“The way she was lying, the position her hands were in. Her fingers were hooked, like she’d been clawing at her throat.” I swallow, scrambling over my words. Fern takes a single step away from me as if I am infectious. “There were signs of a struggle in the room. A lamp had been knocked over, the bedcovers were on the floor. It wasn’t right.”
“Mina. Be very careful about what you’re saying.”
“I haven’t told anyone else about this. Just you.”
“Listen, Alice Webber is an oddball, okay?” Fern laughs uneasily. “We all know it. But Mary was like a grandmother to her—”
“I’m not talking about Alice. I know everyone thinks she had something to do with it but I wasthere,Fern. Alice found Mary that way. I’d bet my life on it. I’m talking about Bert.”
I watch Fern’s face switch slowly from shock to affront. Her mouth springs open, her head shakes.
“No, no, no. Bert wouldn’t do that. That’s absurd. It’s fuckingoffensive.”
“Fern—”
“He loved that woman. You ever hear the way he talked about her? Saw the way his eyes lit up just at the mention of her name?”
“I’m not suggesting he didn’t love her. But she was very ill. It’s hard looking after someone who isn’t going to get better. Sometimes you just want to—”
“What?” she snaps. Her T-shirt slides down to reveal a round shoulder, freckled and pale. “Sometimes you want to what? Murder them? Are you listening to yourself?”
I swallow.The hush of the rain, the gasping breath.The grille rattles as if someone has fallen against it.
“You should go, Mina. I’ve got my kid to look after.” Fern picks up the bag and I realize how angry she is, how much I’ve misjudged this. I grab her arm and am surprised at how quickly she pulls it away.
“You should go, I said.”
I pull the envelope out of my pocket, feeling sick, feeling afraid. Right now, Fern is the only friend I have and I’m about to lose her, too.
“I found this at Bert’s house. Mary was trying to tell meabout it. It was hidden away in a record sleeve. Billie Holiday. ‘Blue Moon,’ remember? It was their first dance.”
Fern turns to me, her face set. She doesn’t even look at the envelope.
“He, uh—there’s photographs in here. Polaroids. That’s a self-developing cam—”
“Jesus, Mina, I know what a fucking Polaroid is.”
“I don’t know how long he’s been doing it for— I don’t-I don’t have any answers for you. I just know that he isn’t the man you think he is, and this is why.”
I can hear my voice starting to fracture, strained sounding. I’m begging now.
“Take a look. Please, Fern. You’re in there.”
Fern squares her shoulders, jaw lifted.
“Bert took me in when I had nothing and no one. He has helped a lot of people in this town, Mina.”
“A lot of girls, you mean.”
“Huh?”
“Girls. Riddance girls. Like you, like Lisa. Like Alice.” I swallow, because this is it, I’m pulling the pin. “Stevie, too. You ever think about that?”
“Out,” she snarls. I actually see her lip curl, teeth bare. “I won’t ask you again.”
Something twists painfully inside me in a secret, deep chamber. Some emotion, straining for release. This is not how I imagined this conversation going. I wish I could think clearly. Fern takes a step toward me and I back away, hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender.
“I’m going,” I tell her, because I am afraid. There’s real anger in Fern’s expression, her eyes glittering like mica, the heat of it searing and boiling. I try to take the Polaroid out, the one ofFern at age thirteen (“June 1977, baby!”), with her pink hair and her scarred arms, nails bitten all the way to the cuticle, but she slaps the envelope straight out of my hand and shoves me out through the door. I stumble into the street, injured ankle flaring painfully like a tendon is ruptured, lurching against someone who immediately pushes me away against the wall so hard I crack my head and see stars. I am dry-mouthed and breathless, feeling the heat of those bonfires even at this distance, like standing in front of a furnace. The smoke makes my eyes water and it stings. It hurts.