Dad still didn’t say a word. He stared blankly into the dust.

“I didn’t do it,” I blurted out, filling the silence.

To a cop, that must be like lighting up a big sign that says, I did it! I did it!

Wallace smiled with his lips, not his teeth. His mustache wriggled like a red worm. “No one is saying you did, young lady.” He looked at Jonny. “And who’s this?”

“I’m Jon Stride. I’m Cindy’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Jon. Why don’t you head on home now, okay?”

Jonny pushed himself off the sofa and shook Wallace’s hand. There was something different about him right then, something I’d never seen before, something mature and attractive. I could see them sizing each other up like men do. “If Cindy says she didn’t do it, you can take that to the bank. And I’m staying. I was there last night.”

Wallace got a little glint in his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Jonny sat back down.

I said, “It’s just that they were taking pictures, and I had blood on me because I stepped in it, and I picked up the bat because I thought I heard someone in the woods.”

“You picked up the bat?” Wallace asked.

“Yes.”

“So we’ll find your fingerprints on it?”

Oh, hell. “Yes, I guess so.”

“Okay, that’s good to know. It’s Cindy, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get along with your sister, Cindy?”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Because sisters have been known to fight from time to time.”

“Sure, sometimes, but never anything serious.”

My dad stirred from his gloom and interrupted. “What’s this all about, Wallace? You’re out of your head if you’re accusing my daughter.”

Wallace adjusted his glasses on his face with his thumb and index finger. “I’m not accusing anybody, Mr. Starr. I’m just gathering information.” He turned back to me. “Cindy, do you still have the clothes you were wearing last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you wash them?”

“No, they’re in a basket.”

“We’re going to need those, okay? I’ll have to take them with me.”

“Okay, sure.”

“And shoes.”

“I wasn’t wearing shoes.”

“Ah.” Wallace pulled a Polaroid snapshot from his shirt pocket. “This is you last night, right?”

“Right.”

“There’s some blood around your hands and on your legs and feet.”

“Yes, I know. I told you, I stepped—”

Wallace shook his head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. The lab people tell me whoever did this would have been drenched in blood. I mean drenched. Head to toe. Not a little around the edges.” He looked at William Starr. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t mean to be so graphic. What I’m saying is that we already concluded that it was very unlikely that Cindy was involved. But I like to see people’s faces before I draw my own conclusions.”

“If you want to blame anyone, blame me,” Dad announced.

Wallace shifted, and the wooden chair squealed. He looked curious. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, first it was my wife and now my daughter. They’re both dead. It doesn’t matter who held the bat. It was God who killed her.”