“What did you do?” I ask.

“She just took off,” Officer Grady tries to explain. “She’s out of control, Beth. I called an ambulance for her own safety.”

“An ambulance?” I ask in disbelief. “But she’s not hurt,” I say before I realize what he’s getting at. “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “She’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes alone with her and she’ll relax. She just doesn’t understand what’s going on. She’s scared.”

“You found her?” Officer Grady begins to move toward the boxcar and I step in front of him.

I nod. “Please, just stay outside and I’ll talk to her. If I can keep her calm, will you please send the ambulance away?”

“I can’t promise that,” he says.

Officer Grady heads back toward the depot and I return to the boxcar. “Violet, please,” I beg through the doorway. “You have to come out.”

The very worst thing I can do is yank her from her hiding place. Violet is not a violent girl, but when she feels cornered or anxious, she kind of freaks out. Has since she was a toddler. In kindergarten she was known as a runner. The kid who would dart from the classroom and out the front doors when things didn’t quite go her way. I thought she had outgrown it.

I climb back inside the boxcar, the skin on my hips and shoulders rubbed raw from the narrow fit. We sit shoulder to shoulder in silence for a few minutes, though I’m eager to get her out of here. I don’t know how long Officer Grady will be patient.

“They’re bad,” Violet whispers and a shiver runs through me.

“Who is?” I ask. This is the first time I heard her mention more than one person.

“You won’t believe me,” she says tearfully. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” I say fiercely. “I promise. Do you know who stabbed Cora?” I ask. “Can you describe them to Officer Grady?” I wonder if there is a sketch artist in a police department of this size. Probably not. But then I think of the drawing in Violet’s sketchbook. Maybe that will be enough.

“I told you—Joseph Wither.”

I try to keep the frustration from seeping into the expression on my face. I promised Violet I would believe her. “Okay, it was Joseph Wither.” I think about what Officer Grady said about questioning the known pedophiles in the area. Pedophiles—plural. I’m not naive but how can such a small town have more than one? “How did he know you were going to be there?” I manage to ask.

“Cora talked to him,” Violet says, setting her chin atop her bent knees. “They talked to each other.”

“Cora?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

“Through a chat room and emails.” She begins to cry. “I think he’s going to get me next.”