by A.W. Hartoin
Chapter Twenty-One
I PARKED IN front of the Bled house and stood at the gate for a moment. A soft breeze swayed the branches of the gigantic oaks that lined the street, but nothing else moved. The house was dark and lifeless as before. The lawn hung over the edges of the flagstone walk and the house was beginning to look abandoned. I rang the gate bell multiple times and was ignored. Mom gave me the emergency key, but we’d rarely used it and never for an actual emergency. Was this an emergency? Maybe. Maybe not. But I had to know what was going on. I decided to take a walk, just a little snoop, around the perimeter. After that I wasn’t sure.
Leaves crunched under my feet as I walked through the overgrown lawn and peeked into the left conservatory. Everything was neat and tidy, but the absence of light bothered me. The Girls weren’t conservationists. They were known to leave TVs on for days, if not weeks, at a time. The darkness made me feel weird and itchy. Dad used to talk about that feeling over dinner. The crime scene feeling, sometimes it meant something, sometimes it didn’t. I was damn sure it did this time, but still I doubted The Girls were lying in a pool of blood in the living room. I needed to go in, but I didn’t really have the time.
I headed back towards the front when I heard, “Hello, Miss Watts.”
Caught in the act. At least I wasn’t climbing in a window, which I’d been known to do. I turned around to find Mrs. Haase smiling at me from behind her fence. Mrs. Haase was a big smiler. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in the clear.
“Hi. How are you?” I smiled, too. It didn’t mean much with me either.
“Very well, and you?”
Oh, great. Just standing in the azaleas.
“I’m good,” I said.
“The Girls left an hour ago, if you’re wondering.”
“Then they’re fine, thank goodness.”
“Worrying they’d been mutilated by a maniac, were you?”
“I was beginning to wonder.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Mrs. Haase.
“Really?” I asked, while treading on bluebells and callas on my way to the fence.
“Indeed. Ronald and I have become a bit concerned. They’ve been acting so odd.”
“What did they do?”
“They didn’t come to our church fete, the lights are always off, and Millicent won’t let me in, even though we had a lunch date on Monday. She didn’t remember to cancel or send a note. And there was this man at the door yesterday.” Mrs. Haase’s eyes opened wide with a look of suspicion and disdain. Who were these people coming onto Hawthorne Avenue? The nerve.
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. He banged on the door and tromped around in the garden like you.”
Great, I had something in common with a weirdo harassing The Girls.
“The Girls weren’t home?”
“No, they were there and he knew it. He kept yelling that they couldn’t ignore him forever and for them to open the door,” she said.
“They never came to the door?”
“I don’t think so. He was quite angry and he drove away in a Ford.”
Ah, the final condemnation. He drove a domestic car.
“Do you know where The Girls went?”
“No, but a cab came for them. I haven’t seen Lester in weeks.”
Lester was The Girls’ driver. He was old as dirt and could barely see over the steering wheel. Dad had wanted them to retire poor old Lester for years and get someone who could see as well as drive. He’d never had any luck. Lester’s absence was the final straw.
“Have you seen anything else that bothered you?” I asked.
“No, but something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Mrs. Haase removed her gardening hat and touched her thick gray hair. I admired that mane of hers. It didn’t know the meaning of hat hair.
“They haven’t said anything?”
“Exactly. They won’t say a thing. Millicent looks embarrassed and Myrtle looks to have been crying.”
“When?” I asked.
“Every time I see her. Which isn’t often, might I add. You will do something, won’t you?”
“Dad’ll figure it out.” I tried to look unconcerned.
“Is he still under the weather? I’ve been meaning to call.”
“He’s better and he’d love to see you.”
Strictly speaking, that wasn’t true or untrue. Dad was pretty neutral on most people, but Mom loved visitors. For Mrs. Haase’s sake, I hoped Dad would still be in bed. If not, he might answer the door in the dreaded underwear. She’d never recover. I had several friends who still talk about my weird dad and I couldn’t even defend him. It was weird.
“I was grieved to hear about your friend. Mr. Flouder, was it?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I said.
I left Mrs. Haase to her roses with a promise for an afternoon call. I walked around the rest of the house. All was in order and I didn’t know what to look for anyway. I walked down the flagstones and stopped midway. The 300’s passenger seat was occupied. The tinted windows were enough to obscure the person’s identity. I sprinted down the walk, flung open the gate, and then the car door.
“How you doing?”
Aaron.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I said, in a low voice. I had the feeling Mrs. Haase was watching from the hedgerow.
“What?” Aaron’s eyebrows shot up from behind his smudged glasses.
“What do you mean ‘what’? What are you doing in this car?”
“Heard you had a trip,” he said.
“Who told you that?”
Aaron blinked and opened the glove compartment. “I brought snacks.”
“You can’t come. Get out.”
“You didn’t say please,” he said, pulling out a carton of chocolate milk and opening it.
“Please,” I said.
“Nope. I’m going. I never been to Lincoln. Hear it’s nice. Does it snow there year-round, or is that Alaska or maybe Canada?”
God help me.
“You hungry? I got dogs.” Aaron smiled at me and I knew it was hopeless. Dad had sicced him on me, but for what purpose I couldn’t guess. Maybe my father secretly hated me. The thought that Aaron could protect me was ludicrous. No, Dad hated me.
“No hot dogs in the car.” I slid into the driver’s seat, breathing in the aromas that accompanied Aaron wherever he went: hot dogs, chili cheese fries, and some kind of drugstore cologne that I couldn’t name. It was kind of a nice combo, but I’d never say that under oath.
My cell phone vibrated and Aaron answered it. Then he pressed the off button, tossed the phone on the floor, and went back to rummaging around in his snack bag.
“Who was that?” I asked.
Aaron shrugged. “They hung up.”
“Well, don’t throw my phone on the floor. You’ll break it.”
Aaron shrugged again and ate a Snickers bar.
The drive to Lincoln was seven hours long. Between Aaron’s bathroom breaks and hankering for diner food, it took us eight and a half. If it wasn’t for the constant talk of snack food and Dungeons and Dragons, the drive would’ve only taken two days off my life instead of three.