“What news?” I ask, and she stares at me.

“Lord, I thought that’s why you came by.” She scooches forward on the couch and lowers her voice, casting a nervous glance in the direction of Monty’s room, as if he might overhear. “Terrible, terrible thing. She’ll pull through okay, though. Still, a girl so young…a good student, too…”

“What girl? What happened?”

“Tatum Klauss,” she says, and my heart stops. The girl who accused Monty of stalking her, according to Sheriff Kahn. “Monty’s had a thing for her for ages—since they were freshmen and they used to ride the same bus, before her parents divorced. Sweet as anything, and always so polite when she sees me in the line. Not like most kids. Look at you like you’re trash. A bright student, too.”

Talking to May has always been like trying to separate strands of spaghetti left to cool in a colander. Every idea leads to ten others. “What happened to Tatum?”

“Got ahold of a bunch of her brother’s attention medicine and took them all at once—last night, when everyone was at the game.” May makes the sign of the cross. “Thank God her momma wasn’t feeling well and came home early. Found her puking her guts out and barely conscious. She rushed her right to the emergency clinic in Dougsville.” The same clinic where I rushed my father, after his fall. “They say she’ll be just fine. Can you imagine? And she’s a straight-A student, too. Got one of them Optimal Scholarships. Supposed to be heading out to college in the fall…” May says “college” the way someone might say “heaven.” In some ways, it isn’t surprising. Around these parts, both are just as hard to get into.

I take a long swallow of tea, hoping it will wash down the sudden bitter taste in my mouth. “Do they know why?”

May shakes her head. “Sheriff Kahn was there for assembly, and that’s all he said.”

An image blinks in my mind, hundreds of hands passing photographs through the risers. And Becky Sarinelli, hurtling herself down from the bleachers, trying to escape—but not quickly enough.

Not nearly quickly enough.

Some things are inexplicable, Sheriff Kahn said that day. It seems there are a lot of things he hasn’t been able to explain.

May adds, with sudden ferocity: “Well, he ain’t gonna pin the pills on Monty, is he? Doesn’t mean he won’t try. I swear, if the sun turned green tomorrow he’d say it was Monty’s fault.”

“Has Sheriff Kahn told you whether Gallagher is going to press charges?”

“It isn’t Gallagher,” she says. “Even that old kook has more sense than that. Sheriff Kahn keeps saying they need to make him an example!”

“I’ll talk to Sheriff Kahn again.” I say the words automatically, though I know the promise in them is empty. If Gallagher isn’t pressing charges, there’s no reason to go after Monty. Unless Kahn’s trying to cover for someone else.

“He won’t eat,” May is saying. “The school’s saying they might keep him from walking at graduation. If he graduates.” May’s eyes well up and she swipes at them with the back of her hand. “Look at me, crying over spilled milk. I keep thinking of Tatum’s mother…”