One of the things I like to do is sketch out relationships very lightly. If there's any part of my writing that's show-not-tell, its in the emotions of and the dynamic between characters. Tell me what you see in the meeting between the chief and Russ's mother (and let me know if I'm tipping my hand too much!)
There
was a quick rap, but before Jack could say anything, the door burst
open. Harlene looked frazzled. It was only eight-thirty, and she had
already chewed the lipstick off her bottom lip. “Chief, Mrs. Van
Alstyne is here. She's demanding to see her son.” Her voice
dropped, as if Russell couldn't hear her if she whispered. “One of
the men at the impound garage is her cousin, and he called her. I
didn't know what to do.”
The
boy stood. “Sit down, Russell. You're not going anywhere yet.”
Jack stood up. “I'll talk with Mrs. Van Alstyne.”
She
was waiting for him at the front desk. “Where is he? What has he
done? Is he hurt?” Her dark hair was in loose, unruly curls and she
was drowning in a fisherman's sweater that must have been her late
husband's. Beneath her skirt, her feet were thrust into unlaced
boots.
“Come
into my office, Margy.” He ushered her down the hall, not actually
touching her back. “Russell's okay. I'm not sure what he's done,
but I don't think he's hurt anybody.”
“You
don't think--?” She turned back to him. She clutched at his
arm, hard, then let go instantly.
Jack
closed the door behind them. “A young woman's died. He found her
body on the road when he was coming home from Saratoga.”
Margy
stared. “You can't imagine Russell had anything to do with that.”
“Based
on what he's told me so far, no. I don't. We'll have to check out the
places he's said he'd been to to firm up his alibi.”
Margy
looked up at him. “He was drinking.”
Jack
nodded. “He was drinking.”
Margy
had the clear, fair skin of the Cossayuharie farm girl she had been,
the kind of complexion that showed her every emotion. He watched as
her cheeks flushed with a dull red color. “God damn it!”
He
blinked. Margy Campbell Van Alstyne never swore.
“I'm
sorry.” She pressed her hands against her cheeks. “I just – I'm
so afraid he'll fall into a bottle. His body's home, but his head is
still back in Viet Nam. He has no idea what to do with his life now
he's out of the Army. And he certainly doesn't want to listen to me.
I'm a middle-aged mother who's lived in the North Country her whole
life, and he's spent the last two years shooting people in Southeast
Asia. We have nothing in common anymore.”
“Really.”
Jack leaned against his desk. “Seems to me you know all about
fighting a war you can't win.”
Her
cupid's-bow mouth curved into a sad smile. “You'd think watching
his father drink himself to death would have taught him something,
wouldn't you?”
“Some
things can't be taught. You just have to learn them through
experience.” Jack pushed himself away from the desk. “I'm going
to release him to your custody. He needs to stay here in Miller's
Kill until we've cleared him.”
“You
can't actually require him to stay unless he's been charged and is
out on bail.” Now she sounded more like the tart apple he was used
to.
“You
left out 'peacenik' and 'jailhouse lawyer' from your
self-description,” he said.
She
smiled a genuine smile.
“That's
why I'm telling you. I trust you more'n a bail bondsman, anyway.”
He opened the door for her.
“This
girl.” Margy paused. “Her death is an accident. Right?”
Jack
gave himself a moment to stand close, his arm holding the door in a
simulation of an embrace. “No,” he said. “I don't think it was
an accident. I think someone killed her. And I'm worried – I'm
afraid – that whoever he is, he won't stop with her.”
And for those of you who were following along two weeks ago with my all-graduation-all-the-time blogging, here's a snap from the Big Day!
And for those of you who were following along two weeks ago with my all-graduation-all-the-time blogging, here's a snap from the Big Day!
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| L to R: Youngest, The Boy, The Smithie, her Girlfriend, me and Ross, overlooking the Smith College Quad. |
