The Unbidden Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

drop it, but they would have to come back to it as often as it took to get her to tell what the prosecutor would surely discover. “Okay,” she said. “Back to the Colberts. Were they good people, decent to you?”
    Carrie shrugged. “Stuart was okay, I guess, but he wasn’t there a lot. You know, work, doing stuff around the house and yard, out fishing. Adrienne and I didn’t get along.”
    â€œThey gave you music lessons, didn’t they?”
    Carrie grimaced. “No. Adrienne liked country-western and accordion players. That’s all she listened to. I can’t recall that Stuart listened to any music. They didn’t have a piano or guitar, anything like that in the house.”
    â€œYou learned to play before the accident? Is that what you’re saying?”
    â€œI must have. But I don’t remember.”
    Frustrated, Barbara dropped it. “You said you took off right after high school. Tell me about that.”
    This, at least, seemed to be a topic that Carrie was willing to talk about at length. Stuart Colbert had said there had been some insurance money for her education but, not interested in college, Carrie had bought a car and started an odyssey that wound through one state after another, one city after another, sometimes with a companion, most often alone. Boyfriends never lasted very long, she added. Barbara noted the various cities where she had stopped to work for a few months, six months, one time for a whole year, before moving on. The last city before arriving in Eugene had been Las Vegas.
    She told Barbara about the incident that resulted in her being fired. “This slob, drunk as a skunk, wouldn’t keep his hands off me when I served their table. When I took the check over, he tried to put his arms around me, and I gave him a shove. He staggered back a little bit and knocked some things off the table. The manager was there faster than lightning, apologizing to the jerk. That was it. I was out.” She shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway. Good excuse to hit the road again.”
    â€œWhy Eugene after that?”
    â€œI never even heard of Eugene before Delia mentioned it. I don’t know why. I just felt as if that’s where I had been heading, not here, just the northwest in general, and I might as well have help with the gas.”
    The shuttered look had returned. Barbara was learning to read her client’s expressions, and that was what these preliminary conversations were for: to get acquainted, comfortable with each other, and become familiar with expressions, body language, learn where the land mines were, what territory was forbidden. Carrie could flash that big open grin, she could be candid and forthcoming, or as unyielding as a statue. Those off-limit areas were the ones Barbara intended to revisit often.
    â€œHad you seen Joe Wenzel in Las Vegas? Run across him?”
    â€œNever. You know how the casinos are set up with restaurants? A cafeteria with the world’s worst food, a cheap dining room, family dinners for four-ninety-five, and the high-class dining rooms. I waited tables in el cheapo. From what I know about Wenzel he probably ate in the high-class joints. No crossing of paths.”
    Barbara stayed a while longer, then stood up. “Enough for today. But tell me something. Why did you want your music if there’s nothing to play?”
    That other expression appeared on Carrie’s face: a softness, a vulnerability, a look of deep hurt perhaps. Her hands began to move on the table as if it were a keyboard. Her fingers were long and beautifully shaped, the nails short, well cared for. It was fascinating to watch those hands, and Barbara forced her gaze back to Carrie’s face.
    â€œI need practice,” Carrie said in a low voice. “I’m so out of practice. I can hear the music when I read it, hear my mistakes, hear when it’s right.”