by Gerry Boyle
“Would you recognize him?” Ricci said. “I know he had the mask, on but the tattoo?”
“A snake,” Mandi said. “Coiled up, with the head raised like it was going to bite.”
“It’s the guy from the woods,” I said. “You catch him and you can take blood out of him, compare the DNA to those blood spots, lock him up for attempted kidnapping, attempted robbery.”
“The district attorney will decide on charges, Mr. McMorrow. What we have now is an attempted burglary.”
“To hurt or abduct my daughter,” I said. “He wasn’t busting in here to steal the goddamn microwave.”
She looked at me. “We don’t know that,” she said. “There’s been a rash of burglaries in this area in the past few weeks. They knock on a door, if nobody answers, they break in. In this case, they may have thought Mrs. Varney was sufficiently distracted to—”
“Get a picture of Wilton and show it to Clair here.”
“I don’t know that we have a photo immediately available.”
“No mug shot?”
“Mr. Wilton hasn’t been charged criminally that I know of,” Ricci said.
“Just beats his kids and starves them. You don’t get your picture taken for that?”
“Thus far, that’s been a civil matter. So there’s been no reason for law enforcement to have a photo of him.”
“So get one,” I said.
“We’re working on it, sir,” Ricci said, bristling.
“Yeah, well, while you’re working on it, this nut case is cruising around on some vendetta for my wife. Says she’ll be destroyed, it’s Satan’s will. Says she’s a Jew bitch and—”
“We’ll find him, Mr. McMorrow. This isn’t television. Things don’t just happen when you snap your fingers.”
“On television, they catch people,” I said.
“We will locate Mr. Wilton. But it may take time.”
“Then I’ll find him, and it won’t be eventually,” I said.
“Jack,” Clair said.
“And when I do, you won’t need—”
“Jack,” Clair barked. “Easy.”
Ricci looked at me, then at Mandi, who had the balled-up tissue pressed to her mouth. “Detectives are going to want to talk to you at some point, Mr. and Mrs. Varney,” she said. “And you, too, Ms. Lasell. You seem quite upset. If you need to talk to someone, we do have counselors who can be helpful in these situations.”
At first Mandi didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard. And then, like the words had been slowed, traveling through syrup, she turned and looked at Ricci. “Too late for that,” she said.
Chapter 22
Roxanne pulled in as Ricci was pulling out. Ricci pulled her cruiser back in and waited as Roxanne ran inside, swept Sophie up in her arms. I walked into the room as Roxanne was squeezing her, Sophie watching the television over her mom’s shoulder.
“This is a funny part,” Sophie said. “The monkeys’ house, it all falls down.”
Roxanne held her for a long time, then gently placed her back on the floor. Sophie held onto Roxanne’s hand and said, “Sit and watch with me,” but Roxanne said, in a few minutes, she had to talk to the police officer.
We walked outside, and I embraced her, held her, and Roxanne said, “I feel like my house is falling down, Jack. All around me. People coming here, my God. It never happens. Maybe I’ll take Sophie and go away. Go to New York. Take her to the zoo and Central Park, stay in a hotel.”
“I know. But we’ll fix it. It’s just these Wilton people. We’ll take care of it. It’ll be okay.”
“It’s not, Jack. It’s crazy, out of control. And it’s not just this. It’s this Mandi. Oh, Jack. I want my life back. I just do.”
She paused, fell away from me. “This officer. What’d she say?”
“She thinks it might just be a random break-in.”
“Bullshit,” Roxanne snapped, and she marched to the cruiser, opened the passenger’s side front door and got in. “Who do I have to call,” I heard her say, “to make you take this seriously?” And then she slammed the car door shut.
Mandi was quiet, sitting at the table as we all had a late dinner at our house: pasta and salad from the garden and red wine from Spain—the chicken pot pie forgotten and unmade. Clair and Mary tried to make conversation but there was a weariness to it, only Sophie chattering away, telling us the whole Jungle Book story, roaring like the scary tiger.
“I have that book,” Clair said. “When you’re a little older, I’ll read it to you.”
“Read it to me now,” Sophie said.
“I used to love being read to,” Mary said. “I can remember my mother, sitting with me on the swing on the veranda.” She smiled. “I don’t think you ever outgrow it,” and she turned to Mandi beside her. “Did your parents read to you?”
“No,” Mandi said. “They never did.”
She looked away, then back at Mary and seemed to catch herself. She smiled and said, “When Clair reads to Sophie, I’ll sit in.”
Roxanne got up abruptly, set her plate on the counter. I could see Mandi watching her, and I said to Sophie, “Hey, little girl, time for you to go to bed.”
“No, I’m not tired,” Sophie said, but then she yawned and I said, “ah-ha,” and tossed her over my shoulder. We said goodnight and Sophie grabbed Clair’s earlobe as she passed him and he pretended not to know who had done it.
“It’s only me,” she said, and laughed that pretty little-girl laugh, and then we were headed up the stairs. I put her in her nightgown, helped her brush her teeth, walked back with her to her room. “I want to sleep with you and mommy,” Sophie said, and this night of all nights, it seemed okay.
I grabbed some books from her shelf and she took her bear, hugging him close. We went to our room and I tucked her in the middle of the big bed, sat beside her to read. I read about farm animals and a spider named Sparky and a brother and sister who lived in a treehouse deep in the woods.
“Can we still go in the woods, Daddy?” Sophie asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“But what about the bad man?”
“He ran home to his house and it’s far, far away,” I said.
“How do you know?” Sophie said.
“I just do,” I said. “Daddy knows these things.”
“Will he come back? What if he does and Mandi isn’t here?”
“Mommy and Daddy will be here,” I said.
“But Mandi saved us,” Sophie said.
“Yes, she was brave,” I said.
“And then it made her sad. It made her sad to be brave.”
We read more, and then I felt Sophie’s head loll against my shoulder. Her eyes were closed, lids pale as a baby bird’s, and I eased out from beside her and laid her head on the pillow. Her bear stood guard.
I eased out of the room, crossed the hall, paused at the top of the stairs. Listened.
It was Roxanne and Mandi, in the kitchen. Clair and Mary doing dishes, plates dropping into the dishwasher. I heard a chair slide and clatter, then Roxanne, her voice low and solemn. “Thank you for what you did,” she said.
There was no reply. “I appreciate it,” Roxanne said. “For Sophie. For all of us.”
“It was nothing. I didn’t even think about it,” Mandi said. “It just hap-pened.”
“But still, it took courage to do that, not just scream and run away.”
“I couldn’t run,” Mandi said. I pictured her smiling.
“Well, thank you.”
There was a pause and Mandi said, “I know you don’t want me here.”
This time it was Roxanne who didn’t answer.
“I didn’t have much choice, at the time,” Mandi said. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
“It’s up to you,” Roxanne said. “And Clair and Mary.”
“No, I’ll go back. I can hop around now. And the hospital called. I have to see a doctor in town at eleven.”
“Okay,” Roxanne said.
Another pause, a
nd then Mandi said, “You know, I don’t blame you. Not wanting me around your daughter.”
No answer. “But I hope you know, your husband, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”
“I know that,” Roxanne said.
“And I mean, that’s all. Nothing else.”
“I know that, too.”
“I didn’t want you to think—”
“I don’t. I wouldn’t.”
“Some guys, they—”
“He’s not some guy,” Roxanne said.
“You’re lucky.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And he’s lucky. You and him, you’re totally together. And Sophie and this house. It’s like this dream life, you know?”
I stood and waited.
“It doesn’t have to be a dream,” Roxanne said. “A lot of people live just like this.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to be alone.”
“But I do,” Mandi said.
“Why?” Roxanne said. “And why do you—”
“Do what I do?”
The sound of water running. Silverware clinking. “Yes,” Roxanne said. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Jack already gave me that lecture. Said he could find me a job.”
“And?”
“They wouldn’t want me,” Mandi said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Mandi said, and then Clair called over, “the uptown bus is leaving.”
I came down the stairs, around into the hallway. Mandi was crutching her way across the kitchen. Roxanne was sitting at the table, had made no attempt to help her. Clair came over and took Mandi by the arm. Mary picked up her bag.
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Clair said to us.
“If you’re going to town and need someone here, you let me know,” Mary said.
“I can get a taxi,” Mandi said.
“We’ll talk about it,” Clair told her.
“I’ll call you early,” I said.
“I’ll be fine,” Mandi said, but fine was the one thing she wasn’t.
Some nights we moved Sophie from our bed, carried her into her room. Tonight we left her there, curled up like a cat against the pillows. I slid in on one side of her and Roxanne slid in on the other.
We both stared at the skylight, listened to the summer rain, the soft puff of Sophie’s breathing. “I don’t care about anyone else,” Roxanne said.
“Like who?” I said.
“Like Mandi. Like the Wilton kids. Like the other forty-eight kids I have and the forty-eight who will come after them. I don’t care anymore, not like I did. Like I should.”
“Who do you care about?” I said.
“I care about our little girl. And I care about you.”
“And I care about you both,” I said.
“I’m calling in tomorrow,” Roxanne said. “I’m not leaving her until this thing is settled, and Mandi’s—”
“Gone?” I said.
“Yes.”
I didn’t answer. I turned so I could see her face. It was motionless and taut, her eyes shining in the dim light.
“I’m scared, Jack,” she said. “And I’m never scared. Think of the people I’ve dealt with. Crazy people, bad people, people who do terrible things.”
“Yes.”
“And I’ve never been afraid. Never.”
“I know,” I said.
“But these people,” she said. “They scare me. They scare the heck out of me.”
“I’ll take care of you,” I said. “I’ll take care of them. Clair and I, we’ll take care of it. You know he told me something—”
“It’s not just them,” Roxanne said. “It’s her, Jack. It’s Mandi.”
“What about her?”
She turned to me, Sophie sleeping between us. “I don’t know why, Jack, but she scares me, too.”
At first light, Roxanne called her office, said she wouldn’t be in, would call later. She climbed back in bed, on my side, snuggling up against me. I held her, her head in the crook of my arm, my other arm across her hip. Sophie was snoring softly.
“I think she’s getting a cold,” Roxanne whispered.
“You can take it easy today, both of you.”
“What are you going to do? After you take Mandi into town.”
I smiled. “I’ll just go down to Clair’s, see what they’re doing.”
“You won’t let her take a taxi, Jack. Just tell me what time you’ll be home.”
“By lunchtime.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find a story,” I said. “Make some money.”
“And what else?” Roxanne said.
“Talk to that Galway cop.”
“About—”
“The Wiltons. And this Marty guy.”
“You can’t keep her secret for her, you know. It’s a small town.”
“Then I’d rather let somebody else let it out.”
Roxanne didn’t answer for a moment. I waited.
“Jack.”
“Yeah.”
“She told me you didn’t have a thing for her.”
“Huh,” I said. “Were you worried?”
“Not really. I just—I don’t know. She’s attractive.”
“Not now, all beat up.”
“She wouldn’t have said that if it hadn’t occurred to her. And it wouldn’t have occurred to her if she hadn’t thought of you in that way.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
“I’m a woman, and I do,” Roxanne said.
“Well, you don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not. Except that she’s pretty and young and she’s a stray. I know how you have a weakness for strays.”
“Not this one, not in that way.”
“She’s broken, Jack. There’s something wrong. It’s like—”
“—she’s grieving,” I said. “But I don’t know why.”
Roxanne didn’t answer. I could feel her thinking. And then she squeezed my wrist. “I want you to let her go, Jack.”
“I will. I’ll drop her off.”
“No, honey. I want you to really let her go. Drop her off. Wish her luck. Tell her to call social services or the town if she has a problem.”
I didn’t answer.
“Cut it off right here, Jack. Please.”
Sophie stirred. We waited. Her breathing lapsed into a regular huff and puff.
“For me, honey. For Sophie.”
“She can’t even get groceries. I suppose they deliver; she could just—”
“She’ll survive.”
“I know, but—”
“I don’t want her connected to our family. I don’t want her connected to you.”
“But honey,” I said. “I’ve known all kinds of people. Criminals and cops and Rocky and Tammy in Bangor and—”
“We didn’t have a daughter then,” Roxanne said. “I don’t bring my kids here. I don’t think you should bring yours.”
“She had no place to go.”
“A wall, Jack. I want a wall between our work lives and our home.”
I hesitated. “Okay,” I said.
“And Clair. We can go down there until you get back. But he’ll be home today, right?”
“Wild horses,” I said, “couldn’t drag him away.”
We left at eight. The rain still fell, a steady drizzle that smelled like the woods. Clair carried Mandi’s bag and the cat in a cardboard box. Mary held Mandi’s arm as she crow-hopped to my truck. I put the crutches in the back of the truck and her bag behind the seat and they helped her in. She slid across, her shorts sliding down and her sweater riding up, baring her lower back, showing her underpants.
I looked away. She pulled her bad foot in and straightened herself. Clair gave her the box and she held it on her lap, her bandaged right hand against her belly.
The cat cried. I noticed Mandi’s bruises had yellowed more.
“Thank you, both,” s
he said to Mary and Clair. “You’ve been so nice.”
Mary told her to take good care of herself. Clair just smiled and closed the truck door. I waved and started to pull out, as Roxanne and Sophie pulled in. Roxanne swung left of the truck, and Sophie waved excitedly as we passed. Mandi waved back.
We pulled out onto the road and I looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead. “You okay?” I said.
“I’ll never see her again, will I?” Mandi said.
“You never know.”
“I’m sure she’ll grow up into a really great person.”
“I sure hope so,” I said.
The conversation stopped there. The cat cried and the muddy gravel slapped the bottom of the truck. I sped up, feeling an awkward silence settle over us, wanting to shorten the drive to Galway.
Except for the cat, we were quiet all the way to town. Mandi seemed lost in her thoughts, moving only to reach back with her good left hand to tighten the scrunchy that held her hair back. The woods were green and lush in the rain and the traffic moved steadily.
Finally, after half an hour, we drove down the hill into Galway, hit both traffic lights, and eased up in front of the apartment. Two older women were getting into a BMW from Connecticut, arms laden with shopping bags. We waited as they loaded the stuff in the back seat. They got in the car and we waited for them to pull out, but they didn’t. A car pulled up behind me and honked. I looked in the mirror. Waited. The guy leaned on the horn.
I put the truck in gear and drove down Main Street to the harbor. “We’ll try again,” I said.
As we circled by the landing, Mandi looked out at the boats on their moor-ings. Anxiously, I thought.
“You alright?” I said, watching her.
“Yeah,” she said, but she still peered out at the boats.
“Somebody you know out there?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Inside the box, the cat had cried itself hoarse. I continued on, back up the street. The women in the BMW were talking.
“Go left,” Mandi said, and I turned at the left, and she pointed and I went left again and we drove past the rear of the block, a hodgepodge of decks and balconies tacked on for the harbor view. She looked closely at the parking lot.
“Car still here?” I said.
She nodded, still pensive. “Which one is it?” I said.
She pointed in the general direction of the building and said, “Back there.”