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  He obediently stabbed his cell phone. “Remember something?” he asked while waiting for his aunt to pick up.

  “Yeah.”

  Branigan answered from the hospital parking lot, and told Chan she’d be in Charlie’s room within two minutes. Brother and sister waited silently, Charlie consciously reserving her strength, Chan nervously patting her shoulder. They could hear Branigan talking to the cop outside the door. Chan stuck his head out and told the young rookie that she was family.

  Branigan burst through the door. “What is it?” she said.

  “I keep having this dream that’s more than a dream, if you know what I mean,” said Charlie. “I mean I think it’s a memory.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’m trying hard to see through the passenger window of the hearse. I can’t, but I almost can. I can’t see a face, but I can almost make out something on top of the head, you know? A hat or something. That’s probably not important. What’s important is that it means…”

  Chan looked from his sister to his aunt, mystified.

  Branigan was nodding. “It means…”

  Both women finished the thought: “… there was a passenger.”

  Branigan plopped into the chair Chan had vacated. “So we may be looking for two people, not just a driver. Wow.” She looked around. “Where’s your dad? I talked to him half an hour ago.”

  “He went home to shower, then to see Ralph Batson in jail,” Chan answered.

  “Did he get to talk to a doctor first?”

  “Yeah. She said Charlie can come home on Christmas Eve.”

  Branigan turned to study Charlie. “You ready for that?”

  “Oh, yeah. Dad promised me his recliner. It’s got to be easier on my back than this bed.” She hit the button to incline the bed, and struggled to sit up straighter.

  “Charlie, I need to ask you something else. Do you remember if you zipped your duffel bag when you packed to come home for Christmas?”

  “Mom and Dad asked me that already. I’m pretty sure I could only zip it halfway because my hair dryer was sticking out.”

  “So I guess your clothes could have spilled out when it hit the ground.”

  “I think so. The patrol thought someone had gone through our stuff?”

  “They thought it was a possibility. They also got an anonymous 911 call, but the caller didn’t stay at the wreck site with you. Which is very strange.”

  The three were silent for a minute. “Tell me more about this dream or memory,” Branigan said. “And if you want me to pass it on to Detective Scovoy.”

  “Yes, definitely.” Charlie closed her eyes. “Every time I’m on the edge of sleep, I’m in the Jeep again. It may be the humming of this bed. It adjusts itself or something and I can hear it hum or buzz every few minutes. It sounds a little like a car engine.”

  Branigan and Chan had heard it too.

  She went on. “And I’m scared in the dream, but I’m also trying hard to see who’s inside the hearse. It’s like my mind knows and it’s trying to show me. Last night, I half woke up and my friend Maggie was in here wearing one of those Santa hats, and I started screaming. I don’t know if I saw the same hat in the dream, or if I somehow saw her hat as I was waking up and transposed it into the dream.”

  Branigan and Chan looked at each other. “Actually, Charlie, that may be important,” Branigan said. “You really think the passenger in the hearse was wearing some kind of hat?”

  Chan interrupted. “Wait a minute. Isn’t it Maggie’s sorority that had the hearse?”

  Branigan wheeled on him. “What?”

  Chan explained. “Charlie has this good friend from high school soccer, Maggie. She plays for Rutherford Lee now. But she’s also a Kappa Ep. I’ve seen her in that shirt half a dozen times.”

  “And this Maggie showed up in a Santa hat?” Branigan asked.

  Now it was Charlie’s turn. “What are you saying? That Maggie ran me off the road in a Santa hat? That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, I’m not saying that,” Chan said slowly. “But weird coincidence with you dreaming about the hat.”

  “Well, like I said, maybe I dreamed about the hat because I got a glimpse of Maggie in it when I was half awake. Though I have to admit, I think I’d dreamed about it before.” She grimaced. “With these pain meds, it’s hard to tell.”

  “And Maggie’s the one who brought the boyfriend?” Branigan asked. “Liam mentioned him.”

  “Yeah, super hot,” said Charlie. “Magpie seemed really into him.”

  Branigan stayed for a few more minutes, chatting with the brother and sister, but with half her mind elsewhere. She bent to kiss Charlie, and hugged Chan.

  She didn’t tell them what Maggie’s hot boyfriend did in his spare time.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Branigan paused to speak to the young rookie guarding Charlie’s door.

  “I don’t want to be alarmist,” she said, “but make sure to check everyone who visits this room. Even if you’re sure they’re friends of Charlie or Chan.”

  “Detective Scovoy said the same thing. Anyone in particular I’m looking for?”

  Branigan sighed in frustration. “Unfortunately, no. I guess I’m just saying even if Charlie says it’s okay to let someone in, please keep an eye on what’s going on.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Ira Powers called Branigan as she was en route from the hospital to the college. Sylvia Eckhart was willing to come over at 11 a.m.

  “That’s perfect,” she said. “Granddad, thank you so much. I’ll see you at eleven.”

  She had well over an hour before that meeting. She drove slowly through the college’s archway; against the red bricks, scrolled ironwork announced Rutherford Lee College. Trying to ascertain her next move, she drove halfway around the campus loop, pulled into the chapel parking lot and called Liam.

  He was leaving the Law Enforcement Center. “Can we meet?” he asked. “I think you’ll want to hear this.”

  “Any chance you can come out to Rutherford Lee?” she said. “I’m sure the coffee shop is open, because faculty members are still around.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll meet you there in ten.”

  Branigan took the time to continue the leisurely campus loop. As if the universe knew it was the first day of winter, the sun had disappeared, replaced by a grayish white sky. The plentiful hardwood trees made stark silhouettes against it, reminiscent of Asian art. She entered the lake road, where most of the dorms were located. Imagine living on a lake as your first adult residence, her grandfather used to say. Our alums spend the rest of their lives trying to find a setting like this.

  Maybe outside, she thought. But inside, a dorm room was a dorm room.

  There was no traffic, so she paused in the middle of the road to look over the lake. Swans and ducks floated on its placid surface, unbothered by the cold. A few students walked past her car. She supposed there were always some who stayed on campus over the holidays for jobs or internships, or because home was too far away. But it had to be bleak.

  She pulled into the parking lot beside the Student Union building. She entered from the lakeside patio, empty today. The coffee shop, with its hardwood floor, navy walls and yellow accents to reflect the school colors, was comfortably warm. Not seeing Liam, she ordered two cappuccinos, and selected a booth near the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the lake.

  She grabbed a student newspaper, The Swan Song. She remembered her grandfather telling her about campus unrest during the 1960s. While Rutherford Lee didn’t claim a Confederate rebel or general as its mascot, it did sport a vaguely medieval cavalier that came under protest. The cavalier survived, but pacifist journalism students made their statement by dropping The Cavalier Clarion in favor of The Swan Song.

  She now opened it to a reprint of the Rambler s
tory on Charlie’s wreck and Janie Rose’s death. But the focus of a sidebar was on the Kappa Epsilon hearse. Branigan checked the date – Saturday, two days earlier – and the byline: Anna Hester. That was the girl she and Jody had met when interviewing the Kappa Eps.

  She read with interest the girl’s story about the history of the vehicle. Clearly she’d talked to Detective Scovoy about finding the hearse in the woods. Amazingly, she’d even quoted Maylene Ayers about living in the hearse.

  How did she find Maylene? Branigan wondered. She added Anna Hester to her mental list of the day’s interviewees.

  Liam slid onto the navy vinyl seat across from Branigan and grabbed his cappuccino. “Oooh, thanks for this. That fog this morning got into my bones.”

  Branigan waited for her friend to take a sip. His red hair was wild as usual, his smile tired.

  “I must’ve just missed you at the hospital,” she said. “I stopped and saw Charlie and Chan.”

  “Did you? Good. Doctor says we can bring her home Thursday.”

  “She’s ready, that’s for sure. So what did Ralph have to say?”

  “That he didn’t kill Maylene. And you know what, Brani? I’m not at all sure he did.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that. Tell me why.”

  “Off the record, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m not even writing about him. Harley Barnett is trying to get an interview.”

  “Well, it’s not so much what he said. I’m used to hearing denials. Every damn time I’m at the jail, in fact. But this was different. Ralph was… shattered. I think in his own messed-up way he loved Maylene. He admitted he’d hit her. That was the thing. He pretty much admitted he was abusive, and that he’d done plenty in his life to be locked up for. But he hadn’t done this. He hadn’t killed her.” Liam leaned back, took another sip. “This is good cappuccino,” he said. “I guess when you pay $50,000 a year for college, you get good coffee.”

  Branigan’s mind remained on Ralph. “So what did he say about the night Maylene died?”

  “He says she left their tent several times to talk on her phone. She was being real secretive. She told him she was going to the bus station to price a ticket to Gainesville. She swore she was just going to price it, and didn’t take any clothes with her. Ralph had already had a few beers and didn’t want to walk her there. It was getting dark, so he gave her that crowbar to protect herself.”

  “What a guy.” Branigan thought for a moment. “But that does line up with what I told you, doesn’t it? Maylene could have been considering going home. And of course, now that we know she’s an Ayers, she sure didn’t need any clothes from their tent.”

  Liam held his palms up. “The problem is, who besides Ralph would want to hurt her? His motive is even stronger if she was leaving him.”

  Branigan nodded. “Yeah, and I guess it makes sense that he’d kill her well away from their tent too.”

  “But if you coulda heard him, Brani G.” Liam shook his head. “I know I’m a sucker for a sad story, but I believed him.”

  “You think she was talking to her family on the phone?”

  “I don’t know. But that’d be easy to find out.”

  She made a note to call Lou Ann.

  “Okay, for the other part of the story,” she said. “Did you ask him about driving the hearse that hit Charlie?”

  “Yes. I started out by asking if he knew Maylene had come to the hospital to see Charlie. He seemed genuinely surprised and asked me a lot of questions. When I got around to the hearse, he swore he’d never seen it before finding it in the woods.”

  “And how was your truth-o-meter then?”

  Liam smiled. “Same as before. He convinced the preacher.” He shrugged. “I gotta tell you though: I want whoever did this to Charlie – and Janie Rose – in prison. If it’s Ralph, so be it. And Branigan, one more thing. Ralph asked if I was friends with that ‘blonde reporter chick’ who came to his campsite.”

  Branigan laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “He said you needed to watch out, that you might not know what you’re getting into.”

  “Huh. That’s weird. Was it some kind of threat?”

  Liam stared out of the window at the swans on the lake. “It didn’t feel like a threat, exactly. He said I needed to look after you and Charlie. We have a cop at Charlie’s door, but not at yours. So be careful.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I know I’m an easy sell. I’d love for your Detective Scovoy to have a go at him – see what he thinks.”

  “My Detective Scovoy?”

  “Oh, yeah. Liz called that six months ago.”

  Branigan slid out of the booth, batting her eyes in jest. “Liz and my grandmother ought to get together. Maybe between them they could get me married off.”

  Rather than heading for the parking lot, Branigan walked the opposite way, to the religion and econ building next door. Like most campus buildings, its three-story brick edifice was neatly set off by trimmed grass and beds flush with winter pansies, colorful even at this time of year. She doubted Ina Rose Carlton would be in her office, but thought it worth a look.

  The building was quiet, and Branigan’s footsteps fell unheard on a navy and gray carpet. If faculty members were around, they were grading exams in their offices. Branigan could hear a vacuum cleaner in the distance, but it was barely discernible.

  Her ears picked up the sobbing before she reached the professor’s office. Dr Carlton’s door was slightly ajar. Branigan peered in to see Ina Rose clutching her stomach and rocking herself, tears streaking down her face, wrenching sobs emanating from her throat.

  Branigan hesitated. Should she interrupt the woman’s grief? Would she prefer to be left alone, or was any human contact better than none?

  Finally, she knocked softly. The sounds ceased. There was the sound of a throat clearing and tissues being whipped from a box, then quiet. “Yes?” Dr Carlton’s voice was scratchy.

  Branigan stuck her head in, and Ina Rose attempted a smile. “Hello, Branigan.”

  “Are you still having to work?”

  “No, just avoiding home. Come on in.”

  “Christmas week too hard to take?” Branigan asked.

  “I’m afraid any week would be too hard right now. I just can’t, I can’t…” She waved her hands helplessly. “Janie Rose’s gifts are wrapped and under the tree. I can’t be there.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “No. I planned to write you a note.” Ina Rose stood unsteadily and came around her desk to hug Branigan. “Your story on Janie Rose was lovely. Thank you for that. I’m glad you talked me into it.”

  “I’m glad if it helped.”

  “It did.”

  The silence stretched between them. “Do you want to sit down?” Ina Rose sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk and turned it so she was face to face with Branigan.

  Branigan wanted to ask about associates of her husband who might have harmed Janie Rose, but in the face of the woman’s grief, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her husband was all she had left. She didn’t want to rob her of that.

  So she took another tack. “I don’t know if you’ve been reading the news, but another Rutherford Lee student – well, a former student – was killed Friday night.”

  “Yes, I read about Maylene Ayers. Horrible, when all she wanted was to help those people.”

  Branigan was startled. “What people?”

  “Homeless people.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  For the first time, Branigan sensed a spark of interest from Ina Rose. Maybe talking about something else would help.

  “Maylene was in my freshman seminar on writing and social justice. Those are intentionally small classes with a lot of discussion. Maylene talked – a lot – about wanting to work with the h
omeless.”

  “Are you saying she was living on the streets as an experiment?” Holy cow, this was dynamite.

  “Well, I’m not sure it was anything formal. In fact, I know no faculty members were working with her. Her name came up last year in faculty meetings. No one knew where she’d gone.”

  Branigan held up a hand. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning. You’re telling me things I don’t know.”

  Ina Rose stood and went to a filing cabinet, pulled out two slim research papers and handed them to Branigan. “Here’s what she wrote that semester.”

  Branigan glanced at the titles: Homelessness in Northeast Georgia and Unhelpful Remedies: Helping the Homeless Remain Homeless.

  “She was an intelligent young lady,” Ina Rose continued. “The kind we see occasionally – privileged but concerned about those without privilege. Isn’t this what her family is telling you?”

  “I don’t know. Another reporter is in Gainesville working on that angle.”

  “Surely, they will know what she was doing.”

  “I’m not so sure. The early stories out of Gainesville said they were surprised to learn she was on the streets. They thought she was in Atlanta.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Branigan repeated her request that Ina Rose start at the beginning with how she met Maylene.

  “It was last school year, the same year Janie Rose started here.” Ina Rose pinched her lips tautly for a moment, and swallowed before continuing. “All freshmen choose a seminar in a subject they’re interested in. Each has only eight to ten students.

  “Basically, it’s a class designed for faculty to keep an eye on incoming freshmen, to see how they’re orienting to campus, fitting in and so forth. We smaller colleges still sell that as an advantage over a larger university. So in the seminar, we have a lot of discussion. We urge the students to open up.”

  “And Maylene chose writing and social justice.”

  “Right. She talked about working in a soup kitchen during high school and how that wasn’t the answer to homelessness. For an eighteen-year-old, she seemed to have a rather sophisticated view of the problem.”