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  "I'm calling the sheriff," Adeline said, her voice shivering. She ran inside, and Regina came up to me.

  "Come over here and sit down," she said and guided me to a bench leaned up against the wall. My legs were shaking so badly I could hardly walk and had to lean on her the entire way. My phone was still on the asphalt where I had dropped it out of my hand when opening the trunk. Regina picked it up and handed it to me as I heard sirens approaching in the distance.

  In the minutes that followed, everything was a blur. My heart beat so loudly in my ears that I could hardly hear it when people spoke to me. All I could see were those eyes staring back at me from inside the trunk; all I could hear was my own blood rushing through my veins, my heart beating so fast I feared it would never calm down again.

  Someone was in front of me, wearing khaki colored pants. He bent down and looked at me.

  "Ms. Franck?"

  I managed to nod when I recognized the man as Sheriff Travers.

  "Is that your vehicle?" he asked. "Ma'am? Is that your car right there?"

  I lifted my gaze and looked toward the car. The trunk was open again, and several uniformed people were looking inside it. Some of them were trying to get the body out, and soon they succeeded. They placed him on a tarp on the ground. An ambulance had arrived too, and a man I assumed had to be the coroner attended to the body.

  "I need you to work with me here, Ms. Franck," Sheriff Travers said firmly. "Is this your vehicle?"

  I nodded again. "Y-yes."

  "And will you be so kind as to explain to me what exactly the body of this man is doing inside of your vehicle?"

  I looked up and locked eyes with the sheriff. What was this? Did he think I had placed the body there?

  "I…I…I don't know. How am I supposed to know that? I just came out here and…was about to leave and then…I opened the trunk to put my suitcase in and there he was."

  "Did you know this man?" the sheriff asked.

  "No. I have never seen him before in my life."

  Sheriff Travers nodded and wrote notes on his pad.

  "Y-you don't think that I…That I…?"

  "Right now, I don't think anything, Ms. Franck, but in all fairness, he was found inside your trunk. I say you better stay in town for a few more days. I'll be calling you in for questioning as soon as the crime scene techs are done here."

  51

  "Allan Cunningham, also known around here as the former Cucumber King, aged ninety-two."

  Sheriff Travers pushed a photo toward me, sliding it across the table. It was later in the day, and I was still quite shaken, but at least I had calmed down a little now, enough to think.

  I glanced briefly at the photo of the dead man in front of me. The sight made me sick.

  "His throat was slit open using a fish-gutting knife. We found the bloody knife inside his kitchen when searching his house," the sheriff continued. His eyes were studying me while he spoke. They were constantly scrutinizing me, making me feel uncomfortable.

  "I…I have never seen him before," I said.

  "How do you explain him suddenly showing up in your trunk, might one ask?"

  I shrugged. How could I answer that? "I have no idea. Someone must have placed him there. That's the only explanation that I can come up with."

  "And why would someone do that?"

  "Uh, to make it look like I killed him?" I said.

  "Or maybe you did kill him," the sheriff said. "Maybe it's as simple as that. Who else would have access to your car keys?"

  "I…I don't know."

  "Well, who does know, Ms. Franck?"

  "Listen, I don't know where this body came from. I was in my motel room all day yesterday. I only left to go eat at the Framer's Market, and the day before that, I went to visit Margot Addington in the hospital."

  The sheriff bit his lip. "Been hanging out an awful lot with her lately, haven't you?"

  "I interviewed her, yes. I went to visit her at the hospital because I thought she might need someone to talk to after losing her family in that fire. But she didn't want to talk to me, so I left."

  "That fire was arson," he said. "Did she tell you that? Did she tell you how she removed the batteries of the fire alarms before setting the house on fire?"

  My eyes grew wide. "Excuse me?"

  "Well, that’s my theory at least. They found two fire alarms at the site. They were melted, but they could still see that there were no batteries in them. That’s why they didn't go off. I think she killed her entire family, but I can't prove it. At least not yet."

  I sank back in my chair. Had Margot tried to commit suicide and taken the family with her? Was she capable of killing her own husband and daughter? Could the sheriff be right about her? Could they all be right? Was she a killer?

  "Did you kill him?" the sheriff said. "Did you kill Allan Cunningham and place him in your trunk?"

  "No! I would never do that. I’m telling you; someone framed me for this," I said. "Can't you see it?"

  "They all say that," the sheriff said. "You had a little dispute with his son-in-law earlier in the week, didn't ya? I say you got upset with the young Mr. Cunningham and decided to teach him a little lesson. Taking out the old man was just easier."

  I shook my head. I couldn't believe it.

  "This is ridiculous."

  The sheriff lifted his eyebrows. He gathered the photos, then rose to his feet. "We'll have to see about that. I’m letting you go for now, but don't leave town."

  52

  "There she is. I can't believe the sheriff just let her go like that."

  The words fell as I walked inside the Farmer's Market that same night. The smell of fried chicken and cornbread hit my nostrils, and I was starving, but as I saw all the eyes staring at me and noticed how the chatter died down as I entered, I lost my appetite.

  I sat at a booth, and the waitress came up to me. She gave me one of those looks, telling me she was only talking to me out of sheer duty. She would rather be caught dead than be seen talking to me otherwise.

  "I'll just have some sweet tea, please, and the buffet," I said without looking at her.

  "As you wish," she said, then turned around and disappeared. I wondered if my glass would come back with spit in it, but then figured even the people of Webster weren't that cruel. The waitress brought me the tea, and I sipped it, while all eyes still lingered on me.

  I grabbed my plate, then walked to the buffet. Low voices whispered as I walked past their tables, and I hurried. I stopped by the fried chicken and grabbed a piece when an old woman came up to me. She poked me with her cane, and I turned to look.

  "What…?"

  Her squinting eyes stared up at me. "Allan Cunningham was a very loved man around here. Did a lot of good for the entire community. A church-man too."

  "I’m sure he was," I said. "I’m sure he was a wonderful man."

  "He and his family have been around here for a very long time."

  "Again, I’m sure…"

  The cane was lifted again. "This is a nice town. We don't like trouble around here."

  "I’m sure you don't. Last time I looked, I hadn't caused any. And as far as I know, I am still innocent till proven guilty. I think that still counts even around here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would like to get something to eat. It's been a pretty terrible day."

  "Norma, behave."

  The woman turned around as Regina and Adeline came up to me. Adeline smiled and grabbed plates for herself and her daughter.

  "Go ahead," she said to me. "Get some food. They won't bother you again, or they'll have to answer to me."

  "Thanks," I said, feeling suddenly very homesick. I hated it here. I loathed the way they all looked at me and talked about me, believing I had killed someone. How was I ever going to get out of this place? It was like it had sucked me in and wouldn't let me go.

  I had called Sune right after I was let out of the sheriff's office and let him know what was going on, crying between words. He had told me he'd st
ay with the kids and not to worry. He had also told me he would try and get a good lawyer for me and that Kim could help him. She knew someone.

  Of course, it all came down to her. Of course, I had to put my life in the hands of my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. If this was a joke, I wasn't finding it very funny.

  I sat with Regina and Adeline for the rest of the dinner, while they desperately tried to make small talk to help me feel better. I sensed Regina wasn't as convinced about my innocence as her mother was, but I couldn't really hold it against her. I knew how it looked.

  After dinner, I walked back to the motel along with them and said goodnight in the lobby before walking back to my room. From my bed, I called Julie and talked to William as well, crying while I spoke to them, but holding it back enough not to let them know. When I was done, I hung up and closed my eyes for a few seconds, as something was slid under my door. I walked to it and found a note. When I opened it, I saw just one word written on it:

  MURDERER

  I crumpled the note up and threw it out, then—feeling angry and determined—I sat down at my computer. I couldn't just let this happen to me and not do anything about it. I couldn't just sit here and wait while the world fell apart around me. I had to act.

  So, I opened my laptop and opened all the documents I had on the conviction of Anna Mae Burke back in seventy-nine. Then I searched for new articles written about her and how she was convicted of double murder at the age of only ten years old.

  I was convinced there had to be some connection between what happened back then and now. There simply had to be. I thought that if only I dug deeper, then maybe I would also find a connection to the murder of Allan Cunningham. There had to be something connecting them, and I was determined to find it, even if it meant staying up all night.

  53

  Webster, Florida 1979

  They held a town meeting at City Hall. Carol felt terrible sitting in those hard chairs listening to them talk about Anna Mae and what to do about her. But it was necessary that they stuck together now, the sheriff urged, and not let panic get the better of them.

  "Two children are dead, Sheriff," Sandra, who worked at the Farmer's Market said, standing to her feet. "How many more need to be killed before you arrest her? How long do I have to fear for my own children's safety?"

  "It is still an ongoing investigation," he said. "I’m afraid we don't have much evidence yet, at least not enough to get her convicted."

  Anna Mae had gone back to stay at her mother's house. After she disappeared from the lot where they found Benjamin Black, Joanna had called Carol and asked her what her daughter was suddenly doing back there. Carol had told her the entire story and said she couldn't have her at her house anymore. She simply didn't dare to. She had been locking the doors at night and slept with one eye open in case the girl tried to get back in. Carol wasn't proud of herself, but she had to admit she feared Anna Mae and what she was capable of. Part of her wished the girl had run away and that she would never come back. It would make it so much easier on all of them if she did.

  "How can you not have enough evidence?" the local auto mechanic, Bill Newman asked. "It sounds pretty simple to me. She knew where the body was. Only the murderer could have known where the body was. Carol, tell them."

  All eyes were on Carol now, and she rose slowly to her feet, then cleared her throat.

  "I think Bill is right," she said. "She made that drawing and showed me where it was, and to be…"

  "See?" Bill said. "How is that not enough? What more can you possibly need?"

  The crowd agreed, murmuring to one another.

  Sheriff Waters calmed them down. "That's not how it works, folks," he said. "And you know it. We've had Anna Mae in for questioning several times, but she doesn't say anything. We can't place her at the scene of the crime; no one saw the two of them together on the day he disappeared. Now, we all feel pretty confident that Anna Mae did kill both Timmy and Benjamin, but I still need time to gather evidence against her. The last thing we want is for an innocent little girl to go to prison."

  "Innocent?" The Cucumber King, Allan Cunningham said, rising to his feet. "How can you call her innocent when we all know what she has done? She even signed the darn body with her initial."

  "Anyone could have done that," the sheriff said. "I’m not saying she's innocent, just that the evidence needs to be there."

  "If it’s not there, then that must mean you're not doing your job properly, Sheriff," the Cucumber King continued. "Even her own aunt knows she did it. I say we lock her up once and for all, right now. We'll go to Joanna's house and bring her in."

  The crowd murmured again, all agreeing. Sheriff Waters rubbed his forehead.

  "I refuse to put a young girl behind bars and ruin her life unless I am five-hundred percent sure she did it," he said. "I’m telling you, no jury will convict her with what we have so far. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

  Sheriff Waters stepped down from the podium and began to walk away. The crowd rose to their feet in anger and yelled at him as he rushed out the back door. Carol watched their clenched fists and angry faces, sinking deeper and deeper into her chair.

  In the corner, she spotted Deputy Travers and the Cucumber King deeply engrossed in a conversation, their serious eyes lingering on her as they spoke.

  54

  "It's been a while since anyone asked me about that old case. Do you mind if I ask what your interest is in it?"

  Old Sheriff Waters' grey eyes lingered on me. We were sitting in his living room at his house that was only a few feet down the street from the motel, close enough for me to walk there.

  I had called him the same morning and asked if he had time to talk to me, for research reasons, for a story I was doing about Webster and how it had been affected by the death of Timmy Peterson and Benjamin Black back in the seventies.

  "I guess I just wanted to know more once I heard about it. I came here to interview Margot Addington for Metropolitan Magazine, and then they found the body of Alexander Cunningham in the old abandoned house. That's when I heard about what happened back then, and it caught my attention. I wanted to write about it. Especially now that they found out that Margot Addington is actually Anna Mae Burke, and all the old wounds have been ripped open once again."

  Sheriff Waters leaned back in his creaking leather recliner with a sigh. "Terrible story that one was. Worst case in my entire career."

  "I’m sure it was," I said. "Now, just to get my facts straight. Anna Mae Burke was convicted of murdering both boys," I said. "In seventy-nine. She was only ten years old at that time, and yet she was put in prison with adults, where she spent the next twenty years of her life among some of the worst criminals in our state. From what I’ve read about the case, you were certain it was her, but lacked evidence, am I right?"

  The sheriff nodded. "Yes. That was the hard part. We had the drawings she had made, but that wasn't quite enough. I mean, the entire town was talking about these killings and especially the kids. There’s nothing unusual about a child being fascinated by it and making drawings of it. It's creepy, but not that unusual."

  "Except Anna Mae drew exactly where one of the boys was before he was found, right?"

  "Yes. That's when everyone realized it had to be her and demanded that we prosecute her."

  "But the drawing and the fact that she had led her own aunt to where the boy was still wasn't enough to hold up in court," I said.

  "No, it wasn't. And the girl wouldn't tell us anything. She shut up like a clam every time we brought her in. She would just stare at us while her fingers rubbed against one another; sometimes, she would even grin eerily when we showed her pictures of the dead boys. It was spooky. She was a very creepy child. But it was no wonder with that mother of hers."

  "She was abusive?" I asked, remembering reading about her mother being a prostitute.

  "It was more than that. She tried to kill Anna Mae on numerous occasions. She forced her to eat p
ills, sending Anna Mae to the hospital again and again. And then she had all those men coming to the house constantly, screwing her for money. It's no wonder the child was messed up. Her aunt took her in for a few months, but it was too late, the damage had been done. I felt for the girl; I really did, and I guess part of me wanted her to be innocent, but she murdered those boys, and there wasn't anything I could do to help her. I had to look at the facts and see behind that pretty face and those innocent blue eyes. Up until then, I would never have thought a child could kill another child, but I guess evil comes in all shapes and colors."

  "What I haven't been able to figure out is exactly how you did that. I think my readers might like to know. You said you had no hard evidence, so how did you manage to get her convicted anyway?"

  The old man sank back in his chair. He gave me a look that made me think there were parts of him that still doubted the girl's guilt. It was only there for a few seconds before it left.

  "Fibers," he said. "They found fibers on the bodies of both boys. Both yellowish-green nylon fibers that matched the carpets at her Aunt Carol's house along with violet acetate fibers that matched the bedspreads at Carol's house. Her house was where Anna Mae lived at the time that she killed Benjamin Black, and she went there often and spent the night there when Timothy Peterson was killed. It is very unlikely that anyone else would have that exact combination of fibers in their homes, the prosecutor argued, and that's how we finally nailed her."

  He said the last words with an air of disgust like he didn't find pleasure in having done so. I couldn't blame him. It couldn't have been pleasant to have to “nail” a young girl like that. You'd have to be completely convinced that she was guilty.

  "I think I still have the old box in the back," he suddenly said and rose to his feet. "Give me a second, will you?"

  I nodded and followed him into a small office that looked like it hadn't been used in a very long time. Old newspapers were piled up on the floors; books were spread out on the desk, which also held an old dusty stationary computer.