Free Blood Wounds by Susan Beth Pfeffer Page A

inheritance and it can all go to Trace. But I'd be remiss as a lawyer if I didn't tell you what your rights are. And as your lawyer, I'm going to make sure to find out what there is to inherit, and that it goes to you, for you to decide what to do with. Once you know what there is, what you're legally entitled to, you can decide whether to give your share to Trace or to Crystal's parents or to anybody else you want. But the rules have to be followed, Willa. That's just the way it is."
    "Is there anything else?" Pauline asked.
    "With all those reporters around, someone might want to talk to Willa," Sam said. "Maybe even make her an offer for her story."
    "Her parents would never approve of that," Pauline said. "Never."
    "Willa, do you feel the same way?" Sam asked.
    "There's nothing I could tell," I said. "I'm here for my sisters' funerals. I don't know anything about Dwayne, about any of them."
    "If any reporters come sniffing, we'll send them to you," Faye said. "And you can tell them to go to hell for us."
    Sam grinned. "That's one of the things lawyers do best," he said. "All right, Willa. You'll ask your mother about your birth certificate and I'll see what I can do about getting copies of Dwayne's death certificate, and find out if they've determined when Krissi died, and if Dwayne or Crystal made out wills. Do you have any questions?"
    "Did you know him?" I asked. "Dwayne. I was wondering if you'd ever met him."
    "There are three ways people know each other in this town," Sam said. "School, church, and bars. Dwayne was pretty well known in all those places, so yeah, I knew him, like I know a lot of people around here. I knew Crystal too. I went to school with her mother. There's nobody here who isn't grieving, Willa. But none of that is your fault. Dwayne had his reasons. God had His. You're here because you need to be here, to pay tribute to those sweet little sisters you never had the chance to know. Trust me to do what I do best, looking out for the interests of my clients. Faye here will see to it that I do my job, so you'll have one less thing to deal with. All right?"
    "All right," I said, rising from the chair. "And thank you. I know I'm driving everyone crazy. I don't seem to be able to stop myself. Back home—well, I'm a different person back home. Quiet. Nice, I think. But the past few days, I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. So I keep saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing, and I can't help it. I'm really sorry."
    "You have nothing to apologize for," Sam said. "Not to me, at any rate. Just trust me to do my job. Deal?"
    "Deal," I said. "And thank you."

Fourteen
    P AULINE LEFT AFTER we got back to Faye's. She offered to stay until after lunch, but she had a long drive ahead of her and I told her to go.
    Then I urged Faye to go back to her office. "I'll be fine," I said. "I ought to call home and start on my homework."
    "I'll call you later," Faye said. "And don't be shy about calling me."
    "I won't. I promise," I said.
    Moe gave Faye a nudge as she left. I went up to my room and, while I sat on the bed, Curly emerged from the closet to keep me company.
    I stared at the yearbook pictures of my mother and Budge. I stared at my textbooks. I stared at the quilt, at Curly on the quilt.
    Finally I pulled out my cell phone and called home. There was no answer, so I called Mom's cell, but she didn't answer that either.
    I felt the now familiar wave of panic wash over me. Somehow, somewhere, my whole family had vanished and I was left alone in Pryor. It was my punishment for being defiant. If I couldn't be Quiet-Never-Make-A-Fuss Willa, Mom and Jack, Brooke and Alyssa, wanted no part of me.
    I couldn't even blame them. Quiet-Never-Make-A-Fuss Willa was gone, replaced by the self-pitying, scene-making daughter of a...
    I couldn't bring myself to define Budge, to put a label on him. Because whatever he was, I was his daughter, and whether I loved him or not, whether I even knew him or not, he was a