The Whispers by Lisa Unger Read Free Book Online Page B

thoughts that Eloise was having as she sat at Barney Croft’s sentencing.
    Eloise had spoken for leniency on his behalf. Addiction is a disease. Barney Croft needs help, not just punishment. And she believed that. When she looked at his weeping wife and his small children, their faces confused and sad, it was clear to see that a lifetime in prison served no one—not even Eloise and Amanda. Barney Croft’s children would be broken by this; perhaps they too would turn to drugs and ruin someone else’s life. Surely, there was a better way.
    But the judge was not lenient; a life sentence was handed down, parole possible after thirty years. The courtroom erupted in wails of despair, chairs moving, cameras flashing, an angry call to order. Eloise and Amanda hustled out of there before the reporter vultures that never seem to tire of the Montgomery tragedy could corner them. They were in their car, safely driving away before the court adjourned.
    “I don’t feel any better,” said Amanda. Eloise’s daughter had dressed in a simple black dress and white cardigan, patent leather flats as if they were going to church. (Which they never did anymore unless her in-laws were visiting. That was Alfie’s thing.) Amanda looked very grown up, a young woman.
    “No,” said Eloise. Eloise had thought that she might cry today. But no. Tears came at odd times, not when you expected. Grief was not linear. It came and went in unpredictable ways.
    “But I think I can forgive him. Someday,” she said.
    “When you do that,” said Eloise. “You’ll feel better.”
    “I guess,” said Amanda, unconvinced.
    Eloise rested her hand on her daughter’s thigh. Amanda put her hands on top of her mother’s.
    Amanda had released some of her rage. At least she didn’t hate Eloise quite as much. She’d apologized for blaming Eloise, even for just a little while. Amanda knew it was wrong. But there were no apologies necessary. Eloise blamed herself enough for both of them, even though she knew it was wrong to do so. The voice that wasn’t a voice had told her that. We all have our time and our design. There are no accidents. And no one is to blame.
    At home, the reporters waited, a throng that only seemed to grow. They parked their cars in the driveway. Amanda and Eloise waved politely as they walked easily up the path to the porch.
    How do you feel today? Do you think Croft got what he deserved? Why did you speak for leniency? How would your husband have reacted to the verdict? What is your life like now?
    Neither Eloise nor Amanda said a word, just pushed in through the front door and closed it behind them. There was nothing to say to anyone, least of all reporters—a pack of hyenas waiting to scavenge the dead. But, she supposed, even hyenas had to eat.
    Amanda had picked up the paper on the way in, laid it flat on the kitchen table. The Hollows News and Gazette announced in its front-page headline that the murder trial of Tommy Delano, the mechanic’s son who had murdered Sarah, would begin next week. He had seen Sarah for the first time when her parents brought their car in for repair. He had watched her when he went to the school to work on the buses, as per his father’s contract with the district. He had watched her and watched her. And when he had his opportunity, he killed her, violated and mutilated her corpse. He kept his trophies in a box, a red barrette, her panties, her heart-shaped locket. Or so the accusations stated.
    Eloise knew Tommy didn’t kill Sarah. In fact, it had been an accident of circumstance. She had told as much to Ray Muldune. And Tommy, too, pleaded his innocence on that count. But no one believed either one of them—not the so-called psychic, not the man with pictures of girls and a dead girl’s underpants under his bed. And all the evidence pointed to Tommy. It was up to a jury to decide the truth now.
    Would justice be served? No, Tommy didn’t murder Sarah. But he was months away from murdering another