“So yes,” I whisper.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said enough.”
“I said roads answer.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
Her face changes then.
A little softer. A little harder. Both at once.
“Sometimes brakes fail,” she says. “Sometimes The Widow gets tired of watching bad men drive free.”
Dead Man’s Curve flashes through me.
Hell Road.
The woman in white. Derby’s voice saying,stories are how folks tell the truth when nobody can prove it.
My hand grips the back of the chair.
“So it wasn’t just Oregon,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Lottie’s mouth barely moves. “Roads talk, honey. Some women know how to listen.”
My stomach turns.
“Sit down, Amelia.”
“No.”
“Fine. Stand there with your righteous knees locked if it helps.”
“Righteous?” A laugh tears out of me. “My husband is dead.”
“Your abuser is dead.”
“That doesn’t make murder right.”
“No,” she says. “It makes it finished.”
The words slap the air from my lungs.
I grip the edge of the table. “You admit it.”
“I admit Jeremy Vale was always going to come back.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“Jeremy hurt your boy, didn’t he?” she asks suddenly.
It feels like a shot.
My eyes flood as I wrap my arms around myself. I nod and hang my head.
“Then why do you care why he’s dead?”