Tommy nodded his head, but reserved comment. He understood that Miss Navarre hadn’t meant anything bad, but he was still mad at Detective Mendez and the FBI man for what they had said to his mom the night before. They sounded like they meant every word of what they said, and what they said was that they thought his father might be a killer. It was their job to be suspicious, but it still made Tommy mad. This was probably one of those things he would automatically understand when he got older—or that’s what grown-ups would tell him, at least.

“That was very nice of you to give Miss Navarre a gift,” his father said. “What was it?”

“A necklace.”

His father glanced over at him in the glow of the dashboard lights. “Where did you get a necklace? You never left the house today.”

Tommy made a face as he contemplated his confession. “Mom threw it away. She had one of her fits this morning and she threw it away. But it was pretty, and I figured she kind of owed Miss Navarre on account of she yelled at her in public last night, so it made sense to me to give the necklace to Miss Navarre. So I did.”

His father stared ahead at the road. “Your mother threw away a necklace?”

“She’s always throwing stuff away. She shouldn’t have nice things if she doesn’t take better care of them,” Tommy said.

Now he was feeling a little guilty about it, though. He knew he shouldn’t get mad at his mother for things she did when she was upset. She couldn’t help herself when she got that way. He was supposed to feel badly for her, not give her stuff away.

“Did I do something bad?” he asked.

“No, son. You meant well,” his father said.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Tommy said. That was another thing adults always said that never quite made sense to him. But it sounded good.

Anne handed her papers and license out the window to Frank Farman.

“What are the charges, Deputy?”

“I ask the questions here,” he said. “But then that’s always your problem, isn’t it, Miss Navarre? You never know when to keep your mouth shut.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not against the law.”

“Get out of the car,” Farman ordered.

“No.” Her response was automatic.

Farman yanked open the Volkswagen’s door. “Get out of the car. Your careless driving and belligerent attitude are leading me to believe you might be intoxicated. You can get out of the vehicle or I can remove you from the vehicle and place you under arrest.”

Then he would put her in the back of his squad car and . . . what? She would never be seen again? The scene was fresh in her mind: Dennis saying, “He killed her,” and Anne turning to see Frank Farman’s face in the window.