The Whole Truth (32 page)

12

Raymond

Katherine is waiting on their doorstep with the flowers.

I drove her to a florist's, where she purchased a lovely arrangement of white roses and baby's breath, and now I have brought her to the McCullens' house.

My heart aches for her, and for the young woman who answers the door. What will Susan do? Will she turn Katherine away? I'm so hoping she won't, though nobody could blame her if she did. Oh, yes! She's stepping aside, and Katherine is walking into the house.

The front door closes.

I relax my head against my car seat, and close my eyes.

I've got a car phone now, and it can dial 911 automatically with only one silent press of a button. With any luck, I'll never need it. But at least for a little while, I want the security of knowing I can summon help whenever I am in my car, and whoever might happen to be there with me.

I haven't given the number to anyone yet.

If I want to talk to someone, I have to be the one who calls.

I pick it up and dial the office of the state's attorney.

"Did you finish your book on time, Marie?"

"Barely, but at least it's a whole book now."

"That's good. I'm glad. What did you say about me?"

"That you work prosecutorial magic."

"Thanks. It's too easy when there's no defense."

We think we know why Ray never confessed the truth: He understood Donor's last words to him as a warning that if he talked, Donor would harm other children. Ray kept quiet, hoping to protect them. Even if he had told the truth, he still would have been convicted, because he killed Natty. His reasons may have been confused, even ¦well-intentioned in their own cruel way, but the fact remained that he murdered her.

"I was wondering," I say, "if you'd like to discuss philosophy over an omelette at my house this evening. If I haven't broken too many eggs, that is."

"It may be," he says, as if we had never stopped talking, "that writers are not as used to arguing about things as lawyers are. It may also be true that writers are better than prosecutors at thinking of defendants as real human beings."

"You're saying we could both learn something?"

"That, and I could pick up some wine."

"I won't argue with that."

It's hot in my car, so I take my new phone with me and I step out into the street, and then I walk up onto the McCullens' lawn and stand under a palm tree that provides about six inches of shade. Suddenly, we're arguing, laughing, flirting. I'm sweating, and the mosquitoes are biting, and a coconut falls inches from my head and lands with a crack that could have brained me. For a few minutes, at ten cents a minute, it's just another perfect day in Florida.

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