Over Her Head (29 page)

There was a time—not so long ago, as a matter of fact—when Laurie would have insisted she get some of that credit. But today
she couldn’t care less. She felt like a burned-out shell. Or maybe a burning lamp was a better description. A bit of glass
with a tiny flame inside that had been newly lit during the wee hours of that morning.

“That would be perfect,” she said.

“And as for Tanya, my advice would be to give her a break.”

Laurie looked up. “Oh, I can. I just don’t know how to face her again—the things she said hurt so much.”

“Consider how much she’s been hurt,” Janice reminded her with the gentleness of a friend and the fairness of a district court
judge. “The two of you will talk, I know it. You need each other—you just need to work up to it. God will give you grace.”

Laurie drew in a long breath. “I hope so. I’ve come as close as I ever want to losing my child.”

“Too close,” Janice agreed. “Maybe that can be a starting place to bring you two together.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. Her sleepless night had opened her eyes, so maybe it was time she started to see things
differently. Tanya must have felt these emotions, too—the despair, the hopelessness, even the self-doubt and accusation. She’d
once thought they had nothing in common, but now she realized maybe they did. Maybe she could see the world from Tanya’s point
of view. And maybe there were places where they could start to build a bridge to reach each other.

They were sisters in Christ, weren’t they? And his love was a good foundation on which to build a little bridge over those
scary, dark waters.

Laurie glanced up. “Thank God you joined our Bible study.”

Janice’s smile had all the mischief of a kid about to crayon the walls, and all the joy of a woman safe with a true friend.
“You won’t say that when I make you jog the next two hundred yards.”

When they slowed, she saw that they were just about at the spot where the path dipped down and you could see the sandbar where
Laurie had first discovered Randi’s body.

“I need to tell you something.”

Janice had seen her looking at the river. “About Randi? Or Tanya?”

“No, about me.” She glanced at her friend. “Like that’s a surprise. Is everything in the world really about me?”

“No, sweetie.” Janice slipped an arm around her. “With you, it’s all about everybody else.”

Laurie wondered at the depth of her perception, this woman whom everyone saw and no one really knew. “You hit the nail on
the head. It has been about everybody else, though probably not in the way you meant. Have you ever read Psalm 124?”

“Which one is that?”

“The one about the waves going over the soul.”

“It sounds familiar. Why?”

“Last night—just a few hours ago, in fact, those waves totally swamped me. I could really understand for the first time how
Anna might feel. How it would look when she couldn’t see any way out. It’s going to hurt for a long time that she didn’t feel
she could come to us for help no matter how scary Kate’s threats were, but maybe we can get past that and start making some
changes. If it’s not too late.”

“Have you ever thought that grounding her might have saved her life, if Kate really meant to carry through with what she said?”
Janice walked for a few moments in silence. “I hope they get that girl some help, or we’ll have a very pretty churchgoing
sociopath on our hands. But what did you mean about it all being about everyone else?”

Laurie took a breath and prepared to bare her soul. “When you think of church, what do you think of first?”

“The altar,” Janice said promptly. “And Vanessa Platt’s voice soaring over it.”

“So you think of worship.” She huffed a breath that held a little self-mockery.

“Why, what do you think of?”

“The people.”

“What’s wrong with that? That’s what a church is, isn’t it? A body of believers.”

“Right, but when I think of church, I think of the people in it, of committees and fund-raisers and to-do lists and charity
work.”

“That sounds like your life, Laurie. It’s natural you would think that way. Why be so down about it?”

“It is my life. Or was. But where is God in all of it?”

Janice was silent.

“A few hours ago the waves went over my soul, and I saw myself as I really am. Just this shell of activity all packed around
an empty space where God is supposed to be.”

“I’m sure it’s not—”

“I’ve been worshipping the church instead of God, Janice. Pouring out what I thought was service when instead it was, well,
a way to be somebody. I think that’s the mistake the Tremores have made from the beginning. When you’ve been here for a century
and you’re brought up to think you run the town, it’s all too easy to start to believe your own advertising.”

“So when the wave went over your soul, you had nothing to hang on to?”

“Exactly. I had no rock. Oh, I had the promises God makes us, but I’d never proved them. I had no idea if what God said would
actually work or not. I’d been feeling so sorry for myself because the church seemed to be shutting me out and protecting
Tanya, and I’d lost Anna, and Colin was withdrawing, and all the nasty people were coming out of the woodwork with their accusations
and their gossip. I was drowning—and that’s when I realized what God was doing.”

“What’s that?”

“He was separating me out, bringing me close, the way I should have been all along if I hadn’t been so busy doing things my
way.”

“I see.” Janice’s tone was thoughtful. “So where does that leave you now? Washed up on the beach?” Both of them glanced at
the sandbar. “Sorry. That was the wrong thing to say.”

“More like washed up on the Rock. The one that’s higher than me, that we sing about once in a while. You know?”

“And won’t the view from there be nice when the Nancy O’Days and Debbie Jackses of this world have to come and admit they
were wrong?”

“The funny thing is, I don’t care what they think. Two days ago, it mattered horribly. Now, I’m more concerned about what
God thinks.”

“People are people, Laurie. And you have some good friends at GBF. Don’t write them all off because a few couldn’t resist
the temptation to make themselves bigger at your expense.”

“Maybe. But you know what? It’s a huge relief to just give all that to God and let him decide.”

Janice grabbed her hands. “I feel like praying together. Isn’t that weird? Out loud, right here on the riverbank, where it’s
forty degrees.”

“Why shouldn’t we if we feel like it?” A bubble of sheer joy caught in her throat. “Lord,” Laurie said to the iron-gray sky
above the river, the sandbar, and the leafless trees, “thank you for bringing me to yourself, all by myself. Thank you for
opening my eyes and showing me where my priorities should be. Thank you for giving me a friend like Janice, who knows when
to step in and tell me the truth. Help us both to get through the next couple of days. Give your strength to my little girl,
I pray, and bring her spirits back as well as her health.”

“Heal the distance between Laurie and Colin, Father,” Janice went on when Laurie ran out of breath. “Help her to show her
family the love in her heart, and help her to mend fences with Tanya and her sisters in the church. Thank you for your inexpressible
love—and thank you for expressing it to us at times like this in an almost tangible way. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Both women stood on the riverbank and watched the water roll by, fast and cold.

That’s one thing about the wave going over you
, Laurie thought.
Once it’s over, it leaves you feeling clean.

S
aturday afternoon at
four o’clock, the members of the media gathered on the steps of city hall for the mayor’s press conference. Besides the stringers
from the local rag, most of whom Nick knew, there were reporters from Pittsburgh and even one from Columbus. The Channel 4
News van rolled up to the curb, and Nick prepared himself for a free-for-all.

The mayor had asked him to attend in case they needed details, so here he was, boots shined, uniform pressed, and game face
on.

Promptly at four, Barrett Edgar emerged from the front doors, his press secretary and two aides behind him, and walked to
the portable podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming on such a cold, windy day. I hope you had a good Thanksgiving.” He
smiled at the crowd, not the plastic smile Nick was used to seeing on politicians, all expensive bridgework and what’s-in-this-for-me,
but a real, tired smile that spoke of long hours and long-awaited good news.

Barrett wasn’t such a bad guy, as mayors went. And his wife seemed to be committed to doing what she could to make things
better instead of just wearing expensive clothes and hosting a tea once a year.

“I’m very happy to be able to tell you all that we’ve had a break in the Miranda Peizer case,” Edgar said, and the press leaned
into the wind like hounds scenting their prey. “But first, let me outline the circumstances for those of you who have come
quite a distance. On the night of November 7, a crowd of teenagers was on the Susquanny River Bridge just east of town, around
ten thirty in the evening. Most of them were there without the knowledge of their parents. Some of them got to pushing and
shoving, and Miranda Peizer went over the rail, hit her head on one of the support beams, and fell thirty feet into the water.
She was unconscious upon impact, and subsequently drowned.

“Her body was discovered the next morning, and our sheriff’s detectives went into action. During the course of the investigation,
the detectives were stonewalled repeatedly by the teenage witnesses. Everyone blamed everyone else. No one’s story could be
corroborated, because every account contradicted the one before it. Numerous attempts at questioning failed to bring any clarity
to the situation.”

“What about Kate Parsons coming forward about Anna Hale?” one of the Glendale reporters shouted. “Has it been proven that
Anna held the victim underwater, and then tried to commit suicide from guilt?”

“I would like to state here and now that Anna Hale is completely innocent,” the mayor said firmly. “She and others were being
cyberbullied into silence by the real perpetrator.”

Nick saw heads turn as the reporters looked at one another.

“You mean like getting threatening e-mails?” one of them asked. “Like that kid in England?”

Nick remembered the case vividly, and other cases where teenagers had to face bullying not just in school hallways, but online,
where the whole world could see their fear and humiliation.

“Yes. It turns out that the perpetrator had threatened a number of the witnesses, including my own son, with harm either to
themselves or to their loved ones.”

Oh, this was news, all right.

“The perpetrator threatened to expose me as the father of my supposedly illegitimate child, Miranda Peizer, which is utter
nonsense, of course.”

“But your kid believed it?”

“No, but he couldn’t afford to let the perpetrator think that. Anna Hale was threatened with harm to her little brother, as
was Kelci Platt, a key witness.”

“That leaves Kate Parsons and Rose Silverstein,” said the guy from the
Trib
, clearly no slouch in the logic department.

“Miss Silverstein is innocent as well, Mr. Taylor. We have her statement and several others indicating that Kate Parsons pushed
Miranda Peizer off the bridge. She is presently incarcerated in our juvenile facility awaiting her arraignment on charges
of involuntary manslaughter. Her father has been released on bail on charges of assaulting a police officer.”

The reporters put two and two together and grinned at one another.

“How come Kate’s not being charged with homicide?” one of them called. “She killed that kid, didn’t she?”

“We haven’t established that she intended to kill Randi,” the mayor replied. “But she still has to stand trial for her actions.”
He looked to his left, and Nick braced himself. “I would like to publicly thank Deputies Nicholas Tremore and Gilbert Schwartz
for their tireless work on this case. A late-night break when Deputy Tremore discovered the cyberbullying was going on led
to the arrest.”

Much to Nick’s embarrassment, the mayor began to applaud. His aides joined in immediately, and there was a smattering of applause
from the reporters. Those who weren’t scuttling back to their vans to tell the story over a live feed, that is.

“Does the victim’s mother know?” one of the reporters called when order had been restored.

The mayor nodded. “Ms. Peizer has been informed of our investigation every step of the way. I would like to ask that you respect
her request not to be interviewed at this time. As you can imagine, this ordeal has been very hard on her. And please note
that a memorial fund will be established in Miranda Peizer’s name, to provide counseling services for the families of other
victims of violent crime. You can call my offices on Monday for further details. Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen.
That’s all I have to say.”

The reporters scattered, and Nick escaped to his patrol car as quickly as he could. Publicity made him nervous. Not only that,
but it felt weird and uncomfortable to get attention that was bound to wound Tanya all over again.

Not that he’d heard from Tanya since the Thanksgiving disaster. At the restaurant, there had been a shadow in her eyes, and
he could tell when he lost her attention and her thoughts went to some dark place where he couldn’t follow.

As the officer on duty, Gil had been the one to tell her about the break in the case . . . and now it was Saturday evening
and he’d had maybe six hours of sleep since Thursday.

All he could think of was going home and using up about twenty hours of comp time in bed, and after that he’d apply his mind
to the Tanya question. Because it was clear to him that unless he made up his mind in a hurry, he was going to do something
completely out of character and start thinking about a Christian woman in a way he never had before. One that didn’t involve
mockery and avoidance. Life was complicated enough, wasn’t it?