I opened the envelope and laid it out on the kitchen table under the light, the way Edna had laid it out in booth five. The photo strip. The report from Kelso. Marva Shaw's letter on its spiral paper. The passbook. The list. Don't tell A.
She read it all. I watched her. She read the report and her face went white, and then red, and she said, "That's — he told me about this. He told me. That girl lied. She was mad because he broke up with her and she got hurt at a party and she blamed him to get back at him and everybody knew it. He told me all about it. The case was closed. It says right there it was closed." She jabbed at the word. CLOSED.
"It says the victim declined to proceed," I said. "And it says the suspect's alibi was verified. Do you know who verified it?"
She didn't answer.
"His grandmother," I said. "She told me so this morning. She lied for him. She drove to Kelso and told the deputy he was in Brownsmead with her. He wasn't. She's carried that for three years. That letter's from the girl's mother."
Jodie read Marva Shaw's letter. She read it for a long time. Then she picked up the passbook and turned the pages, slowly, down the column of numbers going down, and stopped at the last page, three dollars and twelve cents, and her lips moved. And then she picked up the list. Tires — 140. Mike in Reno. Fri the 15th — J — 7am. $ — G's. Don't tell A.
"He said she gave it to him," Jodie said. Her voice had gone very small. "The money. For us. For Reno. He said she wanted him to have a fresh start. He said she cried when she gave it to him."
"She found out about it when the bank statement came," I said. "And when she asked him, he told her she'd forgotten. He told her she was losing her mind. And then he started telling everybody else."