The Witness

the fancy market.”
    “A gun? When are people going to realize that going around armed is just asking for—”
    She broke off when he tapped a finger to her lips.
    “I know how you feel about guns, gun control and what you see as a perversion of the Second Amendment, Sunshine.”
    She huffed, shrugged. “It can never be too often repeated. But go on.”
    He told her about the market, going out to her place, the dog, the locks. By the time he got to his digging into her licenses, and the number of registered handguns she owned, Sunny decided the story called for a second beer.
    “What’s she afraid of?”
    “See that? Exactly. That’s what I want to know. And as chief of police around these parts, that’s what I need to know. But to finish up, then Sylbie came in.”
    Once he’d told her the rest, her outrage over the guns had subsided, and her focus shifted. “That just breaks my heart.”
    “What?”
    “Honey, she’s so alone. Of course she’s socially awkward when she’s got herself barricaded up by herself, and against God knows what. She’s not sounding like one of those survivalists or those crazies thinking they’ve gotta load up on the guns and locks for the revolution or the Rapture. You said she does programming, and security business. Maybe she found something or invented something. Now the government’s after her.”
    “Why is it always the government, Ma?”
    “Because I find it often is, that’s why. She could’ve been a cyber spy or something like that.”
    “I love you.”
    She slitted her eyes, kicked him lightly in the shin. “Now you’re using those fine words to be amused and patronizing.”
    He couldn’t quite disguise the smirk. “Let’s just say she didn’t strike me as the espionage type.”
    “Well, they’re not supposed to, are they? They’re supposed to blend.”
    “In that case, she’s a crappy spy, because she doesn’t blend.”
    “All right, maybe she’s on the run from an abusive boyfriend.”
    “I didn’t find anything in her record about filing charges.”
    “Some women don’t go to the police. Some just run.”
    He thought of Missy and her latest black eye. “And some stay. Onething I know, the way she’s loaded up and barricaded, whatever she’s hiding from—if that is the case—it’s bad. And if the bad finds her, it finds her here. I’m responsible for here, and whether she likes it or not, for her.”
    “I love you.”
    “Was that amusement and patronizing?”
    “No.” She cupped his face. “That’s just fact.”

9
     
    A S S UNNY WOUND DOWN THE ROAD TOWARD A BIGAIL L OW ery’s cabin, she doubted her son would approve. But she had a habit of doing as she pleased, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone—unless they deserved it. In any case, her son’s visit there the day before gave her the perfect excuse to drop by.
    She parked, mentally clucked her tongue at the gas-guzzling SUV.
    Still, she approved of the house, the way it nestled right into the landscape. She could see beds were being prepped for spring planting. And the glimpse of a corner of a greenhouse caught her eye and her envy.
    It was a fine morning for a visit, she determined, with spring whispering on the air, the leaves a pretty haze of green on the trees, and the hint of wild dogwoods scattered around.
    As insurance, she’d baked a huckleberry pie that morning. No one resisted her huckleberry pie.
    She got out of her car, went up and knocked on the door.
    When it opened a few cautious inches, she beamed out a smile.
    “Hi, there. I’m Sunny O’Hara, Brooks’s mama.”
    “Yes.”
    “I know Brooks came out to see you yesterday, and it made me think I should do the same. I thought, why, that girl’s been here for nearly a year now, and I haven’t paid her a call.”
    “Thank you, Ms. O’Hara, but—”
    “Sunny. I baked you a huckleberry pie.”
    “Oh.”
    In her life, Sunny had never seen anyone more baffled by a pie.
    “Thank you. That’s very nice of you. I’m afraid I have work, so—”
    “Everybody can take a few minutes for pie. Do they call you Abby?”
    “No, no, they don’t.”
    “Well, Abigail’s a sweet, old-fashioned name. Abigail, I ought to tell you straight off I’m a woman who tends to get her way. You’re going to find it’s easier to just invite me in for a few minutes rather than deal with me coming around until you do. Now, I expect you’ve got a gun on you or nearby. I don’t approve of guns, but I won’t lecture