Part 33 (1/2)

”They're not really friends,” my father said, and I knew it was not the time to argue with him.

”Who else was there?” the officer asked. ”Was there anyone else who might have heard your conversation with Mr. Walker?”

You up to no good, girl.

”George was there,” I said. ”Wanda's brother. Her other relatives were there, too, but they were down-” I pointed across the ca.n.a.l to the area where Salena and the men had been fis.h.i.+ng. ”They weren't close enough to hear.”

”But this George was,” the officer said.

I nodded. Suddenly I realized where this was going.

”George wouldn't hurt anybody,” I said.

”Why are you asking her about this...George?” My father said his name as though he was talking about an object and not a person.

”Mr. Walker claims that Mr. Lewis looked very interested when he heard Julie say that Isabel would be alone on the platform.”

”Bruno's just trying to pin the blame on someone else,” I said, but I could feel my heart sinking. I remembered George's occasional appreciative comments about my sister and the scary way he'd cut his eyes at my father the day he came over to drag me home.

”Well, that may be so,” Officer Davis said. ”Just the same, we need to talk to Mr. Lewis. Do you know how we can reach him?”

I shook my head. ”I don't have a phone number or address or anything,” I said. ”But I think they live on South Street. And they'll be back across the ca.n.a.l in the morning, probably, if it's a nice day. But I know he didn't do it.”

”You don't know that, Julie,” my father scoffed. ”You don't really know those people. You don't know what that boy's capable of doing.”

”He's nice to me,” I said, but that only enraged my father more.

”This is what happens when you disobey me,” he said, and I supposed he was right.

I couldn't sleep at all that night. I went up to the attic early with Lucy, who was weepy and withdrawn, and I didn't bother going down again. I kept crying-we all did. I would think I was okay, that I'd gotten a grip on my emotions, and then all of a sudden, I'd be sobbing again.

I replayed the night before in my mind over and over again, examining my actions to see if I could have done something different and thus prevented my sister's death. I remembered looking out the attic window at the dark ca.n.a.l. If only I'd left the house earlier. Would that have made a difference? And what if I'd gone through with my idea of getting Ned to go with me? Then we would have been in his boat and been able to reach the platform safely, although we might have been too late.

Suddenly, I sat bolt upright in my bed. I remembered running over to the Chapmans' house, getting ready to knock on the screen door only to realize their entire house was dark. I remembered looking toward the ca.n.a.l and seeing the empty Adirondack chairs. And then I remembered the policemen questioning Ned that afternoon, and the way he had looked down at the sand when his father said they'd been watching a meteor shower together in the backyard. Had Mr. Chapman fabricated an alibi to save his son?

I pressed my hand to my mouth, a s.h.i.+ver running through my body.

Oh, Ned, I thought to myself. I thought to myself. Why? Why?

CHAPTER 39.

Julie.

1962.

I awakened the next morning with new resolve and a plan: I needed to do my own investigation. The facts I knew did not fit together. I would tell the police my suspicions about Ned, but not until I'd seen what other evidence I could gather. As heartsick as I was at the thought of George being my sister's killer, I was triply distressed to think it might have been Ned. I would be objective, though, as detached as I could possibly be from the outcome as I gathered my clues. awakened the next morning with new resolve and a plan: I needed to do my own investigation. The facts I knew did not fit together. I would tell the police my suspicions about Ned, but not until I'd seen what other evidence I could gather. As heartsick as I was at the thought of George being my sister's killer, I was triply distressed to think it might have been Ned. I would be objective, though, as detached as I could possibly be from the outcome as I gathered my clues.

I was relieved to have something to do that would both ease my sense of helplessness and also allow me to avoid my family. I left the house early and started walking toward the beach. What made no sense, I thought as I walked, was that Ned had told me to tell Isabel he couldn't meet her that night. Then why would he have thought he could find her on the platform? My question was answered only minutes later.

I was nearly to Mitzi's house when I noticed she was in her front yard was.h.i.+ng her parents' car. She tried to hide from me on the other side of the car, but she knew I'd already seen her. I saw her shoulders sag with resignation as she watched me approach.

”Hi, Mitzi,” I said, walking up her short driveway.

”Hi, Julie.” She stopped scrubbing the car with her soapy sponge. I almost felt sorry for her, she looked so uncomfortable. ”Are you all right?” she asked. ”How's your mother and grandmother?”

”Messed up,” I said. ”Did the police talk to you?”

”They called, but they just asked me what time Izzy left my house the night...the other night.”

”What time did she leave?”

”Eleven-thirty.” She wrung suds out of the sponge onto the driveway. Her hands were pudgy, like the rest of her. ”She was going to...I know you know she always met Ned at midnight.”

”Yeah,” I said.

”He was so peeved at you for not giving Izzy that message that he couldn't come. Even though he could. Although he actually couldn't.” She laughed, then sobered, remembering the seriousness of the conversation.

”What do you mean?” I asked. ”What do you mean that he could, but then he couldn't?”

”He called her here at my house to tell her he might be able to meet her after all,” Mitzi said. ”That's when he found out you hadn't told her he couldn't. Izzy was peeved at you, too. Anyway, he said he might be able to, but he wasn't sure, but he'd try. He couldn't get away, though. Isn't it unreal? The one night he couldn't get out that colored boy was there? What c.r.a.ppy luck. You must just be-” She shook her head. ”I bet you could just kill that guy if you could get your hands on him.”

”Right,” I said. It was easiest to agree with her, but my head was spinning. I had to think through all of this new information.

”They caught him, though,” she said. ”Well, I guess you know that.”

”Caught who? George?”

”The colored boy. Right. I heard it on the radio before I came outside.”

”What did they say?” I asked.

”Just that they found him and he says he's not guilty,” Mitzi said.

”Maybe he's not,” I said.

”Who else could have done it?” She tried to smooth her frizzy dark hair away from her face, but it sprang back again into a curly mess. I felt sorry for her having to deal with hair like that. ”What I can't get over is that I was the third to the last person to see Izzy alive,” she said, as though she had practiced the statement.

”What do you mean, the third to the last?” I asked.

”The...you know, the person who did it was number one,” she said. ”And Pam. Pam left here with her, like she always did, so she was number two.”

Pam's house was between Mitzi's and the beach. That made sense.

”Ned'll probably start going with Pam now,” Mitzi said.

It was years before I realized how tactless Mitzi Caruso had been with that statement. The boorishness of her words went right over my head. At that moment, I was only thinking about their content.