Jesse had heard of bizarre things like this. People seeing ghostly images of dead loved ones. Walking in hallways at night. Appearing in windows. Curtains fluttering. Who’s to say what was real and what wasn’t?
“Have you told anyone else? Your parents?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Maybe you should.”
“I’m telling you. They wouldn’t understand. No one would.”
Jesse rubbed Star’s back. “Oh, sweetie. She’s been on your mind, and maybe this is how you cope with it. We all have our own ways of dealing with this stuff.”
“After all these years?”
“There’s no time limit on grief.”
Just then, something caught Star’s eye. She reached over and picked up the notebook on Sophie’s nightstand, the one Barnes had found in Sophie’s closet. Sophie’s name was handwritten in big letters in a rainbow of colored Magic Markers. “I remember this.”
“You do? How do you know about it?”
“It’s from our last summer in Wellfleet. I’d recognize it anywhere. She had it with her all the time.”
“Barnes found it hidden behind a secret door in her closet. I was reading through it last night.”
Star opened it and skimmed through the pages. Colored drawings of beaks and wings and lists of places and names of birds flipped by.
“She hid it, yet I think she wanted us to find it. What do you know about it?”
Star shook her head.
“Why would this one be special?”
“It was her last summer there. Our last summer together.”
“But was it different somehow?”
Star gazed at the notebook and thought a moment. “Well, we did play What Kind of Bird a lot. And we did watch that guy on the beach a lot.”
“What guy?”
“This guy. He wore flannel shirts and had a bushy beard.”
Jesse thought back to that summer. She remembered arguing with Cooper a lot then trying to act nonchalant so Blue and Beth wouldn’t notice their tension. She remembered Sophie and Star playing on the beach, Star sleeping over at their cottage almost every night, and how the girls would stay up late, whispering and giggling in their room. She remembered Sophie being happy on the Cape, left alone to watch her birds and play with Star. She didn’t remember any guy on the beach.
“Sophie watched him like he was a bird and took notes on his behavior. She thought he was like a seagull, picking up garbage.”
“I don’t remember him,” Jesse said, becoming more upset. “Why didn’t you tell us about him?”
“I did. I told the police when they questioned me and my parents, asking about that trip. But he was all the way in Wellfleet, nowhere near the Zone in Holyoke. Nobody seemed that interested. Maybe they checked him out. I don’t know. I was just a kid. Nobody told me anything.”
Jesse supposed somebody could have mentioned it to her, but she was such a tranquilized zombie then she could easily have forgotten.
“Then I just put him out of my mind. It’s not like I knew him. I saw him from far away. It was our private game. It was just a game. We were kids. We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
“Did you speak to him?” Jesse said, her voice rising an octave. “Did she?”
“I never did. She told me she did, but I didn’t believe her. I thought it was one of her stories.”
Jesse clasped her hands in fists, her voice demanding. “Star, was it a story, or was it true?”
“I don’t know! It was hard to tell with Sophie. You know all those stories she made up.” Star nervously bit on her thumbnail. “She said she met him and talked to him, but I didn’t believe her. I just played along. It was a game. You know how she was. Sophie and her stories.”
Jesse imagined Sophie making friends with a homeless stranger who was taken with her fantastical stories. He began to watch her. He asked her questions. They talked and became friendly. He learned where she lived. He turned up in Canaan to follow her to the Zone and snatched her. She could have been living with this homeless guy for the last six years. She could be alive. He was just the type of person who might have befriended Sophie.
“Acquaintance kidnapping,” Jesse whispered.
“Yes. I’ve read about that. And Sophie’s ghost has been talking about that, too.”
Jesse paced the room. “This character might still be lurking around. He may know something.” And just then she made a decision. “I’m taking you home, then I’m going to Wellfleet to look for him.”
Star whipped around. “I’m going with you.”
Jesse shook her head. “No, no. I can’t take you.”
“We’ll get permission from my parents.”
She wanted to take Star. But she could imagine the headlines: “Bird Mom kidnaps boss’s daughter.”
“Drive you across the state to look for a homeless man who might have kidnapped my daughter? I don’t think they’d approve. I’m going to take you home first. I’m sorry.”
In the truck, they didn’t speak for five minutes. When they were close to her street, Star blurted out, “Listen, I have to go. You don’t know anything about him. What he looks like, how he dresses, where he hung out.”
“I’m sorry, Star. I just can’t.” She turned onto Longview Road to see it lined with cars parked on both sides. “What’s going on?”
“Hello? The fire? Everyone has descended on our house. Bringing food and stuff. It’s like they’re paying their last respects.”
Jesse pulled over about four houses away from Star’s. She saw people heading into the Silvermans’ house, carrying casserole dishes and flowers.
“I’ve seen him.” Star took a deep breath. “I can take you. I have to take you.”
Jesse stared at Star.
“Only I can help you find him. Find Sophie.”
Jesse hesitated.
“You need me.”
It was true. Jesse knew nothing of the man. The image of Sophie’s mural from her closet—the trees, birds, and letters all swirling together—came back to her. There but not there.
She had the sensation that it really was Sophie sending her on this trip. She did need Star’s help. And she had to admit that being with Star made her feel closer to Sophie. They had a better chance of finding the man or Sophie, of solving the puzzle. Plus she didn’t really want to face the puzzle alone. “You’ll have to call your parents. We’ll need a cover story. If we tell them the truth, they won’t let you go. We both know that.”
Star’s eyes lit up. “Leave my parents to me.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this? Who knows what we’ll find?”
“I’m in. Definitely.”
Jess put the truck in drive, made a quick U-turn, and drove on.
Chapter Nineteen
As Jesse drove east on the Mass Pike, she saw Saint Anthony, who sat in the middle, put his chin sweetly on Star’s shoulder.
Star had called her parents and told them she was going to spend the night at Ruby’s house. “They actually sounded relieved not to have me home.”
Jesse could imagine that Blue and Beth were probably overwhelmed with insurance adjusters, pushy reporters, and neighbors offering condolences about the Book Barn.
“There were so many people hanging around, I doubt they’ll miss me.” Then she called Ruby to cover for her.
“I hate that you had to lie to your parents,” Jesse said.
“It was the only way. Besides, they’ll never know.” Star turned to Jesse and grinned. “It’s been a while, but I’ve done it before. When there have been parties I knew my parents wouldn’t let me go to, Ruby’s always been my go-to excuse.”
Jesse prayed to Saint Anthony—the saint, not the dog—that she would make it through the trip without having a car accident and without losing Star. A long list of other disaster scenarios flashed before her, but she had to go. She just had to do it quickly and safely. She could deal with the consequences later.
Saint Anthony tilted his he
ad up and gazed at Star.
“What’s his problem? Why is he staring at me?”
Jesse glanced at him, petted his head, then turned back to the road. “Unlike us, this dog doesn’t have a problem.”
“What’s his name, anyway?”
“Saint Anthony.”
“That’s a weird name for a dog.”
“Excuse me, Miss Starry Night. I found this dog on my doorstep. Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost things and missing people and happens to be a very good name for this dog. But you can call him Anthony if you prefer.”
Star shrugged. “Whatever.” She exhaled onto the window and drew her Professor Pollen doodle in the condensation with her finger.
An hour into the trip, they pulled up to a rest plaza on the Pike. Star went to the bathroom and bought snacks while Jesse walked Saint Anthony in a fenced-in doggie area. Secretly hoping for a message from Barnes, Jesse checked her cell phone, but there were no messages. She shook her head, thinking how cold he had been to her earlier. They’d only just begun to get to know each other, and she had to go and ruin things by pushing him away. Jesse wasn’t sure she could mend things. She thought about sending him a text. That could be harmless. But what would I say? She looked up and saw Star approaching from the plaza. No. Stay focused. Follow the clues.
Finding the man from Sophie’s journal was all that mattered—even if it might yield another dead end like all the others. She’d once driven down to New York City to meet with a famous psychic who claimed to know Sophie’s whereabouts. She’d flown to Chicago and Miami when detailed sightings were called in. So many phone calls, emails, and photos exchanged over the years with strangers who said they could help. They’d all added up to a slew of nutjobs and dashed expectations. But this find felt different, as if Sophie and Bixby were taking her by the hand, telling her to pay attention to every little clue. She might actually be getting close to finding Sophie.
Star slid into the passenger seat, then Jesse and Saint Anthony got in, too.
“I was thinking,” Star said. “Maybe that detective can help find Sophie. Isn’t that, like, his specialty? Finding people?”
Jesse always thought the police and the private detectives hadn’t done enough to find Sophie. Always too little, too late. She had to check out the lead on her own before turning it over to anyone else. Besides, she wasn’t about to tell Star she’d screwed things up with Barnes. She would be lucky if he let her know about April. She could end up hearing about it on the news. “He did offer to help after he’s found that girl, April.”
“What’ll he do with her when he finds her?”
“Get her back with her family. Get her some help with her problems.”
April was part of the equation somehow. Once Barnes found her, it would become clear. The shirt. April. The gum. The homeless guy. The notebook. All pieces in the huge puzzle would add up soon.
FIVE HOURS AND A COUPLE of bathroom breaks, dog walks, and a dinner stop later, Star and Jesse were driving down Route 6, passing the Wellfleet Drive-In with its See You Next Summer billboard. Off-season Cape looked nothing like tourist-ridden high season. Pieces of plywood covered the windows of beachfront houses. End-of-summer-sale signs hung in the windows of seasonal shops. It looked gray and desolate.
They turned onto Calhoun Hollow Road then over to Ocean View Drive, heading straight for Duneside, the colony of summer bungalows the Albrights and Silvermans had been going to for five years before Sophie vanished. The side-by-side cottages they rented were a minute from the beach and tucked away in a cool, piney grove.
Jesse pulled the truck in and parked behind Ocean Breezy, the cottage she and Cooper had always booked. It was billed as “only 215 steps to the beach,” which was true. Sophie and Star had counted it out. There was nothing between the cottage and the ocean but dunes and beach grass. The colony was deserted, each cabin locked up, shades drawn. Not a car in sight. Jesse remembered that the owner was a snowbird. She always closed up in early October and headed for her winter home in Florida.
They got out of the truck. Jesse rifled through her toolbox stored in the cab and pulled out a broken wire hanger and a paper clip. “These come in handy when you lock your keys in your truck, something I’ve been known to do.” Jesse walked up to the wooden screen door to the porch, and as it always had been each summer, it was unlocked. The door squeaked as she opened it, and they both went up to the front door to the cabin. It was seven in the evening and dark, and it took Jesse a minute to find the keyhole with her wire. She inserted one end of the hanger and, using it as a tension wrench, wiggled the open paper clip in where the key would go. She jiggled it left to right.
“What if someone sees us?” Star whispered, looking over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry. The caretaker probably comes early in the day to check on things when it’s light.” She put her ear close to the lock as she continued to work on it. “We’ll be long gone by then.”
“Shit. I didn’t even think about a caretaker.” Star bit her lip. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
Jesse went back to her jiggling, and suddenly, there was a click. “Voila.” She swung the door open. Saint Anthony charged in. Jesse turned back to Star and whispered, “Remember, you wanted to come.”
“I know. I know.”
A closed-up mildewy scent hit them as soon as they entered. Jesse went to the kitchen, rummaged in a drawer, and retrieved a flashlight. The beam swept around the room, over white cotton curtains and framed seashore landscapes on the wall. The furniture had been covered with faded sheets, and the rugs had been rolled up and put away. Both families had loved the small rustic cottages with their sixties-style eat-in dinettes, cozy living rooms, and screened porches. The salt air, the lull of the tide, that fried seafood scent, the laid-back Cape atmosphere. It felt to Jesse like another lifetime.
Jesse walked into the bedroom that she and Cooper had shared and stood in the middle of the room, shining the flashlight around. It was a simple spare room with wide-planked floors that had been painted white. There were two old wooden bureaus, a rocking chair in the corner where they used to toss their clothes, and a full-sized bed with a serious sag in the middle. Jesse sat on the mattress, and it squeaked just the way it used to. She bounced a little then gazed around the room. She lay down on the bed and found herself slipping into the mattress gully, dipping back in time. She almost expected Cooper to come running in from the beach with sandy feet, his bathing suit dripping, or to hear Sophie shouting out, “Mom, Mom, Mom. A great blue heron!”
“What are you doing?”
Jesse looked up to see Star standing in the doorway.
She sat up. “Nothing. C’mon, let’s check out Sophie’s room.” She stood then walked into the second bedroom.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. Twin beds. Nightstand. A bookshelf. She opened the door to the closet. A few wire hangers on the closet rod jangled. She looked on the high shelf near the ceiling and examined the floor. Dust bunnies. A piece of thread. A Yankee Magazine from 2003. She ran the flashlight over the walls and floorboards, looking for some secret little door like the one Barnes had found in Sophie’s closet, but she found nothing.
She opened each drawer of the bureau, and in the second one, she found a crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it and saw it was an ATM receipt from 2013. In the bottom drawer, she discovered a long brown hair. She picked it up and held it out. It could have been Sophie’s. Fuel for her imagination. She moved on to the bookshelf. Familiar worn paperbacks were lined up there. A few new ones had been added to the same ones that had been there every summer.
Star sat on the bed that had been Sophie’s, the one closest to the door, as Jesse took out each book from the shelf, scanned through the pages, and shook them upside down as she did at the Book Barn.
“What are you looking for?”
“Clues.” She kept flipping pages. There had to be something else. A grocery list. A bookmark. A note with Sophie’s writing. Anything. De
flated, she put the books back on the shelf. “There’s nothing here.”
She placed the flashlight on the nightstand—it lit the corner of the room—and sat next to Star on the bed. Saint Anthony circled and lay on the floor near them. She reached down and rubbed his head. “Hey there, sweetie. You’re a good traveler. You must be tired.” In moments, he was asleep, his closed eyes flickering.
Jesse leaned against the headboard with a big yawn. “Remember how you and Sophie used to stay up late, whispering and giggling?”
Star smiled. “Yeah. We’d huddle under our blankets with our flashlights. Sophie would write in her logbook about the birds she’d seen that day. Sometimes, we’d sneak into the other’s bed and make plans for the next day. Then you’d come in, stand in the doorway, and whistle.”
Jesse whistled the way she had back then, a clear two-note call of “fee-bee, fee-bee” with the second note lower.
“Black-capped chickadee,” Star said.
“Right.”
“And you’d say.” And in unison, they said, “Lights out, chickadees.” And they both laughed. Strands of Star’s long blond hair fell over her eye. Jesse pushed the hair out of her face. Jesse looked at Star as if for the first time since they had left home. Her eyes were alert, her smile warm and easy. Jesse saw the sweet young girl she used to know.
“Hey, I remember this,” Star said, pointing behind Jesse’s head.
“What is it?”
She reached up and touched the old oak headboard, letting her index finger trace what looked like scratches. “The initials: PB. Sophie scratched this into the wood with a paper clip.”
“Peanut butter?”
Star laughed. “No. It stands for Paul Bunyan. I’d forgotten all about it, but it’s the name we gave to the homeless guy. He had a bushy beard, and with those flannel shirts he wore, we thought he looked like a lumberjack, like Paul Bunyan. We’d just read about him in school.”
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