The clay was there too. It got on her coat and nightgown, on her hands. She had been wiping her hands and crying and the cop was pulling her out of the house, but he didn’t move fast enough and she saw Willa’s legs sticking out from behind the grandfather clock. One leg was bent up casually, as if she could straighten it out, but the other was turned all the way around with the kneecap pressed into the carpet. Rachel gagged and the cop got her out of there. She thought she’d throw up and she bent sickly over the grass, taking deep breaths until she got some control. Then she looked up and saw Golda standing in her driveway watching, and Rachel shrieked and ran across the road to her. Golda flinched and would have run away, but Rachel grabbed her shoulder and shook her as hard as she could.

“What happened to them?” she screamed at Golda. A couple of the pink plastic rollers in Golda’s hair came loose and fell. Her hair flopped in her face.

“I don’t know,” she sobbed.

Rachel shook her again. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

The cop pulled at her. “Please, lady,” he said desperately, “give her a chance to talk.”

“Why did you call me?” Rachel yelled again, but she let Golda go. Golda bent down and picked up the rollers. She was still sobbing.

“Something woke me up. I don’t know what. Some­thing. I thought it was the front door and I tried to wake Sam to go and see but he was out like a light. So I went. Our door was closed, everything was fine, and I went back . . .” She wiped tears and cream off her face. “Then, just as I’m ready to get back in bed, I looked out the window. I don’t know why, Rachel.”

“What did you see?” Rachel asked.