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“But you know my mom cut herself that night. So her bloodwouldbe on the knife.”
“We need DNA from you as well. Just to close out the case. It’s routine.”
“Okay,” Amy finally said.
Rizzoli collected the sample, recapped the swab, and slipped it into her pocket. “Now, tell me how you’re doing, Amy. It must have been a rough few weeks for you. Being stalked by that man.”
Amy cradled the warmth of her teacup. “I’m fine.”
“Are you, really? Because it would be normal to have some measure of PTSD.”
“I’ve had nightmares,” Amy admitted. “Dad says the bestthing I can do is to stay busy. Go back to school, finish my degree.” She gave a rueful laugh. “Even if Mom wants me to stay home with her forever.”
“Has she always been this protective?”
“Always.” Amy smiled. “Before she met Dad, it was just her and me. I remember we used to sing this song in the car:You and me against the world.”
“How far backdoyou remember?”
The question made Amy pause. The conversation had suddenly changed, taking a new direction that puzzled her. She felt unsettled by Rizzoli’s intent look, as if she was hanging on Amy’s every word. This no longer felt like a casual conversation over tea; it was starting to feel like an interrogation.
“Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Because I’m still trying to understand James Creighton’s motives. Why did he stalkyou? What madeyouso special to him, and when did he first see you?”
“At the cemetery.”
“Or was it earlier? Is it possible, when you were very young, that James Creighton knew your mother?”
“No, she would have told me.” Amy took a sip of tea, but it was already going cold. She noticed that Rizzoli had not touched her tea, but was simply sitting there, watching her.
“Tell me about your father, Amy. Not Dr. Antrim, but your real father.”
“Why?”
“It’s important.”
“I try not to think of him. Ever.”
“But you must remember him. When your mother married Mike Antrim, you were already ten years old. I saw the wedding photo in Dr. Antrim’s study. You were the flower girl.”
Amy nodded. “They got married at Lantern Lake.”
“And your real father?”
“As far as I’m concerned, Mike Antrim is myonlyfather.”
“But therewasanother man, named Bruce Flagler. A carpenter who worked odd jobs, moving from town to town, repairing decks, renovating kitchens.”
“What does Bruce have to do with this?”
“So you do remember his name.”
“I try not to.” Abruptly Amy rose to her feet and picked up her cell phone from the kitchen counter. “I’m going to text my mom to come home right now. She’s the one who can answer your questions.”
“I need to know whatyouremember.”
“I don’twantto! He was horrible.”
