At two, I met Caroline at the diner across from the courthouse.

A state trooper sat two booths away with a glass of iced tea and his hat on the seat beside him.

Caroline, my sister-in-law, had her cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands.

She had ordered coffee and hadn’t touched it.

“You gave a statement to the troopers,” I said.

“I gave a statement to a stenographer.” She looked at the window.

“Mother doesn’t know.”