“When you came out of the grass, you were carrying something. Do you remember what it was?” Violet shakes her head.

My mind thinks back to the moment when Violet wandered out from the overgrown grass. I remember how her clothes were bloodied. I remember something slipping from her bloody fingers but didn’t think it was important. I had completely forgotten about it.

“It was a hawk-billed knife, Violet. Do you know what that is?” Violet doesn’t answer but continues to look down at her hands, which are on her lap, her right index finger moving in swift strokes across her thigh. I know what she is doing. It’s a nervous habit. She’s sketching something. Her finger is her pencil, her leg her canvas. “It’s a knife with a hooked blade. It’s very sharp,” Officer Grady continues. “It’s what was used to hurt Cora. Why were you holding it, Violet?”

“We just brought it in case we needed to protect ourselves from Wither,” she murmurs, her finger still sweeping across her thigh. I’m momentarily stunned. The girls brought the weapon that was used on Cora? None of this makes any sense.

“Violet,” Officer Grady says, “look at me.” Violet lifts her chin and meets his eyes. “There is no such thing as Joseph Wither.”

“There is,” Violet whispers.

“The real Joseph Wither died a long time ago.”

“No, he didn’t.” Violet shakes her head. “He can’t die.”

“He must be real.” I try to defend her. “I mean, maybe someone told her he was Joseph Wither, but he was lying.”

This is taking too long. For every minute that Officer Grady spends sitting in our kitchen questioning Violet, this Wither person is getting farther and farther away.

Officer Grady looks pissed but I push back from the table and stand. “I’ll be right back.” I hurry from the kitchen and up the stairs and into the bedroom. I pull the sketchbook from beneath the bed and run back downstairs.

“See.” I thrust the sketch in front of Officer Grady. “Maybe this is who you should be looking for.”

“Mom!” Violet exclaims, trying to intercept the sketchbook. “That’s mine. You can’t go through my things.”

Officer Grady takes the book in his hands and Max slides off the kitchen counter to look over his shoulder.

“Who is it?” Officer Grady asks.

“Joseph Wither,” Violet says in a small voice.

“Why did you draw the picture of him, Violet? How do you know what he looks like?” Officer Grady asks.

“For a school project.” I speak for her but Grady gives me a sharp look that quiets me.

“We found a picture of him in an old yearbook at the library,” Violet explains.