Forty-One

The hotel ballroom was done in deep navy blue and silver with a giant crystal chandelier. The Bonnet family was at the front on a raised platform. They’d set up an easel that held a giant photograph of Paige. It was her senior picture, her hair blown out to glossy perfection and the soft light giving her the appearance of a halo. The TV camera focused in on her picture for a beat before backing up to show the full scene.

Mr. and Mrs. Bonnet stood center stage, stiff and formal like soldiers on parade. Paige’s sister, Evelyn, was there too, standing to the side, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed as if she was praying.

“Our family is devastated at the death of our daughter.” The judge stopped to look down before continuing. “She was a bright and vivacious young woman who was called too soon from this earth.”

He didn’t use any notes, but his speech was too polished to be off the cuff. He must have practiced. The idea of him doing the talk over and over again in front of his bathroom mirror, getting the timing for when he would let his voice crack just perfectly, gave me the creeps. Paige had told me not to buy into his fake persona, and I certainly didn’t anymore. He looked the part of a brokenhearted father, but now I could see the ugly underneath.

“We’re working with the police to find the person, or persons, responsible for this tragedy.” The judge paused as if overcome. He hadn’t mentioned Paige’s name once. She was already less of an individual. An abstract tragedy. “We appreciate anything the public can do to assist, but also seek to remind people that this is a blow to our family and shouldn’t be used by others for gain.” The judge stared into the camera lens, as if he could see into my living room, and I fought the urge to pull out of his line of vision.

“I’ve built a reputation in my career for focusing on law and order. Now it’s become personal. I don’t want any family, any individual, to suffer the type of loss that my family has experienced. I am sending a message to whoever was involved. If you interfere with me or my family, I will make you pay.” The judge paused to ensure we all understood his determination, then leaned in to the microphones. His closed fist tapped the podium with every statement.

I chewed on my thumbnail while I watched him. I had no doubt that message was meant for me.

“I will be recommitting myself to serving this community”—thump went his fist—“this state”—thump—“and this nation”—extra-loud thump. “Those who would feel themselves to be above the law, who barter in fear and intimidation, should consider themselves to be on notice. There will be no place to hide. I’ll dedicate my life to serving the memory of my daughter.”

His pathetic speech was nothing more than a campaign ad. All that was missing was a rippling flag in the background and an eagle swooping across the stage.

After a pause to make sure everyone had time to digest his words, the judge pointed at a reporter in the front row who stood to ask her question.

“Yes, does this mean you’re formally announcing that you are entering the Senate race, Your Honor?”

He turned ever so slightly so his profile was to the camera. “I don’t think now is the time and place to make a political announcement.”

I gagged on the bile coming up my throat, knowing I would have bought this line of BS from him if I didn’t know the truth. He pointed to another person in the crowd.

“Have the police identified any suspects?”

Judge Bonnet shook his head sadly. “I’m not at liberty to comment on the investigation, but I believe there are no imminent arrests planned.”

“Has your family approached the psychic, Susan Thorn, to see if she can provide any further information?”

My heart skipped a beat. The vein above the judge’s eyebrow pulsed when my mom’s name was mentioned. “Our family is putting our trust in the police.” He looked past her to see if there were any other questions.

The nerves down my spine prickled, like spider legs dancing down the thread of a web. What if he went after my mom? Despite all her bluster, she hadn’t really predicted anything, but Judge Bonnet might not know that. Heck, even she didn’t know that. He might think she knew something, and if he did, he’d want to stop her from knowing anything else. I burrowed deeper into the stack of cushions on the sofa, pulling them up and over me.

Judge Bonnet stood center stage with his arms wrapped around his wife and daughter as the press conference came to an end. He planned to stand on Paige’s dead body as a way to leverage himself into office. Her limp form under his wingtips, her soft, decaying flesh giving way as he scrambled up the election ladder. Who would want to run against a grieving father?

I picked at a loose thread on the pillow. I was the only one who knew he’d done it. Without me, he’d get away with it.