Sam said what Charlie must have known. “Absent a confession, they have no proof against him.”
“I keep telling myself that Dad saw him that night, and that he knew it was Fahey, but he decided to let it go, so we should let it go.”
Sam chose not to patronize her sister with Rusty’s line about the value in forgiveness. “Isn’t this exactly what you said you wanted to do—learn to let things go?”
“Yeah, well, I thought you were learning not to be a pain in my ass.”
Sam smiled. “I want to send you a check for cleaning—”
“Stop.” Charlie was too stubborn to take Sam’s money. “Look, we were thinking of taking a vacation before we start our new jobs. Swing down to Florida for a few days to make sure Lenore is settling in, then maybe fly up to see you?”
Sam felt her smile strain at her cheeks. “You won’t accept my money but you’ll accept free room and board?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d like that.” Sam looked around her apartment. Suddenly, it felt too sterile. She needed to buy things like pillows and hang some artwork and maybe add some color before Charlie got here. She wanted her sister to know that she had made herself a home.
Charlie said, “Okay, I’ve got to go stew and complain about this to Ben until I wear myself out. Check your email. We found something crazy in the basement.”
Sam cringed. The basement had been the bachelor farmer’s domain. “Is this another weird thing that’s going to freak me out?”
“Check your email.”
“I just checked it.”
“Check it again, but when we’re off the phone.”
“I can look while we’re—”
Charlie had hung up.
Sam rolled her eyes. There was a downside to having her little sister back in her life.
She clicked the home button on her phone. She opened her email. She dragged down the screen with her thumb. The circle spun as the emails reloaded.
Nothing new appeared at the top. Sam reloaded the emails again.
Still nothing.
She took off her glasses. She rubbed her eyes. She ran through all the troubling bachelor farmer surprises they had already found in the basement: assorted lingerie, various shoes, but only left ones, and a clock of a naked woman that had a perverted Tweety Bird effect.
Fosco jumped onto the counter. He sniffed the empty bowl of yogurt, clearly disappointed. Sam scratched his ears. He started to purr.
Her phone chirped.
Charlie’s email had finally arrived.
Sam skimmed the listing: this message has no content.
“Charlie,” she mumbled. Sam opened the email, mentally preparing a wry response, only to find that the message was not empty.
A file was attached at the bottom.
Tap to download.
Sam’s thumb hovered over the icon.
The file name was above her nail.
Instead of tapping the screen, she put the phone down on the counter.
She leaned over, pressing her forehead to the cold marble. Her eyes closed. Her hands clasped together in her lap. She slowly breathed in, filling her lungs, before she breathed out again. She listened to the pelting rain. She waited for the butterflies in her stomach to float away.
Fosco nudged her cheek. He purred exuberantly.
Sam took another deep breath. She sat back up. She scratched Fosco’s ears until he’d had enough and jumped down.
She put on her glasses. She picked up her phone. She looked at the email, the name of the file.
Gamma.jpg
If Charlie had been Rusty’s creature, Sam had felt herself entirely Gamma’s own. As a child, Sam had spent so many hours watching her mother, studying her, wanting to be like her—to be interesting, to be smart, to be good, to be right; but after Gamma’s death, whenever Sam tried to summon her mother’s face, she found herself unable to fill in the corresponding expressions—a smile, a look of surprise, a look of puzzlement, of dubiousness, of curiosity, of encouragement, of delight.
Until now.
Sam tapped the file. She watched the image load onto her phone.
She covered her mouth with her hand. She did nothing to stop her tears.
Charlie had found the photograph.
Not the photo, but the mythical photograph from Rusty’s love story.
Sam stared at the image for minutes, for hours, for as long as it took to make her memories become whole.
As Rusty had described, Gamma was standing in a field. The red picnic blanket was on the ground. In the distance, there was an old weather tower; wood, not like the metal tower back home. Gamma’s body was turned toward the camera. Her hands rested on her slim hips. One of her legs, admittedly beautiful, was bent at the knee. She was clearly trying not to give Rusty the satisfaction of laughing at something foolish he had said. An eyebrow was raised. Her white teeth showed. Freckles dotted her pale cheeks. She had a slight dimple in her chin.
Sam could not deny her father’s assessment of the critical moment that had been captured on film. The vivid blue of Gamma’s eyes undoubtedly showed a woman falling in love, but there was something else; a set to her mouth, an awareness of the coming challenges, a willingness to learn, a hope for convention, for children, for family, for a full, useful life.
Sam knew that this was exactly how Gamma would’ve wanted to be remembered: head straight, shoulders back, teeth ground, forever stalking joy.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Kate Elton, my friend and editor, who has been with me since my second book. Also to Victoria Sanders, friend and agent, who has been with me since before the before. Then there’s Team Slaughter, who keep the trains running on time: Bernadette Baker-Baughman, Chris Kepner, Jessica Spivey and the great Oz, Diane Dickensheid. Thanks also to my film agent, Angela Cheng Caplan, friend and advocate.
At William Morrow, much appreciation goes to Liate Stehlik, Dan Mallory, Heidi Richter, and Brian Murray.
There are too many other folks to list at Harper divisions around the world, but thanks especially to the folks in Norway, Denmark, Finland, Sweden, France, Ireland, Italy, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Mexico, with whom I’ve had the honor of spending so much time.
And now I’d like to thank the experts: Dr. David Harper, who patiently answers my medical questions (with illustrations!) so that I sound smarter than I actually am.
On the legal side of things: Alafair Burke, a Stanford Law graduate, a former prosecutor in Portland, a current law professor and also a remarkably gifted author, who despite juggling ten million balls in the air still managed to answer my urgent texts about legal procedure. Thanks also to the following for free legal advice: Aimee Maxwell, Don Samuel, Patricia Friedman, Judge Jan Wheeler and Melanie Reed Williams. You have all made me at once glad I have your numbers and terrified that I will ever need them.
At the GBI, deputy director Scott Dutton was kind enough to walk me through procedure, and as always, deputy director (ret.) Sherry Lange, assistant special agent in charge (ret.) Dona Robinson, and APD sergeant (ret.) Vickye Prattes were enormously helpful. I always feel a tinge of guilt when I write about cops behaving badly because I have the great honor of knowing so many good ones. Thanks to Speaker David Ralston for making the introductions. Director Vernon Keenan, I hope you notice that I always make y’all the good guys.
My pal and fellow author Sara Blaedel helped me with the Danish bits. Brenda Allums and her merry band of coaches helped me calculate times and distances and many other things that I know nothing about.
I’m always grateful to Claire Schoeder for her travel services and friendship. Thanks very much to Gerry Collins and Brian for showing me around Dublin. Anne-Marie Diffley offered a wonderful tour of Dublin Trinity College. Ms. Antonella Fantoni in Florence and Ms. MariaLuisa Sala in Venice made history come alive with their joy and exuberance for these wonderful cities. And also, their joy and exuberance for wine.
My heartfelt thanks to
the women who shared their stories and their losses with unflinching character and grace. Jeanenne English spoke with me about TBI. Margaret Graff reluctantly delved back into physics to help me with some passages. Chiara Scaglioni at HarperCollins Italy helped me come up with a fancy wine name. Melissa LaMarche made a generous donation to the Gwinnett Public Library in exchange for having her name appear in this novel. Bill Sessions first mentioned to me the Flannery O’Connor quote that I felt so perfectly captured the dilemma of the accomplished woman. I am sorry I have to thank him posthumously; he was a gifted storyteller and an amazing teacher.
Lewis Fry Richardson’s 1922 Weather Predictions by Numerical Process provided a helpful reference. The forward in the 2007, second edition, written by Peter Lynch, Professor of Meteorology at University College Dublin, gave additional insight into the work. Any mistakes are of course my own.
Last thanks always goes to my daddy, who makes sure I don’t starve and/or freeze to death while I am writing, and to DA, my heart, who always welcomes me back home to the restful piedmonts of Mount Clothey.
This story is for Billie—sometimes, your world turns upside down, and you need somebody to show you how to walk on your hands before you can find your feet again.
About the Author
Karin Slaughter is the #1 internationally-bestselling author of more than a dozen novels, including the Will Trent and Grant County series and the instant New York Times bestsellers Cop Town and Pretty Girls. There are more than thirty-five million copies of her books in print around the world. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.
For more information visit karinslaughter.com
Facebook.com/AuthorKarinSlaughter
@SlaughterKarin
Also by Karin Slaughter
Blindsighted
Kisscut
A Faint Cold Fear
Indelible
Faithless
Triptych
Skin Privilege
Fractured
Genesis
Broken
Fallen
Criminal
Unseen
Cop Town
Pretty Girls
The Kept Woman
eBook originals
Snatched
Cold, Cold Heart
Busted
Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes
Last Breath
Novellas and Stories
Like a Charm (Editor)
Martin Misunderstood
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East – 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
Karin Slaughter, The Good Daughter
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends