The Girl in the Woods

by Patricia MacDonald

  ‘Actually, I went there because I had something important to tell the police.’

  ‘What was that?’ Darlene asked pleasantly.

  Blair glanced around the table. She could feel Ellis’s gaze boring into her. It was as if he knew she was about to lob a grenade into the dinner party.

  ‘Well, when Celeste was … at the very end, she told me that she wanted to make a kind of … confession. Get something off her chest.’ The room was silent, all eyes on Blair. ‘A long time ago, when we were twelve, my best friend from junior high, Molly Sinclair, was murdered in the woods. They convicted a local guy of the murder, Adrian Jones, and he’s been in jail ever since.’

  ‘Yes, we know. And what has this got to do with Celeste?’ Ellis demanded.

  ‘Well, it turns out that Celeste was with Adrian Jones, now called Yusef Muhammed, at the time when Molly was murdered. She could have given him an alibi, but she didn’t say anything to the police.’

  ‘She didn’t say anything? Why ever not?’ Darlene asked, looking shocked.

  Blair looked across the table, straight at her uncle. Uncle Ellis was staring at Blair, all the color drained from his face. His fists were tightly clenched around his fork and knife. Blair chose her words carefully. ‘It’s a long story. She was afraid she’d get in trouble,’ said Blair. ‘She was only a teenager herself at the time.’

  ‘In trouble how?’ asked Darlene. ‘Were they up to something?’

  Blair hesitated. She knew this was her opportunity to blame Ellis and she was tempted, but at the last minute, for some reason, she decided to spare him. ‘The kid had a reputation … as kind of a ne’er do well,’ said Blair.

  ‘What did the police say about all this?’ asked Darlene.

  ‘They weren’t too interested,’ said Blair.

  Darlene put down her fork. ‘Well, ne’er do well or not, that doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘That’s not all he was,’ Ellis blurted out.

  Blair looked at her uncle defiantly. ‘What else was he, Uncle Ellis?’

  Ellis glowered at his plate.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Blair. ‘Tell us what you were going to say.’

  Darlene looked at Ellis curiously.

  ‘He was a troublemaker,’ muttered Ellis.

  ‘Even so,’ said Darlene. ‘Do you remember when that happened, Joe?’

  Joe looked up from his food and blinked, as if he had been half-asleep. ‘Eileen and I were away when it happened,’ he said. ‘Church retreat. But we sure did hear about it when we got back. That was big news in this town. The Sinclair girl was only a youngster.’

  Suddenly Malcolm, who had been sitting silently, frowning, spoke up. ‘Does that mean the guy will get out of jail now, since he didn’t do it?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Blair. ‘I certainly do hope so. I have a reporter from the local paper, a girl named Rebecca Moore, who’s taking an interest in the whole thing. We hope to get the whole case reopened.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope you succeed,’ said Darlene. ‘You did have something important to do today.’

  Blair glanced again at Ellis, who was staring down into his plate. ‘Yes, I really did,’ she said.

  The evening ended as soon as the pound cake was served and eaten. As Blair was getting into her car, to head back to Ellis’s house, her phone rang. Eric, from the office, was apologetic, but explained that he had no choice but to call. The administrative and surgical staff from Hahnemann Hospital were interested in their product, but had questions and wanted to meet with the partners tomorrow afternoon. No one understood the 3D printing process the way that Blair did. Eric was all apologies, but said that they needed Blair to be there.

  Blair reassured him. ‘I understand. Of course I’ll be there,’ she said. ‘Tell the others they can count on me.’ Blair ended the call and started toward the house. When she walked into the front door of the house, she could hear Ellis yelling at Malcolm.

  ‘Go upstairs.’

  ‘But I want to hear about the murder,’ Malcolm protested. ‘When Aunt Blair gets here.’

  ‘You do as I say,’ Ellis insisted.

  Blair heard Malcolm’s footsteps dragging up the stairs as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘When were you going to tell me about all this?’ Ellis demanded.

  ‘About what?’ asked Blair, enjoying his indignation.

  ‘About Celeste and her so-called confession.’

  ‘I did tell you,’ said Blair. ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Did you make it up?’ Ellis accused her.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘So now you’re saying that Celeste was involved, was having relations, with that nig—’

  Blair raised a hand as if to say stop. ‘Just don’t …’

  ‘She was sleeping with that worthless …’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Blair. ‘I don’t know anything about their … friendship. But she was in his car with him at the time, that she told me for sure. And the fact that she never admitted it is your fault. She was too afraid to tell the truth about Adrian because she knew what a … how prejudiced you were. Instead of yelling at me, you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘You’re blaming me?’ Ellis thundered.

  ‘Yes, I do blame you,’ Blair retorted. ‘Celeste let a man go to prison for something he didn’t do, rather than admit to you that she had a black friend.’ Blair shook her head. ‘It’s just sick.’

  Uncle Ellis shook his head. ‘You went and told this pack of lies to some newspaper reporter? We’re going to have our whole lives plastered all over this town.’

  ‘An innocent man is sitting in prison because of what went on in this household. It’s time for the truth to come out.’

  Ellis narrowed his eyes and peered at her. ‘I don’t believe Celeste said any such thing to you. I think you’re lying.’

  ‘Why would I make it up?’ Blair demanded.

  ‘Why do you do anything? To try and get attention …’ Ellis accused her.

  Blair flinched as if he had thrown a bucket of water at her. ‘To get attention? When did I ever get your attention for anything?’

  Suddenly the landline rang and both of them looked at it in surprise. Blair was closest to it and picked up the phone.

  Rebecca Moore was on the other end. ‘Blair, this is Rebecca.’

  ‘How did you get this number?’ Blair asked.

  ‘It’s listed. I’m a reporter.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry. Well, what’s up?’

  ‘I called Yusef Muhammed. I’m going up to the prison to talk to him tomorrow. I thought you might want to be there.’

  ‘No point in going there. You have to Skype with him,’ said Blair.

  ‘No. I have permission. I’ve already cleared it. I will see him face-to-face.’

  ‘Does it have to be tomorrow?’ Blair asked. ‘I’ve got to go to Philly.’

  ‘I’m jumping on this,’ said Rebecca. ‘No time to waste.’

  Blair debated with herself for a minute, truly torn. ‘I can’t do it tomorrow. I have to go to this meeting for my company. It’s very important.’

  ‘Well, I don’t need you there to do my job,’ said Rebecca. ‘This is just a courtesy call.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not wasting any time,’ Blair said. ‘How was Muhammed when you talked to him?’

  ‘Cranky. Suspicious,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Sounds like him,’ said Blair.

  ‘I need the phone,’ Ellis demanded, interrupting her.

  Blair rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you when I get back. Thanks, Rebecca.’

  The minute Blair hung up, Ellis demanded to know who that was on the phone.

  ‘That was the reporter whom I told about Celeste’s confession. She is trying to get this information together, to get Yusef Muhammed out of jail.

  Ellis glared at her. ‘I don’t want her calling here,’ he said.

  Blair returned his gaze without flinching. ‘I know. There’s a lot
you don’t want. Welcome to the new world, old man.’ Blair turned her back on him and left the room.

  TEN

  By the time she got back to Yorkville, Blair was weary. The meeting with the doctors at Hahnemann had been, on the whole, productive, but not conclusive. Everyone agreed that there was much more to discuss, more questions to be answered. Still, it had felt exhilarating to Blair to be back at her office, back working with her partners, back to being taken seriously for her very specialized skills and ideas. Returning to Yorkville filled her with her unfinished grief over Celeste and a feeling that she was disliked and unappreciated here. She climbed the steps to the house and passed by the door to the living room. Uncle Ellis did not look up from the television when she said hello.

  ‘Good to see you too,’ Blair muttered.

  She went down the hall to the kitchen. There was no sign of Malcolm anywhere. She thought of asking Uncle Ellis where he might be, but she decided against it. It might set him off. No, she just wanted to eat something quickly and get to bed. She opened the door to the refrigerator and looked inside. There were still the remains of a few dishes from friends and neighbors, but by now they were about ready to be dumped into the trash. Otherwise, there was nothing much beside peanut butter. She wished she had eaten in Philly. She thought of going to bed without dinner, but that seemed like punishing herself. The hell with it, she thought. I’ll go out.

  For a few minutes she sat in her car, trying to decide where to go. She often ate alone in the city and there it seemed normal. But she felt as if all eyes would be on her here in Yorkville, speculating about a woman alone. She hesitated and then picked up her phone and texted Rebecca Moore.

  ‘Back from the city. On my way to grab a bite at …’ She hesitated. She didn’t want to have to avoid Molly’s parents forever. She had done nothing wrong. ‘… the Apres Ski. How did the meeting go with Muhammed?’ She sent the text, and turned on the engine. She hoped Rebecca would be interested in coming out for a drink at least. They might not be friends under other circumstances, but Rebecca seemed to be a woman alone in this town too. Blair put the car in gear and headed downtown.

  The Apres Ski was doing a desultory business. Blair was led to a table near the front window. She did not see either of the Sinclairs as she glanced back toward the kitchen. Blair settled into a chair facing the door of the café and ordered a beer from the waitress. She took out her phone to see if she had received any texts.

  Nothing. She tapped the phone gently on the tabletop. What had Rebecca accomplished today, she wondered, while she was gone? She wanted details, but it might have to wait until tomorrow. Blair glanced around the room. There were couples at scattered tables and several young people at the bar. People having fun.

  Sometimes it seemed to Blair that she almost never had any fun. It was either work or solitude these days. Her life was productive and well organized, but fun …?

  The waitress brought her beer and took Blair’s order. Blair sat staring at the front door, sipping from her glass. Then she had an idea. She pulled up the screen on her phone and entered Rebecca’s name into the search engine. She had meant to google her earlier, but she forgot. She was certainly curious about her unlikely ally.

  The first thing to come up was a line of photos. They were clearly Rebecca, but it was a different Rebecca, sleekly dressed and camera-ready, her smile wide and appealing. Instead of uncombed hair and no makeup, she was perfectly groomed. She was pictured in form-fitting dresses and even an evening gown. Her presentation was sleek. Sexy. Chic. What happened here, Blair wondered? What made Rebecca go from high profile TV anchor to a reporter working at a sleepy, local paper?

  A tapping on the window beside her made her jump. She turned and looked out. Rebecca Moore was pressed against the window, pointing toward the door and giving her a questioning look? She could feel her face redden, wondering if Rebecca could see that she was looking at her pictures on her phone screen. She quickly swiped away the screen and nodded, pointing at the door, as if to say, come on in.

  By the time Rebecca arrived at the table, Blair was cool and composed. Rebecca sank into the chair opposite hers as Blair slipped her phone back into her pocket.

  Without bothering to greet Blair, Rebecca looked around for the waitress. When she caught her eye, she beckoned her over, and ordered a beer.

  Blair said, ‘Make that two.’

  Rebecca sat back. ‘So, how was Philly?’

  Blair could see that she was only asking to be polite. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘How was the interview with Muhammed?’

  Rebecca was instantly happy to have the focus back on herself. She launched into a long-winded description of their meeting. Luckily, Blair was vitally interested.

  ‘What it boils down to,’ Rebecca said, ‘is that if we take Celeste’s word for this …’

  ‘And we do,’ said Blair.

  ‘Then someone else had to have killed little Molly Sinclair.’

  She hated the way Rebecca said: ‘little Molly Sinclair.’ It sounded condescending and dismissive, but she decided not to make an issue of it.

  ‘I think it’s important that we develop an alternate theory of what happened. I decided to investigate any similar incidents or crimes in this area at the time of her death; incidents involving young girls who were murdered, or who disappeared. I wanted to show Muhammed that I was serious about this, seriously taking his side.’

  ‘That was probably a good idea,’ Blair admitted.

  Rebecca nodded. ‘I could see that he liked that. He has studied the law on his own and he’s done quite a bit to plead his case. Filed motions. Petitioned the court multiple times. But he has lacked a champion on the outside all these years. That’s a pretty lonely, hopeless spot to be in.’

  Blair nodded. Rebecca seemed to have a certain understanding of what motivated people. She liked that about her. It must have contributed to her original, speedy ascent to the top of her profession.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Blair said. ‘So what did you come up with?’

  Rebecca rummaged in her backpack and pulled out some papers that she set on the table. ‘I printed these out cause I knew they wouldn’t let me take the phone in when I went in to see him. Have a look.’

  ‘I don’t get why they let you have a face-to-face, and not me. They said only priests and lawyers were allowed access to prisoners on demand.’

  Rebecca smiled and shrugged. ‘Truthfully? My uncle’s the warden there. He still thinks of me as a TV star. A lot of people do around here. Anyway I called him.’ She accepted a beer from the waitress, who took Blair’s empty and set her beer down beside her. Blair pored over the printed clippings.

  ‘Molly’s murder was unlike any other crime in this area. There just weren’t any others that mirrored it.’

  Blair frowned. ‘You’re right. There’s not a great resemblance between these crimes and Molly’s murder. A teenage girl who claimed that she was raped by her neighbor, although his wife swore he was asleep beside her at the time. A schoolgirl who was having an “affair” with her swim coach. He wasn’t charged but he lost his job. A runaway who hasn’t been seen in fifteen years; her older brother came home from the service and found that she was gone. He finally raised the alarm. Her mother said she threw the girl out because she insisted that this kid was trying to steal her boyfriend from her. More like the kid was the boyfriend’s victim. God, people are sick,’ Blair shook her head. ‘But I still don’t really see a correlation.’

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘I was looking for a pattern, looking for someone who preyed on young girls.’

  ‘But as I recall it,’ said Blair, ‘Molly was not sexually assaulted.’

  ‘I know. It’s odd,’ Rebecca said. ‘I would have expected there to be a sexual component to Molly’s murder.’

  ‘I don’t think there was,’ said Blair. She could not help remembering the innocent young girls that she and Molly were at the time. Boys were alien creatures whom they had romantic fantasies about. Sex was s
omething that looked kind of exciting, but also weird and scary on the internet.

  ‘None,’ said Rebecca. ‘No indication of a sexual assault. And yet, she was killed by a violent blow delivered by someone powerful. It was no accident.’

  Blair forced herself to be objective, distant. ‘That’s true. She wasn’t robbed. She wasn’t raped. So why was she killed?’

  ‘And what was she even doing there? According to Yusef Muhammed, he and your sister picked her up, took her home that day and left her at her house.’

  ‘He has no reason to lie about that,’ said Blair.

  ‘None that we know of,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘He definitely said that? That they left her at her house?’

  Rebecca nodded and took a swig of her beer. ‘So, if that’s true, what happened to Molly?’ she asked.

  ‘Does he have a theory?’ Blair asked.

  ‘Who? Muhammed?’ Rebecca shook her head. ‘If he does, it’s all about how everybody was out to get him. He’s a pain in the ass that way.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be?’ said Blair.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Rebecca. ‘Poor bastard’s been in jail for fifteen years for something he didn’t do. One word from your dear, departed sister and his whole life might have been different. How could she have left him there to rot like that, all those years …?’

  Blair was embarrassed by the question. There was no good answer to it. ‘The question now is Molly …’ Blair said. ‘If he didn’t kill her, who did?’

  Just then Blair became aware of someone standing by the back of her chair.

  Rebecca looked up at the person standing there. ‘Can I help you? This is a private conversation,’ she said.

  ‘Blair, I’m surprised to see you here.’

  Blair turned around and saw Janet Sinclair looking down at her. She was unsmiling. Blair tried not to betray any anxiety at the sight of Molly’s mother.

  ‘Janet,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to meet Rebecca Moore. She’s a reporter at the paper. Rebecca, this is Molly’s mother, Janet.’