“Except her hair was black.”
“Because she went to the beauty parlor.” Sam ran her hand through her hair. Her fingertips tripped over the furrow where the bullet had gone in. She said, “There was a Latin American study conducted by the University College of London that isolated the gene that causes gray hair. IRF4.”
“Fascinating,” Charlie said. Her arms were crossed. Should they hug? Should they shake hands? Should they stand here staring at one another until Sam’s leg fell out from under her?
Sam asked, “What happened to your face?”
“What indeed?”
Sam waited for Charlie to acknowledge the bruises around her eyes, the nasty bump in her nose, but as usual, her sister did not seem inclined to explain herself.
“Sam?” Ben broke the awkward moment. He threw his arms around Sam, his hands firm on her back in a way that no one had held her since Anton had died.
She felt tears in her eyes. She saw Charlie watching and looked away.
“Rusty’s condition is stable,” Charlie said. “He’s been in and out of it all morning, but they think he’ll wake up soon.”
Ben kept his hand at Sam’s back. He told her, “You look exactly the same.”
“Thank you,” Sam mumbled, self-conscious.
“The sheriff’s supposed to come by,” Charlie said. “Keith Coin. You remember that dipshit?”
Sam did.
“They made some bullshit statement about using all their resources to find whoever stabbed Rusty, but don’t hold your breath.” She kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Same prickly, cocksure Charlie. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of his deputies.”
“He’s representing this girl,” Sam said. “The school shooter.”
“Kelly Wilson,” Charlie said. “I’ll spare you the long, tedious story.”
Sam wondered at her choice of adjectives. Two people had been shot dead. Rusty had been stabbed. There did not seem to be an aspect to the story that was either too long or in any way tedious, but Sam reminded herself that she was not here to find out details.
She was here because of the email.
Sam asked Ben, “Could you give us a moment?”
“Of course.” Ben’s hand lingered at her back, and she realized that the gesture was because of her handicap, not out of a particular affection.
Sam stiffened. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“I know.” Ben rubbed her back. “I’ve gotta go to work. I’m around if you need me.”
Charlie reached for his hand, but Ben had already turned to leave.
The automatic doors swung closed behind him. Sam watched his easy, loping gait through the windows. She waited for him to turn the corner. She hooked the cane on her arm. She motioned for Charlie to continue up the hallway to a row of plastic chairs.
Charlie went first, her feet pushing off from the floor with her usual physical confidence. Sam’s stride was more tenuous. Without the cane, she felt as if she was walking the slanted floor of a fun house. Still, she made it to the chair. She put her hand flat to the seat and eased herself down.
She said, “What Rusty this cause.”
Sam’s eyes closed as the jumbled words reached her ears.
She said, “I mean—”
“They think it’s because he’s representing Kelly Wilson,” Charlie said. “Someone in town isn’t happy about it. We can rule out Judith Heller. She was here all night. She married Mr. Pinkman twenty-five years ago. Weird, right?”
Sam only trusted herself to nod.
“So, that leaves the Alexander family.” Charlie quietly tapped her foot on the floor. Sam had forgotten that her sister could be as fidgety as Rusty. “There’s no relation to Peter. You remember Peter from high school, right?”
Sam nodded again, trying not to chastise Charlie for falling back into her old habit of ending every sentence with the word “right,” as if she wanted to eradicate the linguistic burden of Sam having to provide anything other than a nod or shake of the head.
Charlie said, “Peter moved to Atlanta, but he was hit by a car a few years ago. I read it on somebody’s Facebook page. Sad, right?”
Sam nodded a third time, feeling an unexpected pang of loss at the news.
Charlie said, “There’s another case Daddy was working on. I’m not sure who it involves, but he’s been late more than usual. Lenore won’t tell me. He annoys the shit out of her as much as anybody, but she keeps his secrets.”
Sam’s eyebrows went up.
“I know, right? How has she worked with him this long without killing him?” She gave a sudden laugh. “In case you’re wondering, she was at home when Daddy was stabbed.”
“Where?” Sam asked. She meant where was home for Lenore, but Charlie took the question differently.
“Mr. Thomas, the guy who lives down the street, found him at the end of the driveway. There wasn’t a lot of visible blood except for a cut on his leg and some on his shirt. He bled mostly inside his abdomen. I guess that’s how it is with those types of wounds.” She pointed to her own belly. “Here, here and here. Like they shiv you in prison—pop-pop-pop—which is why I think it might be related to this other case. Daddy has a way of pissing off convicts.”
“No shit,” Sam said, a crude but accurate consilience.
“Maybe you can get some information out of her?” Charlie stood up as the doors opened. She had obviously seen Lenore through the windows.
Sam saw her, too. She felt her mouth gape open.
“Samantha,” Lenore said, her husky voice as familiar from Sam’s childhood as the ringing of the kitchen phone announcing that Rusty would be late. “I’m sure your father will appreciate your being here. Was the flight okay?”
Sam was again reduced to nodding, this time by shock.
Lenore said, “I’m assuming you two are talking as if nothing ever happened and everything is fine?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll go check on your father.”
She squeezed Charlie’s shoulder before continuing up the hall. Sam watched Lenore tuck a dark blue clutch under her arm as she approached the nurses’ station. She was wearing navy heels and a short matching skirt that hit too far above her knee.
Charlie said, “You didn’t know, did you?”
“That she was—” Sam struggled for the correct words. “That—I mean, that she was—”
Charlie had her hand over her mouth. She shook with laughter.
“This isn’t funny,” Sam said.
Trapped air sputtered around Charlie’s hand.
“Stop it. You’re being disrespectful.”
“Only to you,” Charlie said.
“I can’t believe—” Sam couldn’t finish the thought.
“You were always too smart to know how stupid you are.” Charlie could not stop smiling. “You really never put it together that Lenore’s transgender?”
Sam returned to shaking her head. Her life in Pikeville had been sheltered, but Lenore’s gender identity seemed self-evident. How had Sam missed that Lenore had been born a man? The woman was at least six-three. Her voice was deeper than Rusty’s.
“Leonard,” Charlie said. “He was Dad’s best friend in college.”
“Gamma hated her.” Sam turned to Charlie, alarmed by a thought. “Was Mom transphobic?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. She dated Lenny first. They almost got married. I think she was mad about the …” Charlie’s voice trailed off, because the blanks were easy to fill in. She said, “Gamma found out that Lenore was wearing some of her clothes. She wouldn’t say which, but you know the first thing that came to mind when she told me was that it was her underwear. Lenore told me, I mean. Gamma never talked about it with me. You really didn’t figure it out?”
Again, Sam could only shake her head. “I thought that Gamma thought they were having an affair.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Charlie said. “Rusty, I mean. I wouldn’t wish—”
“Girls??
?? Lenore’s heels clicked against the tiles as she walked back toward them. “He’s lucid, at least for Rusty. They say only two visitors at a time.”
Charlie stood up quickly. She offered her arm to Sam.
Sam leaned heavily on her cane and pushed herself up. She was not going to let these people treat her like an invalid. “When will we be able to speak with his doctors?”
“They make their rounds in another hour,” Lenore said. “Do you remember Melissa LaMarche from Mr. Pendleton’s class?”
“Yes,” Sam said, though she didn’t know why Lenore remembered the names of one of Sam’s friends and a teacher from high school.