“But that’s the point. Everyone said she was finally on her feet again-so what happened? Has there been some kind of setback? What?” God, getting Violet to the point was like motivating a mule to win a horse race.

Violet threw up her hands, did more of that fluttering thing. “It’s complicated. Camille always calls home a couple of times a week. Only suddenly she quit calling. And when I tried to track her down, I found out that her phone’s been disconnected. So then I got in touch with her apartment neighbor. Twilla something. This Twilla says Camille lost her job, hasn’t been out of the apartment in two weeks or more. Mail’s piled up, newspapers, trash. She says she knocked on Camille’s door, thinking she had to be sick or something, but Cam was in there and nearly snapped her head off.”

“Say what?” Camille had always been one of those joyful, happy-go-lucky people. No temper, no temperament. She’d never had a moody bone in her entire body.

Violet hugged her arms. “I don’t know what to think. But Twilla said she’s turned totally mean.”

“That’s ridiculous. Camille couldn’t be mean in a million years. It’s not in her.”

“It didn’t used to be. I think it’s about the trial, Pete. The trial of those three thugs.”

Pete frowned. “You mean, the guys who robbed her? The boys and I were gone for spring break when the trial ended, but I thought they were all found guilty.”

“They were. Only the guilty verdict wasn’t worth much. The one who actually killed Robert only got seven years-and he can get out after three for good behavior. The other two got even lighter sentences. They could be back on the streets in less than two years.”

“WHAT? They kill whozits and almost beat Camille to death, and a few years in prison is the only penalty they got?”

Violet’s eyes welled again. “That’s all. The judge seemed to think there were extenuating circumstances.