“I think so. I’ll call back if I hear differently. Thanks, Jenna.”
“No problem.” And it wasn’t. Not only did Jenna want to be a part of the candlelight vigil planned for the three women, she had to get out. She’d been cooped up in the house with the kids all day. Allie, coming down with a cold again, had been crabby, and Cassie had reverted to her normal brooding self. They were out of nearly everything grocery-wise, and Jenna, after the roller coaster of last night, was climbing the walls. One minute she was thinking about the horror of finding the damned fake finger, the next she remembered Shane’s passionate lovemaking, then she would remember the pictures of Carolyn Carter fluttering onto her carpet. On top of all that, somehow, probably through a leak in one of the police departments or from Reverend Swaggert’s camp, word had spread that she’d received a macabre gift in her home, a replica of a finger. She’d hung up on the reporter who’d called and was screening her messages. But she couldn’t stay caged up another night. She needed to get out, even if Turnquist objected. Which he did.
“I don’t think it’s safe,” he protested as they sat around the dinner table eating spaghetti.
“At a candlelight vigil in the church? It’ll be fine. We’ll all be together.”
Allie’s ears perked up. She’d been stirring her pasta listlessly with her fork. “I don’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She sighed loudly. “I don’t know.”
“Because it’s morbid,” Cassie said. “I don’t want to go, either.”
“Wait a minute. I promised Rinda.”
“So go,” Cassie said.
“And leave you guys here alone? After what happened last night?”
“You don’t know that the finger was left last night,” Cassie said. “That’s when you found it. It could have been there for days.”
“I would have noticed.”
“Would you have?” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Memo to Mom—you haven’t been yourself lately.” She twined some spaghetti on her fork and took a bite.
“I promised Rinda I’d go. I’m meeting her at six-thirty.”
“So go. I can’t,” Cassie said.
“Why not?”
She glanced at Turnquist, then whispered, “It’s not a good time for me. I don’t feel all that great.”
“You, too?” What kind of conspiracy was this?
“No, I don’t have a sore throat, but, you know, I feel…” Her face turned red. “…crampy.”
“Oh.” Jenna got it and felt like a fool for not understanding that her daughter was t
rying to tell her that she was on her period, and since Jenna kept track of this monthly event, she did a quick calculation and realized it wasn’t a lie. This was definitely Cassie’s “time of the month,” which, considering her infatuation with Josh, was always a relief.
Cassie said, “Yeah, ‘oh.’”
Jenna tossed her napkin onto the table. “Look, girls, I have to go in to town, but I’ll be with Rinda, so I’ll be all right.”
“You’re not going alone,” Turnquist cut in.
“Someone has to stay with the girls.”
He didn’t so much as argue, just pulled out his phone, dialed quickly, and to Jenna’s mortification, spoke to none other than the sheriff himself.
“Wait a minute!”
But it was too late. Turnquist snapped his phone shut. “Carter will pick you up. Six o’clock.”
“No way.” Not after last night and this morning. She wasn’t ready to face Carter again, much less spend the night two inches from him.