Two down and three to go. Four if you counted Cady Jordan. Six if he counted the twins’ parents and Boomer’s parents. Then again, maybe it was seven if he wanted to get in touch with Cady’s parents. The forgotten people in that long-ago tragedy. He wondered if the paper would spring for a trip to wherever it was Cady’s parents lived.

Amy watched from behind the blinds in her living room as the reporter drove away. She was so light-headed from the verbal confrontation, she tottered over to the sofa, where she sat down and put her head between her legs.

Her world was falling apart. Her thoughts ricocheted wildly as she wished for Larry Denville to get run over by a steamroller on his way back to the office, and for her brother to come crawling on his hands and knees up her driveway begging for her to take him in. Her thoughts careened to Pete Danson, her brother’s wife, Jill, Cady, and Boomer. If they would all just die, she would be totally happy. God, what is happening to me? When did I turn into this ugly, hateful person?

When Cady Jordan came back to town, that’s when.

She bounded off the sofa, searched for her car keys and purse. She needed help, and she knew it.

It wasn’t exactly the wrong side of the tracks, but it was a shabby neighborhood. It was where she’d grown up and where her parents still lived. The houses were tract houses, ranch style, with very little lawn, no porches, and a small concrete slab off the kitchen that posed as a patio. Her parents were not into outside maintenance. They weren’t into inside maintenance either. Occasionally, the lawn got mowed, usually when the grass and weeds were ankle high. Andy used to mow the lawn with an old, rusty, push mower. Inside, the furniture and the walls were the same as when she used to live there.

Alma Hollister had more important things to do with her time than keeping house. On Fridays she had a general waxing and got her hair done. Saturdays were for nails and pedicures. Sunday was designated for canasta and a brunch, usually something that could be microwaved. Monday was for garage sales, Tuesdays was girls’ day out with her friends, Wednesday was appreciation day, where Alma and all her friends appreciated each other in great detail. Thursday was considered a lazy day, a day to catch up on the soap operas and read the trashy tabloids.

Fred Hollister still worked at the school as the head janitor. After work, he hung out with his cronies, either playing cards or swigging beer. It was a seven-day-a-week lifestyle that didn’t leave room for much else but sleeping.

Amy hated going there, and she did so as rarely as possible. She liked going to Arnie’s parents’ because they were normal people, and they liked their grandchildren.

Amy opened the screen door and shouted to her mother.