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“So you perceived that Mr. Barnett, a man whose actions have been thoroughly scrutinized over the years as he rose to important positions within the state, was abusing his son?”
“I believed that the father of one of my students—”
“Former students…” Barnett interjected.
“—was causing emotional distress to his son.”
“Based on your perception,” the interviewer said.
“Yes.”
“The child never said a word to you about it.”
She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. “That’s correct.”
“Uh-huh, well, thank you for calling, Ms. Foster. We have other listeners on the line…”
She heard a click. And a dial tone. She’d just helped Larry Barnett tighten the noose around her neck.
The show had another half hour to go.
Meredith tossed the paper towel in the trash.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE HOUSE WAS CLEAN enough by the time Delilah White’s morning show ended.
“I did all the dusting, Daddy,” Kelsey said, coming up behind him in her bathroom. Brush in hand, he turned from the toilet bowl to see a reasonably dirty rag in her hand. She’d gotten some dust from somewhere.
“Great, sweetheart,” he said, flushing the blue out of the toilet bowl. “As soon as I wash my hands and change my shirt, we can head for the grocery store.”
“They weren’t very nice to Ms. Foster, were they?” Kelsey asked, her dark hair hanging down around her shoulders—the way he liked it best. She was frowning as she followed him into his room.
“No, they weren’t.” The bed wasn’t made. He’d intended to wash the sheets, but that could wait for another day. Pulling off his T-shirt, he grabbed a pale-green polo shirt and dropped it over his head.
“Do you think they hurt her feelings?” Kelsey was right behind him as he stopped in the kitchen for the grocery list held by a magnet on the refrigerator door.
“I hope not.” His sneaker made a small catching sound as he stepped away from the fridge. Kelsey had spilled cranberry juice there earlier in the week. He hadn’t scrubbed the floor this morning, either.
“But do you think they did?” his daughter persisted.
He stopped, gazed at the girl who, in her butterfly jeans and short-sleeved pink T-shirt, looked like a mini-version of the teacher she’d talked about nonstop the year before—the friend she’d avoided since Meredith’s run-in with Larry Barnett had caused her distress at school.
“Yes, Kelse, I think they did.”
“Then we should go see her, Daddy.”
His small companion with the big heart was back. Thank God.
“She’s not going to want to see us right now, honey.”
“She’ll want to see me,” Kelsey said, all nine-year-old innocence and confidence. “I know she will. And you’ll just have to be nice to her for once.”
She grinned at him and he fell in love with her all over again. “We’ll see.”
MARK STILL FELT more trepidation than assurance as they drove down Meredith’s street several hours later, groceries purchased, taken home and put away.
“Promise you won’t yell at her,” Kelsey said, her leg bobbing on the seat as she stared out the window toward Meredith Foster’s house.
