The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter 1)

“I am girded for battle.”

Charlie stubbed her toe on the carpet. There was nothing he couldn’t turn into a contest. “You could try to do a deal with Ken, take the death penalty off the table.”

“Bah,” he answered, because they both knew Ken wouldn’t deal. “I think we got a unicorn here.”

Charlie’s head snapped up. A unicorn was their word for an innocent client; a rare, mythical creature few had ever seen. She said, “You can’t be serious.”

“’Course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“I was there, Daddy.” She wanted to shake him. “I was right in the middle of it.”

“Ben caught me up to speed on what happened.” He coughed into the crook of his arm. “Sounds like you had a real rough time of it.”

“That is a magnificent understatement.”

“I am renowned for my subtlety.” Charlie watched him shuffle the papers. The humming resumed. She counted to thirty before he finally looked at her over his reading glasses. He was blissfully silent for almost another ten seconds, then a smile cracked open his mouth. “Those are some real shiners, tough girl. You look like a bandito.”

“I was elbowed in the face.”

“I already told Coin to get his checkbook at the ready.”

“I didn’t file a complaint.”

He kept smiling. “Good idea, baby. Hold your fire till this settles down. Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.”

Charlie put her hand to her eyes. She was too tired for the merry-go-round. “Dad, I need to tell you something.”

Her words went unanswered. She dropped her hand.

Rusty said, “This about why you were at the school this morning?” He had no problem looking at Charlie now. Their eyes locked for a very brief but uncomfortable moment before she looked away.

He said, “So now you know I know.”

“Did Ben tell you?”

He shook his head. “Ol’ Kenny Coin had the pleasure.”

Charlie wasn’t going to apologize to her father. “I’ll write down everything I can remember from today, what I told the GBI agent who took my statement. She’s a SAC, Delia Wofford. I’ve got her card. She interviewed the other witness along with an agent named Avery or Atkins. Ben was in the room with me. I think Coin was behind the mirror or in the other room most of the time.”

Rusty made sure she was finished before saying, “Charlotte, I am assuming if you were not okay, you would tell me.”

“Russell, I am assuming that you are smart enough to extrapolate that information from the raw data.”

“Hello, familiar impasse.” He dropped the papers on his desk. “The last time I tried to guess your mood, a first-class stamp was twenty-nine cents and you stopped talking to me for sixteen and three-quarter days.”

Charlie had long lost the will to negotiate his sympathy. “I heard there’s a hole in the school’s security footage.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“The gettin’ place.”

“Pick up anything else while you were there?”

“They’re worried about the murder weapon. Like, maybe they don’t know exactly where it ended up.”

His eyebrows jumped. “That’s a pickle.”

“That’s a guess,” Charlie said, not wanting to throw scent onto Huck. “The GBI agent was asking me a lot of questions about where it was, when did I see it last, who had it when/what/where. Revolver. I’m not one hundred percent, but I think it was a six-shot.”

Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something else, right? If I am allowed the extrapolation?”

Charlie turned around, knowing he would follow. She was halfway across the building when she heard his heavy footsteps behind her. He had a long, quick stride because he thought walking fast passed for cardio. She heard his fingers tap the wall. He hummed what sounded like “Happy Birthday.” The only time Charlie ever saw her father completely still was inside a courtroom.

Charlie found her bag on the couch in her office. She pulled out the yearbook.

Rusty came to a breathless standstill. “What’s that?”

“It’s a yearbook. Sometimes i

t’s called an annual.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to be more specific with your old pappy.”

“You buy it at school at the end of the year. It has class pictures and club photos and people write things in the pages, like ‘I’ll never forget you’ or ‘Thanks for helping me in biology.’” She shrugged. “It’s a stupid thing. The more signatures you get, the more popular you are.”

“That explains why you never brought one home.”

“Ha ha.”

He asked, “So, was our gal popular? Not popular?”

“I didn’t open it.” Charlie waved the book in Rusty’s face, indicating he should take it.

He kept his arms crossed, but she saw that switch flick inside him, the same one that came on inside the courtroom.

He asked, “Where was this found?”

“In Kelly Wilson’s closet in her home.”

“Before the execution of the search warrant?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone from law enforcement tell you there was going to be a search warrant filed?”

“No.”

“Did the mother—”

“Ava Wilson.”

“Did Ava Wilson give this to you to hold on to?”

“No.”

“Is she your client?”

“No, and thanks for trying to help me lose my license.”

“You’d have the best attorney in the country making sure you kept it.” Rusty nodded toward the yearbook. “Open it for me.”

“Take it or I’ll drop it on the floor.”

“God damn, you make me miss your mama.” Rusty’s voice had a funny quiver. He rarely mentioned Gamma, and if he did, it was only to make a not-always-favorable comparison to Charlie. He took the yearbook and gave her a salute. “Many thanks.”

She watched his exaggerated march up the hallway.

Charlie called, “Hey, asshole.”

Rusty turned around, grinning as he marched back the same way he’d left. He opened the yearbook with a flourish. The inside flap was filled with written messages, some in black ink, some in blue, a few in pink. Different handwriting. Different signatures. Rusty turned the page. More ink colors. More hastily scratched missives.