Where Nobody Dies Read Online Free PDF Page A

pieces. On top of the dresser, a yellow china dog sat, decapitated by the falling glass.
    â€œOh, God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dawn moaned, jumping out of bed.
    â€œGet back in bed!” My voice was sharpened by shock. “Your bare feet!”
    â€œI’ll get a broom and clean it up,” Dawn promised, her voice tight. Her lips were working again; the look she gave me was the same mute apology she’d given her mother when she’d had trouble with her zipper in court.
    â€œGet back in that bed,” I ordered. Dawn did, but her eyes still darted as though she expected an angry Linda to come through the door and scold her. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I told her, trying to smile. My stomach was knotted in a sympathetic response it took me a moment to recognize. When I did, I had Dawn’s secret. The deepest fear a child can know: It’s all my fault.
    â€œOh, God,” I said, my eyes welling with tears. Of course—Dawn blamed herself for her parents’ divorce, and the permanent custody battle had only reinforced the feeling of guilt. Now it seemed that her mother was dead and her father a suspect because of her.
    I forced a laugh. “No harm done,” I said lightly. “What’s seven years’ bad luck?” Dawn gave me a wan smile for my effort, but then we sat in silence, trying not to think about it. Finally, Dawn broke the stillness.
    â€œHe wouldn’t,” Dawn insisted. “He said crummy things sometimes, but he didn’t mean them. He was just acting out,” she explained, her voice a parody of her Aunt Marcy’s professional tone. My throat tightened as I listened.
    â€œHe didn’t mean it,” Dawn repeated. “I know he didn’t.” She pleaded for my agreement.
    â€œDetective Button’s a good cop,” I said seriously. “He’ll check out all the angles. He’s not looking to pin it on anyone. If your father’s not guilty, he’ll find out who is.” I hoped to God I was right. The problem was I could be right and so could Button. Brad Ritchie could be guilty.
    Then Dawn’s agitated movement stopped and she fixed me with a calm, clear gaze. “He was going to take me away,” she announced. “That’s what he meant when he told Mom she’d be sorry,” she confided. “He was going to pick me up on Sunday for my visit with Granny, only instead of going to Bensonhurst we were going to drive all the way to Florida.” Dawn’s voice was confident, but her eyes were still pleading. “He said I wouldn’t need my clothes and stuff; he’d buy me everything new in Miami.” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for a ruling. I knew the signs. The kid was a born defender, and her lifelong client was Brad Ritchie.
    Judge Jameson sighed and gave counsel for the defense what she wanted. “I’ll tell Detective Button,” I promised. “It might make a difference if he knows your father was planning to kidnap you.” I hadn’t meant to use the word; my anger flared as I thought about the reality that lay behind Brad’s grandiose talk. A sorry trailer park. Dawn left alone while Brad, chronically unemployed, looked for work. Dawn trudging to school in Salvation Army castoffs. No more matches. No more coaching. No more camp. No more tennis.
    â€œIt wasn’t kid napping,” Dawn corrected sharply. “The man is my father.”
    â€œNo.” I agreed. “Just custodial interference. A mere misdemeanor.” The last part I said under my breath.
    â€œWould you really have gone?” I asked aloud.
    Dawn gave it serious thought. “I didn’t want to move to crummy old Washington,” she said finally. I nodded; this was not news. The nod seemed to reassure her and she went on. “And Daddy needed me more than Mom did. Sometimes he’d get so sad when I