Supposing

So far, Miranda is raising the son of her ex-lover, Dougie. Dougie disappeared without a trace, and Miranda received temporary custody. Now that Dougie is back, she is afraid he will take the boy away from her. When one of Waylon's teachers is found brutally murdered, Dougie is the prime suspect. Miranda knows that Dougie is capable of a lot of things, but not murder.

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I grab a bagel from the coffee shop in the lobby of the hospital, then head up to his room. There is a nurse in there, checking tubes and adjusting little buttons on a few machines. She chats about the weather and I listen to hear if Dougie answers. His voice is thick, sluggish. He sounds nothing like the cocky son of a gun I remember.

"Should I wait outside?" I ask, just opening the door enough to poke my head through.

"No, you come on in here. Douglas was telling me all about you. You're even prettier than he lead me to believe," the nurse says, a tried and true smile covering her face.

"Thank you. I'm Miranda," I say, reaching for the chair and dragging it closer to the bed. "I'm taking care of his son, Waylon."

She nods her head. "I know Waylon. He's a good kid. A real trooper. A lot of young people his age, they don't want no part of hospitals. That boy sits by his daddy's side and doesn't move until he has to."

I glance to see Dougie, looking over at me. "You came," he says. He extends his hand and for a second I hesitate. I don't really want to hold his hand, but the nurse is watching, expecting the Miranda of Dougie's making, not the real one.

"Just a sec. I need to wash the sticky food off my hands," I lie. I move quickly to the bathroom and close the door. "You can do this," I whisper to myself. "Just find out what is so important that he wants you to know." I run the water and splash a little on my face before going back to where Dougie is.

"I missed you, Miranda. I missed you so much," he says, staring at me like a sad sack puppy.

"I was here yesterday, Dougie."

"No, I mean before. When I came back, you blossomed. You weren't the same wild and crazy girl I used to know."

"Taking care of a child will do that, Dougie. Isn't a lot of time to party and go crazy when you have to make sure someone's homework is done, that they've showered and eaten dinner. It's called parenting, Dougie. You should try it."

He winces but the sappy smile never leaves his face. "I deserved that. But it's true. I miss you, miss us."

I shake my head. "There was no us to miss, Dougie. I was more like your momma than your partner. Besides, I thought I was holding you back."

"I was a fool."

It is so satisfying to hear the words out loud, but, it doesn't change a thing. I don't love Dougie. I love Mitch. "We've all changed, Dougie."

He leans back further on his pillow and closes his eyes. "Couldn't we try again, for Waylon's sake?"

I shake off the uncomfortable feeling I have and touch his arm. "Waylon said you had something important to tell me."

"That night, there were people trying to pull a kid from the car. He was screaming. Is he okay?"

I feel a shiver rush through me. "How old was the kid? What did he look like?"

He shrugs. "I can't remember. I just remember him screaming for help."

"Dougie, did you see Dennis Tomlin in the car?" I ask.

He shudders. "I couldn't tell who it was. So much blood."

I can see the numbers on the black screen quickly going up. I squeeze his arm. "Lets not talk about it anymore. I think Waylon is coming back this afternoon. Momma took him to the movies last night. She sure does like him. But it's hard not to. You've got one special kid, Dougie Wilcox." The numbers start to get lower, and I notice his rhythmic breathing. I reach for my purse and tiptoe out of the room.


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I drive the long way to work. My mind going over what Dougie had said. If the kid was screaming for help, Tomlin was already dead, then who was the kid trying to get away from? I think about the footprint that I found. A child's or a woman's? Who would commit such a horrendous crime and why? Once again, my thoughts go to Mira Evanoff. If she's as religious as everyone says she is, how could she murder a man? No, I'm not naive enough to think that everyone who professes to be a Christian couldn't do something like that. Preachers have committed adultery, abused children, killed spouses. They are human. Humans are flawed. But from what Mitch briefly described about Dennis Tomlin's injuries, this was a killing that was fueled by rage.

I pull into the parking lot of The Little Eagle and turn off my car. I wonder if there are any other prints on the hammer that was in Dougie's hand. Surely, in a fit of rage, a killer wouldn't be lucid enough to wipe off prints. I lean back against the seat and draw in a deep breath. I need to write this down. I pull the random paper I was using before and add my clues hastily. "Other prints on hammer?" "Dougie heard screaming but said Tomlin was already dead."

As much as I want to continue trying to piece this together, I have to don my ugly red vest, and spend the rest of the day making change and small talk. But I'm just getting started. I know Dougie didn't kill Dennis Tomlin and I aim to prove it.