The officer stared at the grass, then at her. He didn’t respond to her question. “Let’s see your driver’s license.” Cady whipped her wallet out of her hip pocket and handed over her license. She watched the officer carefully to see if her name registered with him. If it did, he gave no sign. “It’s a forty-five-dollar ticket. You have ten days to pay it.”

“Where should I pay it?”

“The courthouse. Don’t let me catch you back here again.”

“Who owns this property?” Cady asked.

“I don’t know. Get in your car now and don’t come back. A second offense is thirty days in jail. We take our laws seriously around here.”

Cady nodded as she climbed behind the wheel. She turned the Mountaineer around to head for home. It could have been worse. It could have been Boomer Ward who had found her there.

7

Cady opened one eye and then the other. It wasn’t quite light out yet, which meant it had to be around five-thirty. Her heart kicked up a beat when she thought about the busy day she had planned. She closed her eyes so she could conjure up the image of the Judas Grove. Her happiest childhood memories, and there weren’t many, had to do with the gang and the grove. Nothing lasts forever, she told herself. If she could just remember what had happened that day. If she could just remember one little thing, maybe the rest would fall into place.

She snuggled into the fluffy comforter, her head nestled in the downy pillow as she let her mind soar. In the first newspaper article dealing with the tragedy her mother had said she was sitting on the swing. That’s where her memory began and ended. She’d been watching the movers load the truck. Her bike was the last thing to go into the truck. She’d hidden it in the bushes. The article didn’t say anything about her bike. Was it pink or lavender? She couldn’t remember, pink maybe. The bike had been a special gift from Lola.

She wasn’t supposed to get dirty that day because of the supper and all the stuff was packed away. Her mother had come out to the porch and she’d said…something. She’d said something that upset her mother. That wasn’t in the article either. Her mother went back into the house. What did I do then? I got my bike out of the bushes. That wasn’t in the article either.

Cady swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the first floor. She let Atlas out while she waited at the door. He was back within minutes.

Barefoot, she padded to the library, where she dug out the scrapbook that had her name embossed in gold on the front cover. She trembled with excitement as she let her index finger trace down the words. There was no mention of her taking her bike out of the bushes. That had to mean it was part of her lost memory. Maybe the conversation with her mother was another part of that same memory.