The foreman, a stout middle-aged woman sporting a black mole beside her narrow mouth, rose and cleared her throat. She turned her flinty face towards the defendant and Ed saw tombstones in her eyes. He ran a finger under his collar and licked his parched lips as he waited the eternity until she spoke. ‘We have, Your Honour.’ Her voice grated like a rusty padlock in Ed’s ears.
‘And how do you find the accused?’
‘We find the accused not guilty, Your Honour.’
Ed heard the words but they didn’t register until Sue Weldon, his lawyer, squealed with delight. The haggard, hunted look which had inhabited his features for months melted with the dawning of his huge smile. Even before the judge retired, Ed lifted Sue off her feet and swung her around. She giggled as he finally put her down.
‘Where’s Jason?’ he asked. His searching eyes found his fifteen-year-old son struggling through the crowd. Dancing with excitement, Ed waved. ‘Jason, I’m free!’ Jason’s smile mirrored his own as they found and hugged each other.
‘Oh, Dad … it’s over. At last it’s over.’
Ed closed his eyes, absorbing and magnifying Jason’s delight. When they finally eased apart, they glowed.
‘Congratulations, Ed.’ Jason’s grandmother extended her hand but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She’d always been a little wary of her dead daughter’s husband.
Ed touched her fingers. ‘Thank you, Vera. Thanks for looking after Jason.’
The smile finally kindled in her eyes as she put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m always happy to spend time with my Angela’s boy, even under difficult circumstances.’
Ed’s attention was captured by the jury foreman. ‘Congratulations, Mr Royce.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Fitch. Thank you.’ He kissed her cheek. That mole of hers was quite attractive after all, he thought. Wonderful woman. Very perceptive. He wallowed in happiness and relief. Even the sun chose to break through the clouds at this moment, its beams streaming through the window on to the celebrants.
The crowd thinned, leaving only a few people in the courtroom. Ed scanned the faces, ready to share his elation, but his grin froze in place as he caught the eye of Paul Desrochers. The man glared at him and shook his fist. Ed turned away – he didn’t want to deal with the representative of the dead woman’s young son.
Jason tapped his father’s shoulder. ‘Dad? What about that dinner you promised? Can we go celebrate?’
Ed laughed, tilting his face to the sunshine and letting his joy bubble out. ‘You bet. The biggest steaks this side of Alberta.’ He threaded his arms through those of his mother-in-law and his lawyer. ‘Coming, ladies?’
Ed could hear the regular breathing of his son in the other bed as he lay awake in his hotel room. His euphoria had worn off and, while he was still a happy man, he’d come back down to earth. Tomorrow, he and Jason would be returning to Atawan where many of the villagers were convinced he’d murdered Tracy – one of their own. Would they accept the verdict?
He threw off his tangled blankets and got up. By the dim light of the city filtering through the curtains he made his way to the bar fridge and poured two fingers of rye. He took a sip, savouring the burn on his tongue. Alcohol hadn’t been allowed in the gaol where he’d languished for ten long months awaiting trial. Again he cursed the judge who set the bail at two hundred thousand dollars. Even if he’d sold his garage business he couldn’t have raised that much. He took another sip, a bigger one this time, and sighed. At least his mother-in-law had taken Jason to her home in Toronto so the boy wasn’t around to hear the town try and convict his father before Tracy’s body was even in the ground. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Let them eat crow. He was returning a free man and they couldn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t hurt him now. Ed’s gaze found the shadowy outline of his son and his satisfied grin faded. He just hoped the people of Atawan would be kind to Jason whatever they thought of him.
Catherine Edison took off her glasses, swept her shoulder-length chestnut hair out of her grey eyes, and rubbed a soiled hand across her damp forehead. ‘Enough is enough,’ she panted, flopping on to the bare mattress and letting the cleaning rag drop to the floor. She’d always hated moving. Not that there had been many things to move this time – it was a furnished house she’d rented, but it had been vacant almost a year and the grime had built up. She turned her head sideways and blew at the dust on top of the night table. It eddied in the hot glare of the sunlight, making her sneeze. Who am I trying to impress, she asked herself? I’ve never been a clean freak – dirt’s healthy and builds up the immune system.
She heard a clatter on the stairs and then a dimpled fifteen-year-old face appeared in the doorway. ‘Caught you in the act,’ the girl declared. ‘You’re lying down on the job.’
Catherine glanced up at her daughter. ‘Take a break. The dirt’s not going anywhere.’
‘Move over then.’ Morgan collapsed beside her mother and they lay in companionable silence. The house stood on a quiet street at the edge of town and only the faintest hum of traffic reached their ears. They listened to the dust settle.
Catherine looked at her daughter and smiled. Morgan didn’t have as much of a tan as she usually had at the end of August but the light golden colour suited her. She’d lost the unhealthy pallor her mother still displayed. Catherine mussed Morgan’s curly hair. ‘Well, honey? Do you like the place?’
‘It’s not what I pictured …’ Morgan answered diplomatically.
‘It’s exactly as I described it,’ her mother protested. ‘It’s brick, three-storey, a hundred years old and in a secluded area.’
‘This isn’t secluded, Mom. It’s nowhere. We’re beyond the fringes of civilization … where no man has gone before.’
Catherine smoothed down the curls she’d messed up. ‘We agreed we wanted to move to a small town.’
Morgan grimaced. ‘Small, yes. Microscopic, no.’
‘Come on, honey, there aren’t many jobs for me outside cities. This private agrochemical company seems ideal for a sabbatical.’ She rolled over to face her daughter. ‘Do you really hate it here?’
Morgan propped herself on her elbow and shook her head. ‘It’ll be OK. Anything’s better than Kingsport for the moment.’ She chewed her already short fingernails. ‘Are you sure they’ll have forgotten about us when we get back?’
‘I’m sure.’ Catherine sighed. ‘Something else will happen to take the spotlight away from us.’
As Morgan turned away to hide the tears in her blue eyes, anger burned again in the pit of Catherine’s stomach. Damn them to hell. How could people be so cruel? Catherine hugged her daughter and stroked her shining hair. How many gallons of tears had the two of them shed in the past five months? No one in this village of Atawan knew anything about them. Maybe here they’d have the chance to heal. Nothing horrible could happen in this dull, rural countryside.
Morgan blew her nose noisily. ‘How about spaghetti for dinner, Mom?’ She bounced up and pasted a determined smile on her lips. ‘I know how you love my famous spaghetti.’
Catherine returned her smile. ‘I think there’s a can of sauce in the pantry. While you heat it, I’ll make up our beds.’
When Morgan had disappeared, Catherine struggled to a sitting position. She looked at her surroundings. Except for the air of neglect, the house wasn’t bad and although old, it hadn’t fallen into decay. But why had a four-bedroom, well-furnished house rented so cheaply? She fluffed the dust out of her hair. Maybe way out here in the