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Grace’s hand trembles. The cup falls on the table and bounces to the floor. Smashes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m so clumsy.” She jumps to her feet. “I can clean it up.” Her cheekbones flare bright red.
Jo leaps to her feet too. “I’ll do it.”
Grace keeps on standing, watching Jo pick up the shards of the cup, mop the floor, and wipe the table.
“I’m sorry,” Grace says again.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m clumsy too. I drop things all the time. Let me bring you another cup.”
“I’m all right.” Grace suddenly smiles, and her blue eyes light up. “I might leave you with no cups by the time we’re done.”
Jo sits down on the edge of the sofa. “Grace, tell me. Is everything all right at home?”
“Nothing’s all right. Mama doesn’t leave her bedroom on most days, and when she does, she isn’t herself. I have to take care of the kids. Finn comes and helps when he can. But it’s difficult.”
“How did you manage to leave the house?”
“I just left,” Grace whispers. “I don’t know. I had to leave. To escape. It’s suffocating there. I cannot breathe when I’m inside. The rooms are too small. There is not enough air for all of us.”
Jo straightens her back. Perhaps it’s her chance to ask about Millie. “You cannot escape grief. Every time you remember Millie, a small part of you dies. I lost my husband a year ago. I know what death does to those left behind. How agonizing the sorrow is. A part of us goes mad with grief.” Jo takes her cup and drains it. The whiskey warms her stomach and settles her scattered thoughts. “When you think of Millie, what do you remember the most?”
“I keep thinking about the way she died.” Grace’s voice shakes. “Scared. Alone. And in so much pain. When I found her, it was too late. I was holding her head in my lap, and she wasn’t breathing. It was awful.” She gazes off into the distance, her eyes full of heartbreak. Her face contorts, but she doesn’t cry. “I should’ve been there for her. But I wasn’t. Maybe I could’ve done something to help her, and she’d be alive.”
“If Millie was poisoned, by the time you found her, it was too late to help her.”
Grace bites down on her lip, and for the first time, she nods, agreeing with Jo. “I know she was poisoned.”
The whiskey churns in Jo’s belly. “What makes you say that, Grace?”
A shadow crawls over Grace’s face. Her eyes darken as they dart between Jo’s, left to right, right to left. Searching. Weighing her thoughts. “Millie wasn’t sick. No one gets sick and dies within hours, spewing blood and writhing in pain.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this? Your mother? Finn? Uncle Ira?”
A sharp inhale. “God, no. They’d think I’ve lost my mind. Especially my mother. She cannot handle anything right now. She can’t even say Millie’s name without breaking down.”
Jo remembers Finn’s anger at her questions about the dead girl. His warning about Ira. “You can talk to me, Grace. Tell me, was there anything unusual about Millie in the days leading to her death?”
Grace studies the floor. “Unusual? How?” she asks carefully. As if she knows something but isn’t willing to talk about it.
“Maybe Millie did something or said something that was out of her character.”
Grace cuts her gaze to Jo, and for a brief second, there’s fear in her cerulean eyes. “No. She was her normal self.”
“It could’ve been something small. Insignificant. Something no one would notice unless they paid close attention. Maybe someone else was acting strange around Millie.”
“No one said anything. Millie was a good girl.”
Even good girls can get murdered. “Your family must have enemies.”
“No one would hurt Millie.” Grace’s voice is weak. She must not believe her own words. “They’d go after Uncle Ira or Finn. Not a fifteen-year-old girl.”
“Maybe that was their way to get at Ira or Finn.”
Grace shifts her feet awkwardly, the dark circles under her eyes deepening. “I’m scared,” Grace whispers. The fear in her eyes is the purest Jo has ever seen. She’s afraid it might consume the girl so completely she would not be able to say anything else. Maybe she should stop interrogating. Maybe she should show Grace her camera and introduce her to the darkroom instead. But what about Millie, who asked for help? Who’s stuck in that odd place and cannot move on because she has unfinished business.
“What are you scared of?”
“I’m scared of dying too.”
