From Cradle to Grave by Patricia MacDonald Read Free Book Online

be anyone in the first two cells. Morgan wanted to call out, but she didn’t want to break any rules. She took off her shoes and submitted to a wanding, and then a patdown by the officer. She obeyed as the officer told her to stay put. Officer Hardiman went to the cell on the far left.
    ‘Your sister’s here,’ she said abruptly.
    There was no reply. The officer gestured for Morgan to come to where she was standing. Her heart beating fast, Morgan approached the cell door. Officer Hardiman unlocked the barred door with a card key and motioned for Morgan to go in. After Morgan entered, she slammed it shut behind her.
    ‘I’m right here,’ said Officer Hardiman. ‘I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll tell you when you have to leave.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Morgan meekly.
    The cell was much darker than the corridor, but only because of the absence of windows in the room. The walls looked freshly painted, although they were defaced by obscene graffiti. It was clearly a facility only meant for short-term imprisonment. The cell had a small metal table, a chair and a bed, but no toilet or sink. Claire, dressed in her own stained sweatshirt and jeans, was sitting on the edge of the cot. Her short, wedge-cut hair looked flat and without shine. There were dark circles around her eyes. Her flawless complexion was waxy in the dim light. Her huge, dark eyes were fixed on Morgan as she entered the little cell.
    Now that they were face to face, Morgan found herself almost afraid to meet that familiar gaze. She was afraid that she would not see the person she knew when she looked into Claire’s eyes. The person she recognized. The whole way home from the airport and en route to West Briar, Morgan had tried not to think about the words she had heard Claire say. ‘I did it. I killed them.’ The story was already on the radio, and Morgan had been forced to change the station, and finally switch on her iPod to try and avoid hearing multiple recountings of the day’s terrible events.
    Now she was locked in a jail cell with Claire, and there was no avoiding it any longer. She looked at her dearest friend. Claire got up from the cot, crossed the cell to Morgan, and put her arms around her.
    ‘Thank God you’re here,’ Claire whispered. Then she let out a sob.
    Morgan could smell baby powder on Claire’s sweatshirt, mixed with the odor of dried milk and spit-up. In her mind, she saw Drew’s tiny face, his rosebud lips and bright little eyes, and she felt herself stiffen as Claire’s arms enfolded her. She placed her hands lightly on Claire’s trembling back. Normally, Claire’s grief would have been enough to make Morgan want to cry too. But not today. Morgan’s questions buzzed in her mind, like bees in a hive. Was Claire crying over the loss of Drew and Guy? Or was she crying because she was a prisoner here in this cell? It seemed . . . perverse for her to cry over her loved ones if she was responsible for their deaths.
    Seeming to sense Morgan’s hesitation, Claire dropped her arms and stepped back, folding her arms over her narrow chest and rubbing her own forearms, as if she were freezing. ‘Sit down,’ she said, indicating the chair.
    Morgan nodded. She pulled the chair out from the table and sat. She licked her dry lips and glanced up at Claire who was watching her. ‘Sorry. I’m just trying to . . .’ Morgan’s voice faded away.
    Claire resumed her seat on the edge of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, kneading them together.
    ‘Are you OK?’ Morgan asked. ‘Physically, I mean.’
    Claire nodded without speaking.
    ‘Did the lawyer come?’ Morgan asked.
    ‘Yes,’ said Claire.
    ‘What did he say?’ Morgan asked.
    Claire rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Then she took a deep breath. ‘She. It was a woman. Noreen was her name. Noreen . . . something. She left a card. There, on the table.’
    Morgan looked down and immediately saw the cream-colored business card. ‘Noreen Quick,