To Right a Wrong

The day Mary Anne stopped coming to book club meetings, we all knew what had happened to her. But none of us wanted to say it out loud. Not when the missing posters started popping up around town. Not when the police started asking questions. Not even when her poor mother, bless her heart, went on the local news to beg for Mary Anne to come home.

We all knew she was dead. We knew who’d done it, too. 

But that no good, double-dealing, drunk-as-a-skunk father of hers was a former cop. He knew how to get rid of evidence and clean up a crime scene. And, despite being kicked off the force for drinking on the job, he was still good friends with every other cop in town. Especially the sheriff. 

Three months after Mary Anne’s disappearance, the sheriff went on TV and said her father was a respectable man. He wouldn’t be charged with anything. He wasn’t even considered a suspect.

That’s the day we started talking. And we decided that if the law wouldn’t avenge Mary Anne, then we’d have to do it ourselves.

There were four of us left in the book club. There was Rose, a retired chef who loved nothing more than spoiling her grandkids. Lizzy, a mother of two and the organizer of a small community garden. Harriet, the self-proclaimed cat mom who taught acting classes at the community college. And then there was me.

“You were her teacher, Emma,” Harriet said. “Mary Anne was one of your best students.”

“Yes, I know.” Five years prior, Mary Anne had sat in the front row of my eighth-grade creative writing class. Even back then, I’d known how dangerous her father could be. So I was thrilled to see her grow up and get accepted into her dream college.

I’d invited her to join the book club while she was back home for summer break. She was the youngest of us by far. But, as Rose would say, she had an old soul. 

“You knew her better than any of us,” Lizzy added. 

We sat around Rose’s kitchen table. Her house always smelled of coffee and freshly-baked cookies. The walls were covered in pictures of her kids and grandkids.

I let out a sigh. “What happened to her is horrible. And the miscarriage of justice taking place only adds salt to the wound. But y'all can’t possibly think we should kill him.”

“He’s getting away with murder,” Rose said. “You know that ain’t right.”

“The cops will drag their ‘investigation’ out as long as they have to,” Harriet said, venom dripping in her words. “If they have it their way, nobody in this town will even remember Mary Anne’s name.”

A long silence passed, only punctuated by the ticking of a nearby grandfather clock. I glanced between my three best friends. A mix of grief and rage filled their faces. But beneath their pain, I caught glimpses of determination. 

“Look, if we’re going to do this, we have to do it right,” I said. “We need to come up with a plan.”

Rose stood up. “I’ll make another pot of coffee.”

***

I was grading a stack of essays when a loud knock made me jump from my chair. I hurried to open the front door.

“Good evening, Detective Wright,” I said, remembering Harriet’s tips on how to stay calm on stage. “What can I do for you?”

The young man took off his hat. “Evening, Mrs. Carter. I was hoping I could come in.”

“Oh, I haven’t been your teacher for nearly twenty years now. You can call me Emma.” I led him to the living room. “Come have a seat on the couch. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” he said, sinking into the couch cushions. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

I grabbed a plate of sugar cookies from the kitchen. Rose’s secret recipe - minus the arsenic, of course. “Are you still looking into Mary Anne’s disappearance?”

“Yes, ma’am. But there’s something else I wanted to ask about.” He rifled through his pockets until he pulled out a pen and notepad. “James Holt - Mary Anne’s father, I’m sure you know him. He’s been missing for three days now.”

I stuffed a cookie in my mouth to buy a bit of time. “Oh, his poor wife,” I said after composing myself. “First her sweet daughter and now her husband? She must be falling to pieces.”

“We’ve promised to do everything we can to reunite her family,” he assured.

I nodded solemnly, fighting every urge to call him on his bluff. For three months, the police could barely pretend to care about Mary Anne. But when her father disappears for three days, it’s all hands on deck.

“Well, I’m not sure how much I can help.” 

I took a seat in the recliner opposite the couch. From there, I could see the back porch through the sliding glass door. My heart skipped as I caught sight of my rain boots. A birthday gift from Lizzy. The cute floral pattern was stained with dried blood.

“Mr. Holt was last seen leaving a bar Thursday evening. Where were you at that time?”

I kept my eyes glued to the detective’s face. “Book club. My friends and I meet almost every Thursday.”

The young man scrawled in his notebook. “And where did you meet up?”

“We take turns hosting. Last Thursday we had our get-together here.” I gestured to the cookies. “I tend to bake much more than a few little old ladies can eat. By all means, take some with you.”

“I’m going to need the names and phone numbers of everyone who was here that night.” He glanced up from his notes. “You do any gardening recently?”

My brain could hardly process the weight of the question. He’d seen the boots, that was obvious. Was that the last piece of the puzzle? Had he already interrogated Rose, Lizzy, and Harriet? Or was I the weak link in our chain? Had my carelessness undone our plans and sealed our fate?

I sputtered out a nervous laugh. “Oh, not really. Why do you ask?”

He glanced over at the kitchen. “I saw a flyer for the community garden on your fridge. My wife’s been interested in setting up a spot for herself. Just thought you might be able to help her out.”

Relief washed over me. He hadn't seen the boots at all. And, once I managed to get him to leave, he never would.

I didn’t know whether to sigh, laugh, or scream. I settled on a smile. “I’d be happy to.”

***

There was some truth in what I’d told the detective. We’d had our book club meeting, just as we had nearly every Thursday. I simply failed to mention that we’d invited a special guest to join us.

He was at the bar when I called him that afternoon. I told him I’d kept a few stories Mary Anne had written for my class. They were very good and I thought they’d bring some comfort to her mother. He didn’t seem too interested in coming over until I brought up the case of beer in my refrigerator.

He was drunk before he knocked on my door. If he was surprised to see I wasn’t alone, then he didn’t show it. The four of us took turns offering him drinks and asking him questions. I was prepared for a long night of interrogation. But he cracked surprisingly fast.

Rose said he was trying to soothe his guilty conscience. Lizzy thought he was tired of keeping such a terrible secret. Harriet believed he was looking to brag about what he’d done.

Whatever the reason, he talked. He talked, he drank, and he ate a whole plate of sugar cookies.

We buried him in the community garden. I won’t get into the more gruesome details of it. But it took a lot of soap and elbow grease to get the stains off my rain boots. Even when they were sparkling clean, I was still too scared to wear them in public.

The following Thursday, it was Harriet’s turn to host our book club meeting. I’d always enjoyed discussing themes and characters while one of her cats purred away in my lap. The cats were especially comforting when we called in an anonymous tip to the police.

The next evening, I was grading essays again. But my red pen came to a stop as the breaking news bulletin flashed across the TV. Mary Anne’s mother, dressed in black and surrounded by supporters, thanked the unnamed person who’d helped solve the case. Her daughter was finally home and would get a proper funeral. 

There was a brief mention of James Holt. An old picture - one from his days on the police force - flashed across the screen. For a minute, I felt a hot anger shoot through me. Then I remembered where he was. 

I couldn’t help but smile. “The law might not have gotten to you, but we sure did.”