Joseph went back to his car and opened the
passenger door. She laboriously climbed
off the kneeling cushion. “Here’s your purse.”
“I suppose
they’ve dusted it!”
“They got it
from Bobby’s car. It had your prints, Bobby’s prints and someone else’s.”
“Theirs, most
likely!”
“No. But after
they fingerprint everyone on the island they’ll know whose. Ma?”
“Yes,
Joseph?”
“You’re going to have to figure this out.
For your sake and my sake and Bobby’s sake. And your grandson’s. And for the
sake of everybody on the island. They’re never going to be able to do it. And
we can’t live like this, suspecting each other.”
“We mostly do. It’s island tradition.”
“Not this
bad,” said Joseph. “Talk to Bobby. Cook something up.”
He walked
back to the toolshed. She put her purse down on the garden bench and clunked
down on it herself.
