"That's right, it was her!" The Finch relatives echoed in unison. "We all saw it. She threw things and walked out, and when she came back, they were dead. If she didn't poison them, who did?"
More and more people filled the yard, villagers drawn by the commotion. They circled around us, pointing, whispering.
"She looks so proper, a girl from the city. How could she be so heartless?"
"Poisoning people on Memorial Day. That's a whole other level of wicked."
"I heard she ran off earlier and left everyone waiting. She must've been furious."
Andrew put on a pained, conflicted expression and clasped his hands toward the crowd.
"Neighbors, I know everyone's upset. Catherine can be a little blunt sometimes, but she would never do something this horrific."
"She was probably just exhausted today, and Mom and Dad pushed her buttons, so she ran off. Please, just give her a chance to explain."
His words sounded like a plea on my behalf, but every sentence steered the crowd toward the same conclusion: that I'd been scolded, held a grudge, and snapped.
I stared at his face, that tender, concerned mask, and my stomach turned.