The Silence of Murder (32 page)

When we finally leave the courthouse—Raymond, Rita, Jeremy, and me—the air outside has changed. We stop on the top step and breathe in the moment, clear as sunshine, right as rain, and true as song.

“Hope! Hope!”

I don’t answer right away. It’s Saturday morning, nearly eight months since Jeremy started talking again, and I still get a rush hearing my brother say my name. I make him say it again. Then I join him on the front lawn. Our dog, a black-and-white mutt we rescued from the shelter, trots over to greet me, then races back to Jer. Jeremy named the puppy Maple, but only he knows why.

Outside, a white fog hangs over the budding treetops. A car door slams, and I see Raymond getting out of his car, followed by his wife and daughter. Jer and I run to meet them. “How’s my Christy?” I ask, checking to see if the baby’s grown hair yet. She’s dressed in pink so we’ll know she’s a girl anyway. Her whole name is Christina Hope Munroe. Raymond says you can’t have too many Hopes.

“Want to hold her, Jeremy?” Becca Munroe offers up her prize.

My brother shakes his head. He loves that baby, but he’s afraid to hold her. “We sing tomorrow,” he says, grinning.

“I know,” Becca says. She and Jer sing in the choir, and tomorrow is their Easter cantata.

I glance back at the house, and Rita waves from the window. She won’t come outside. Hangover. At least being drunk embarrasses her now. She and Bob spend a lot of time together, and not just at the Colonial or at night. They went to the zoo last week, and they took Jeremy with them. Rita was sober for almost three weeks after the trial. Maybe she will be again.

“So,” Raymond says, picking up Maple and scratching his ears, “did you get enrolled at Wayne County okay?”

“Yep. Thanks.” Raymond tried to get me to apply to Ohio State, but I’m not ready to leave Jeremy. I’m going to commute with T.J. to Wayne County Community College for now. Raymond wants me to major in prelaw. I might. But right now I’m leaning toward being a private investigator. Anything’s possible.

I still think about Chase. At the weirdest moments, a picture will flash to my mind, and I’ll see his green eyes, tanned face, and that smile—and I’ll miss him so much it hurts. He’s in a juvenile facility, where he’ll be for a long, long time. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him. I wrote him once, but I didn’t mail it. He could be in prison the rest of his life.

Jeremy tears into the house and comes back with a quart pickle jar I washed for him over a month ago. He writes the date on the bottom of the jar, then folds a slip of paper and tucks it under the lid. I don’t ask what he’s written. I think I can guess.

The fog moves in, rushing to get a part in my brother’s memory. As Jeremy raises his arms, I can’t take my eyes off him. In the instant he sweeps the air, his face changes from gawky—too much gum, too big ears—to handsome and wise with secret knowledge. And in that instant, he captures in his jar the fog of spring and the promise of hope.

you have collected
all my tears in your bottle
.
Psalm 56:8 (New Living Translation)

I love acknowledgments, although mine should really be called “Thanksgivings”!

A million thanks to Allison Wortche, my gifted editor, whose sensitivity and insights have strengthened this book, and whose gracious spirit makes the work fun. I’m so grateful to Alfred A. Knopf Books, a house I’ve admired my whole life, for welcoming me into their family.

As for Anna J. Webman, my magnificent agent, thanks for taking such great care of me. I’m proud to be part of Curtis Brown Ltd.

For such an intricate mystery, I needed help! Thank you to the experts who answered all my questions and often came up with better ideas than I did:

• Patrick G. Lazzaro, prosecuting attorney, Cleveland, Ohio, and former administrative judge in Ohio (we must do this again!)

• Rick Acker, deputy attorney general in the California Department of Justice

• Assistant prosecutor, Ashland County, Ohio

And on the home front, thanks to my amazing family for letting me steal so much material from your lives. I hope you realize how very thankful I am for all of you.

Dandi Daley Mackall is the award-winning author of many books for children and adults. She visits countless schools, conducts writing assemblies and workshops across the United States, and presents keynote addresses at conferences and young author events. She is also a frequent guest on radio talk shows and has made dozens of appearances on TV.

Dandi lives in rural Ohio with her husband, three children, and their horses, dogs, and cats.

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