Chapter Fifty-Six
Decades ago on the high school softball field, Midge was tearing toward third base when an outfielder’s throw slammed her between the shoulder blades. The sheer blind side stole her breath from her lungs, muffled the din from the stands, and made the field swim before her eyes.
She never forgot what that felt like.
She never experienced it again.
Not until now.
She pushes back her chair. “Thanks, Nap. I’m working a case, so I’d better get—”
“Wait, you said you wanted to take a look at the evidence found with the skeletal remains.”
“Oh! The CD in the CD player. Right, I did. It can wait, if it’s not—”
“No, it’s quick. I can pull up the photo.” He beckons her around to his side of the desk.
She leans over his shoulder as he opens a file.
The photos are thumbnails, all images of evidence she saw in real life, on that awful day, staring into the pit.
She looks away, shaking her head, doing her best not to blink and release the tears welling in her eyes.
“Sorry,” Nap says, glancing at her, then back at the screen. “I know it’s hard. Hang on . . . okay, here it is.”
He clicks one of the photos and enlarges it until she can clearly read the lettering on the CD.
Oops! . . . I Did It Again.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head back. Hot tears spill down her cheeks.
Dammit. Dammit!
Caroline didn’t die the night she tried to run away.
She lived a whole year.
“Midge?” He touches her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. But I have to go talk to Mary Beth Winterfield. Now.”