. “He died.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“What do they want?”
“They want to hear from you what a good friend Morton was.”
“Oh.” Her gazed wandered across the room. “Okay.”
I gave her a weary smile.
“When do we go?”
“Soon as a deputy gets here to drive us.”
“I’m ready now. Well, maybe I should comb my hair.”
“Okay. Then you can sit in your chair and wait.”
Mom fussed with her hair, then settled into her rocking chair.
A short time later the doorbell rang. “He’s here!” She headed for the door. In the kitchen I snatched up her sandwich, some napkins, a bottle of water, and my purse.
“How nice to meet you,” I heard Mom say. So polite. So in control. “I’m Carol Ballard. My daughter’s almost ready. She always has so many things to do.”
Deputy Gonzalez stood in the doorway, a short man with thick, dark hair. “Mrs. Shire?”
I gave him the once-over. Beyond him at the curb sat a white car marked “San Mateo Sheriff’s Department.”
“Hannah, say hello.” Mom frowned at me.
The deputy tipped his head to me. “You ready to go?”
His question reverberated. Not an hour ago I’d faced two other official-looking men, believing everything they said. Now I was putting myself and my mother in the car with this man. I should have said no to Harcroft. Told him I’d drive myself.
“Hannah.” Mom’s tone reprimanded.
Again I stared at the car—and my worries about Gonzalez spritzed away. This was real law enforcement, for heaven’s sake. I should be glad he was here—and that my mother was willing to get into his car. I’d tell Harcroft what he needed and be done with this. As for those fake FBI agents—if they hadn’t been satisfied with my answers, they wouldn’t have left. They knew I was just some woman who stopped at a car accident. I’d given them what they wanted. They were done with me.
Tomorrow, all of this would be behind us.
“Sorry.” I managed a weak smile. “It’s been . . . a lot has happened today.”
“I understand.” Deputy Gonzalez stepped out onto the porch, holding the door for Mom.
In the back seat of the deputy’s car I offered Mom her sandwich. She waved it away. “Two other men visited us just a while ago, did you know that?” She leaned forward, aiming her words at Gonzalez. “They were very nice. But they told us Morton had died.”
“Yes, I know.” Gonzalez nodded.
“It made me very sad. He was my friend.”
I remained silent, watching houses go by. Soon we turned onto Edgewood Road, headed toward Freeway 280. A sudden wave of grief for Jeff rolled over me. If he were alive, he’d know how to handle this. Two years after his death, the world could still threaten to overwhelm me. For thirty years I’d faced life’s challenges with him by my side.
We wound our way past the eucalyptus trees on Highway 92, Mom again breathing in deep and saying, “Vicks VapoRub.” In Half Moon Bay, we turned onto Kelly Street and parked at the substation. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Inside the building, Gonzalez ushered us to a small windowless room with a table and three chairs. Looked like a place where they’d interrogate suspects. My skin prickled.