Chương 5
“Tell the officer,” she said.
“I already called.”
“Good.”
After he left, Olivia stared at the foil on the casserole.
“Are we eating that?”
“Apparently.”
“Do you think it has mushrooms?”
“Probably. He looks like a mushroom person.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
They ate at one-thirty. The lasagna contained mushrooms, olives, and a quantity of oregano that made Olivia drink two glasses of water. Mara checked her phone every few minutes.
At three, a photograph of the Chevrolet appeared on the neighborhood Facebook group.
The caption read: PROPERTY DISPUTE GETS UGLY ON EAST COVE.
No names were included, but the orange Hale Construction mixer could be seen in the background, and Valerie’s house was unmistakable. Comments multiplied beneath the post.
Some supported Mara. Others asked why the car had been left in a construction zone. One person wrote that older lake houses lowered property values. Another replied that criminal damage lowered them more. Someone posted a photograph of Valerie at the previous summer’s charity auction wearing a white dress and holding a champagne glass. Someone else called the discussion class warfare.
Mr. Bell texted that he had not posted the image.
Mara believed him, mostly.
At four-twenty, a local television producer called.
Mara declined the interview.
At four-thirty-five, the producer called again.
At five, Denise texted: Need tonight’s answer.
Mara sat on the porch steps. The concrete radiated heat. A small crack had formed where it met the gravel, but the mass over the roof looked permanent.
Olivia brought out Mara’s work shoes and set them beside her.
“Mrs. Bell said she can drive you,” Olivia said.
“Mrs. Bell has cataract surgery next week.”
“She still drives.”
“That’s the problem.”
“What about Mr. Bell?”
“He doesn’t like driving after dark.”
“He could like it once.”
Mara smiled despite herself. “I’ll call Tessa.”
Tessa worked the same night shift and lived twenty minutes in the wrong direction. She answered on the third ring, listened, then whistled softly.
“I saw the picture,” she said.
“Of course you did.”
“I thought it was fake.”
“It’s very real.”
“I can get you tonight, but I have to drop my boys with their dad first. You’d be forty minutes early.”
“I’ll scrub the break room with my eyelashes.”
“Don’t joke. Denise might add it to your duties.”
Mara arranged for Olivia to sleep at the Bells’ house. She packed a uniform, phone charger, toothbrush, and the headache medicine she kept buying and forgetting to use. Before leaving, she found Olivia standing in the driveway, looking at the Chevrolet.
“Don’t touch it,” Mara said.
“I’m not.”
“Concrete can crack in ways you can’t see.”
Olivia stepped back.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Mara waited.
Olivia rubbed her thumb against a yellow thread at the edge of her cardigan. “I left my science project in the back seat.”
Mara remembered the cardboard model of a watershed, its painted blue river and tiny houses cut from cereal boxes. Olivia had worked on it for two weeks.
“We’ll make another.”
“It’s due Friday.”
“We’ll make a better one.”
“I liked that one.”
Mara did not say it was only cardboard. The car had been only metal. The house was only wood. Almost everything people loved could be reduced to materials by someone who did not love it.
“We’ll see what can be saved,” she said.
Olivia nodded, though neither of them believed it.
At work, Mara moved through the night by habit. She helped Mr. Pritchard find his glasses in the pocket of the robe he was wearing. She changed bedding in Room 214 after a feeding tube leaked. She listened to Mrs. Haney describe a television program Mara had never seen, then discovered the woman had been describing the weather channel.
At two in the morning, Denise found her at the medication cart.
“You look terrible,” Denise said.
“Thank you.”
“I mean tired.”
“I know what you meant.”
Denise handed her a paper cup of coffee. “My cousin works at the county prosecutor’s office.”
Mara looked at her.
“Not in a useful position,” Denise added quickly. “Reception. I’m not promising anything.”
“I don’t need a connection.”
“Everybody needs a connection.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
Denise leaned against the wall. Down the hall, a call bell sounded twice.
“I’m trying to help,” she said.
“I know.”
“You make that sound like an accusation.”
Mara took the coffee. “I’m sorry.”
Denise rubbed the bridge of her nose. “My ex put sugar in my gas tank once.”
Mara waited.
“It wasn’t concrete,” Denise said. “But it took three weeks for anyone to charge him because he said it was teenagers.”
“What happened?”
“He admitted it to his brother in a text. People are stupid in writing.”
The call bell sounded again.
Denise pushed away from the wall. “I hope your rich neighbors are stupid in writing.”
The first insurance adjuster arrived the following afternoon.
He represented Hale Construction’s commercial carrier. His name was Neil Sutter, and he wore a polo shirt embroidered with the company logo of an insurance firm Mara recognized from commercials. He photographed the mixer tracks, the chute splatter, the concrete depth, the distance from the car to the property line, and every side of the Chevrolet that remained visible.
Grant’s attorney attended. Grant did not.
Mara stood with her own insurer’s representative, a woman named Carla who spent most of the inspection explaining what Mara’s liability-only policy did not cover.
“What does it cover?” Olivia asked.
Carla looked at her. “Damage your mother causes to other people.”
“So if Mom poured concrete on their car, it would help?”
“Olivia,” Mara said.
Carla crouched slightly. “Basically, yes.”
Olivia considered this. “That seems backward.”
“It can feel that way.”
May you like
Kline objected when Neil asked whether the car could be excavated immediately. He wanted an independent engineer to inspect the pour. Mara asked who would pay for the heavy-recovery crew. No one answered directly.
By the end of the afternoon, she had four business cards and no transportation.
