“Jordyn’s not your friend, Violet,” I say angrily. “Friends don’t ask you to tell lies. Just tell the truth and everything will be okay. Let’s go and talk to Officer Grady. And, Violet, whatever happens, you have to stay calm, cool and collected. Got it?”

Violet manages to give me a halfhearted smile. That’s what I used to say to her when she was younger and I’d drop her off at school. “Remember, the three C’s, Violet,” I’d say. “Stay calm, cool and collected and everything will be okay.”

I lead Violet to the door and watch as she carefully climbs out. On instinct I go back and grab the jar filled with paper and tuck it under my arm. I suck my stomach in and force myself from the boxcar. “You ready?” I ask and she nods.

Together we cross the train yard to where Officer Grady and Max are waiting along with an ambulance and another police officer. The lights are still flashing but at least the sirens have been silenced.

“Can Violet come with me? We’ll go right to the station. She has a lot to tell you,” I say. Officer Grady shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I have to follow procedures. The EMTs have to check her out.

“It’s okay, Violet.” Officer Grady leads us to the ambulance and I reach for her hand but she pulls away and then I see the small crowd that has gathered.

“Fuck,” Max says under his breath. I want to pinch him for swearing out loud but I feel the same way. “Where did they come from?” About half a dozen people have gathered just outside the train yard.

“They probably heard about it on the scanner,” Officer Grady explains, disgusted as I am about the ghoulishness of the onlookers.

“Just ignore them,” I murmur. “Pretend you don’t see them and get in the car.” Heads down, with Violet between us, we hurry toward the cars.

“Be careful now,” a voice calls out from the crowd. “Joseph Wither might be around here somewhere.” Nervous laughter comes from the crowd.

“Don’t listen to them,” I say through clenched teeth but Violet looks around frantically.

“I think he’s over there,” the voice calls and I scan the crowd looking for the idiot bent on scaring my daughter. Clint Phelps. He keeps showing up like a bad penny.

Max looks like he’s going to explode. “Stay put,” I tell him. Clint gives me one of his famous smirks and it’s all I can do not to walk over to him and knock it from his face.

“Or maybe over there.” Clint tosses his chin toward the winter wheat.

“Shut up, Clint,” Max says. Tears roll down Violet’s face as two EMTs begin to move cautiously toward us. I don’t like where this is going. I don’t like it at all.