“I didn’t do anything! Mummy, honestly, I didn’t hurt anyone!” Her blue eyes swam soft and liquid with tears.
“There, you see?” her mother began.
Russ rose from his seat. “Alyson Shattham, I’m placing you—”
Alyson squealed. Russ sank back into his seat, slowly. The girl glanced at Clare and dropped her eyes. “Okay, I did know Wes was hanging around with Katie. I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to her, okay? I only went down to Albany to tell her to lay off because it was like, time for the school-year fling to be over.” She turned to her mother. “I mean, can you really see some chunky girl from Depot Street going with Wes to the Academy Ball? She was like, so wrong for him.”
Clare leaned into the table. “You didn’t know she was pregnant when you fought with her in Albany, did you?”
“God, no! That’s so gross!” She raised her eyebrows. “I think Katie must have done it on purpose. Like to get him to marry her. Or for the welfare money. You know what those girls are like.”
Clare opened her mouth but Russ stopped her with an upraised hand, shaking his head minutely.
“Why did you lie to us about not having seen Katie, Alyson?”
The girl glanced at her lap. Her shoulders twitched in what might have been a shrug. “I . . . um . . .”
“Where were you yesterday evening?”
“Huh?”
Mrs. Shattham frowned. “She was at home all afternoon and evening.”
“Did she receive any phone calls?”
“Are you kidding? Of course she did. If Mitch and I didn’t have our own line, we’d never be able to use the phone.”
Russ removed a small notepad from his chest pocket. “Can you give me her number, please?”
“Why?”
“It’ll make things go faster Monday morning when we contact the phone company for a record of all her outgoing calls.”
Clare watched Alyson. She had never seen anyone actually go white before. Barbara Shattham started to protest. Clare laid a hand over her arm, stilling her. “Last night,” she said, “a young woman claiming to be Kristen McWhorter called the church and left an urgent message for me to join her.” She looked steadily at Alyson. “This young woman left directions for me to drive. I’m not very familiar with this area yet, as you know, so it helps a lot if I have directions. These ones weren’t so good, however. They led to a washed-out road crossing a gorge. My car went in. I was fortunate—very fortunate—to walk away. My car was totaled.”
“Dear God,” Barbara Shattham said. “Are you suggesting my daughter had a hand in this? That’s outrageous.”
Alyson’s gaze darted between Clare and Russ.
“I was stranded on Tenant Mountain with no vehicle and no cold-weather gear,” Clare went on. “But that wasn’t the worst. The worst was when a man in a snowmobile suit began shooting at me.”
Everyone was silent for a moment. Russ clicked his pen and poised it over the notepad. “We can get a list of Alyson’s calls first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’ll be able to see right away if she called the church office yesterday.”
Barbara Shattham stood abruptly. “She’s not saying anything else until we see our attorney.”
Russ leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well, that’s certainly your right, ma’am. I was hoping we could sort things out right now, though.” He shifted, splaying his hands on the table. “Let me make my position clear. Katie McWhorter and her father are both dead. Your daughter was seen arguing with Katie, who was poaching on her territory with Wes Fowler. She has access to a four-wheel-drive vehicle, she was in town during both murders, and when Reverend Clare found out about Katie and Wes, I believe your daughter sent her off on a wild goose chase designed to get her killed.” He pinned Alyson with a level stare. “Either you give up a better suspect, Alyson, or I’ll arrest you on two counts of murder and one of attempted murder.”
The girl let out a nasal whine. “It wasn’t me!”
“Alyson, don’t—”
She swung her head violently, her perfect hair cascading everywhere. “I’m not going to jail for Wesley Fucking Fowler, Mother! Not after the way he’s blown me off!” She reached across the table toward Russ. “He sent me an e-mail yesterday afternoon. Asked me to call and say I was Kristen. He was all sweet, just like he used to be, you know? It was just, like, a joke, because the Reverend had been poking around. I didn’t know anyone was going to be hurt. I swear! I should have known he was yanking my chain. He’s been, like, thanks but no thanks ever since he started sneaking around with that bitch.”
Barbara Shattham sat down heavily. “Alyson,” Clare said, “What about Katie?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that. And you can bet Wes didn’t say anything to me. Except for a family get-together around Thanksgiving, he hasn’t said shit to me since he left for the Academy.”
“Alyson, your language . . .” Mrs. Shattham’s voice trailed off.
“When was the last time you saw Katie?” Russ asked. “For real, this time.”
“When I went to her house in Albany that time. I didn’t know she was pregnant, I swear. I kept thinking, like, how could he prefer her to me? She was like, a size fourteen, for God’s sake.”
“Did Wesley ever indicate that he was having problems, or that he was troubled about his relationship with Katie?”
“He was weirding out before he went away to the Academy, but when I tried to talk with him, he blew me off. I had already figured it out, him and her, for God’s sake. But he goes, ‘just don’t tell anyone.’ Like I would. That’s why I went to see her. And that’s the last time I saw her. Alive or dead.”
Russ and Clare looked at each other. He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Alyson. Mrs. Shattham, I suggest Alyson stay close to home.”
“What do you think she’s going to do, run to Canada?”
“I’m not worried she’s going to flee jurisdiction. I’m worried because she knows something about Katie and Wesley. Just like Clare and Darrell McWhorter did. And look what happened to them.”
Barbara Shattham clutched her daughter’s sleeve. “Dear God.” She glared at Russ. “She’s in trouble because she’s spoken to you. I expect you to provide us with police protection.”
Russ pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Mrs. Shattham, she’s in trouble because she’s an accomplice to attempted murder. I’m not going to arrest her now. I may not ever arrest her, depending on what the district attorney has to say. I will,” he stressed, “take any attempt to get in touch with Wes Fowler as a sign that she’s actively assisting him. So take her home and keep an eye on her.”
After the Shatthams left in a swirl of silky hair and tearful glares, Russ shook his head. “Girl like that makes me grateful I never had kids. Holy shit. What a self-centered little monster. Excuse my French.”
“You wouldn’t have a girl like that.”
“I can understand why kids from crappy neighborhoods with piss-poor parents get into trouble. But how can kids with every advantage turn out so badly?”
Clare leaned forward. “Because the things you have, and the neighborhood you live in, doesn’t have anything to do with what kind of human being you are. As I’ve said before.”
“As you’ve said before.” He smiled slightly. “What do you think? Was she telling the truth?”
“I don’t know. She sure sounded pi—peeved at Wesley, though. I’d swear she was genuinely surprised that first time you questioned her, when she found out about Katie being pregnant.”
“Well, that shoots my boy-and-girl-did-it-together theory.”
“Vaughn Fowler should be back home with Wesley by now.”
“That’s assuming he wasn’t already back home last night, trying to shoot you.” From the open door, Clare could hear the sounds of coffee hour. “You probably have to go join your flock.”
“Oh, no.” She sank back into her seat. “I missed the Christmas cookie sale.” At Russ’s look she explained, “Fund-raiser for the choir. Everyone brings in cookies and you mix and match what you want to buy. I was going to show the flag by getting two bags’ worth.” She tried to pile her hair atop her head, but it was already in a French twist. She settled for pushing at the bobby pins. “I guess I may as well bow out entirely and come with you to see the Fowlers. Give me ten minutes to change out of my vestments and say good-bye.”