by David Bell
Then he remembered the job Nora had assigned him. The dead cat.
“Shit,” he said.
He went out to the back door and undid the lock. Before he pulled the door open, he wished again that a predator had come along and removed the cat the natural way. And then he hoped that Nora had simply been wrong, that the cat had been sleeping or injured and had since risen to its feet and wandered off.
But he knew he was engaging in wishful thinking. He expected to find a dead cat on the patio, and he did. Not only did he see the dead cat, but he recognized it as well.
“Pogo,” he said.
Pogo belonged to the family next door, the Nelsons. They had three children—two boys and a girl—and Pogo, their orange cat, used to wander through Jason and Nora’s yard. He’d scratched the cat’s ears on a few occasions, and once set out a bowl of water on a blazing summer day.
Jason stepped out and studied the body. What prompted Pogo to up and die on their back porch? Did cats drop dead of heart attacks like people? Was that what happened to Pogo?
But something about Pogo’s posture didn’t seem random. He was on his side, his legs straight out as though someone had placed him there, almost gently. He didn’t look like the victim of a larger predator or even an accident. And then Jason noticed that some blood had trickled out of Pogo’s mouth and dried around his head.
“Gross.”
Jason jumped.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Sorry.”
He turned as Sierra stepped out onto the porch, her feet bare, the Ohio State hoodie zipped up to her chin.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.
“This dead cat just creeps me out,” he said. “And now I have to go tell the neighbors their pet is dead. They have little kids. I see their daughter, Victoria, carrying this cat around all the time. She’ll be devastated.”
“What killed it?” Sierra asked.
“I don’t know.” Jason turned to go inside and get a bag, but then Sierra spoke.
“Wait,” she said. She crouched down, studying the cat from a lower angle. “Did you see the blood?”
“I did.”
“Isn’t that weird?” she asked.
“No weirder than the dead cat being here in the first place.”
“No, really.” Sierra stood up and placed her hand on Jason’s arm. “What if this is about Mom?”
“The cat?”
“What if someone killed the cat to scare Mom or something? Or to scare us? Did you think of that?”
“No, I didn’t. Look, Sierra, the cat probably got hit by a car and limped back here. Or it fell or something. No one hurt the cat on purpose. It isn’t even ours.”
“But it lives next door.”
Jason put his arm around the girl, the same way Nora had the night before. “I know you’re freaked out about your mom. I understand. But don’t let every little thing spook you.”
“You jumped when I came out,” she said. “You were spooked.”
Jason pulled the girl a little closer, then let her go. “I have to go get a bag or something and go next door.”
* * *
After making his unpleasant delivery to the neighbors’ house, Jason returned home. He started to read, trying to distract himself from the image of Pogo’s dead body and the look on poor Mr. Nelson’s face when he saw what was in the grocery bag, and then his phone chimed. He assumed the text was from Nora, but when he looked, he saw it was Colton, asking to come by the house briefly. Jason couldn’t imagine what business Colton would want to discuss in person at seven thirty, but he welcomed the distraction. He told Colton to come by. When the car pulled up, Jason stepped out onto the porch. The light was draining from the day, the air cooling. Jason took a deep breath and saw a few stars appearing in the rising purple darkness at the horizon. A few doors down, some kids threw a football, their high-pitched shouts the only noise. Colton drove a Cadillac, and he emerged from the driver’s side wearing a polo shirt, white shorts, and some kind of woven leather sandals. His feet looked tiny, and he waved as he approached the porch.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. But I was nearby and wanted to see if you were home.”
“It’s no problem. Do you want to come in? I have beer or coffee.”
Colton used his thumb to point in the direction of the car, which Jason noticed was still idling, the headlights glowing. “I can’t stay. My girls are in the back.”
Colton had two daughters, Jason knew. Grade-schoolers. On more than one occasion, Jason had been forced to look at pictures of the girls. Awkward school portraits. Dance recitals. Soccer games. Jason always smiled at the photos and complimented Colton on how fine the kids looked despite his lack of interest.
Jason turned his head a little, back toward the house, where the guest room window was cracked open and a light glowed from behind its curtains.
“What’s on your mind, then?” Jason asked. “Do you have more questions about Logan?”
“Logan?” Colton almost said the name as though he’d never heard it before. “No, not that. Did you think of something?”
“No,” Jason said. “Nothing.”
Colton laughed, but it was a low, unnatural sound. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I guess it seems a little strange, me coming over like this. I feel like a gossipy old lady.”
“What is it, Colton?” Jason asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Jason,” he said, “is your sister living here in town again?”
Jason felt his head move ever so slightly to the left, as though the invisible hand of the universe had given him a slight tap on the cheek. “Did you see her?” he asked, trying to sound calm.
“I did,” Colton said. “And here’s why I wanted to tell you in person and not over the phone. You see, I took the kids down to Center Park tonight. There was a little children’s concert down there, and to be honest, Gloria just wanted us out of the house for a little while. But when we were down there, getting ready to leave, I saw a car a few spaces down from ours. Kind of a junker, you know? But the passenger window was open, and I saw a familiar face in there. It was Hayden. I thought to myself, Goddamn, I didn’t know she was still around. Confidentially, I used to have a huge crush on her when we were all in school.”
Colton’s cheeks flushed red. Jason looked back at the upstairs window again and said, “Can we move closer to the street to talk about this?”
They did, Colton’s sandals making little slapping noises against the sidewalk. They stopped near the front of Colton’s car, the low hum of the engine covering the other sounds of the night. Jason looked into the backseat and saw the two girls engaged in a conversation of their own, their heads bobbing, their gestures grand and exaggerated.
“Is Nora home?” Colton asked.
“No. Hayden’s daughter is staying with us. I don’t want her to hear.”
“Oh,” Colton said, lowering his voice even more. “I forgot she had a daughter with Derrick. How old is she now?”
“Seventeen.”
“Wow. Time flies.”
“So, what happened at the park?”
“Right. When I saw Hayden, I went over to say hello. You know how I am. But when I got close to the car, it looked a little like Hayden . . . Well, she hadn’t been crying. That’s not it. She wasn’t crying. But her eyes looked kind of glazed. She seemed, I don’t know, absent in a way. And then, here’s the kicker, Jason. I bent down to say hello, since I was already there, and I looked past Hayden and saw who was driving the car.”
“Who?”
“It was Jesse Dean Pratt.”
Jason felt cold. The wind had shifted, raising the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck and along his arms. He stared at the ground before him, and in the bright glare of C
olton’s headlights he saw oil stains in the street and tiny bits of broken glass.
“Are you sure, Colton? About both of them?”
“A guy like me wouldn’t forget a face like Hayden’s. No way. It was her. And Jesse Dean, I’ve seen him in the last few years. He doesn’t look that different. He doesn’t act much different either. He’s been in the justice center a time or two. Some things don’t change. Besides, when I waved, Jesse Dean waved back. He wore a big stupid grin, and then he dropped his car into gear and backed out. Left me just standing there in the lot. But it was him, Jason, and it was her.”
“Did Hayden say anything to you?” Jason asked. “Did she ask for help or do anything?”
“She looked right at me and smiled a little finally. It seemed forced, but if she wanted help, she could have asked for it. She could have jumped right out of the car. Jesse Dean wasn’t holding her or anything.” Colton narrowed his eyes as he saw the scene in his mind again. “There was someone in the backseat as well, maybe more than one, but I couldn’t see who they were. And they were having a good time, too. Jesse Dean handed a bottle wrapped in a paper bag over to whoever was in the back. Then they drove off. I thought about calling the law and reporting them for the open container, but then I thought of Hayden. I thought of what she was like in high school. You know, she was always nice to me, the squarest, nerdiest guy in the school. People remember that high school stuff and how people treat them. I figured it would be best just to tell you.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you okay, Jason?” Colton asked. “I don’t want to freak you out. I know Hayden was kind of friends with Jesse Dean back in school, so maybe it’s no big deal she’s with him.”
“I guess they could still be friends. I don’t know who all she’s hanging out with.” Jason looked Colton square in the eyes. “Are you sure she didn’t seem to be in danger or trouble?”
“I can’t say anything for certain,” he said. “But if she were in real trouble, would they come right to the park around crowds of people? There were police officers there. Anybody could have seen them. They looked more like they were partying with that bottle making the rounds.”
“Maybe that’s why her eyes were glazed,” Jason said.
Colton shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know. I live in a house full of women, and I never can read them or understand what they’re thinking. She could have been high or it could have been something else. Who knows?”
“Do me a favor, Colton,” Jason said. “Can you keep this under your hat? Hayden’s daughter is here, and I don’t want people to talk.”
“You’ve got it.”
One of the rear windows of the car rolled down, and a little girl stuck her head out. “Daddy? Are you coming? Steffie has to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay, hon,” Colton said. He turned back to Jason. “Look, if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“It will be fine. I think Hayden is just . . . reconnecting with some old friends.”
“Sure,” Colton said. The two men shook hands. “If I see or hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Jason watched him climb into his car and drive off. When he turned around to the house again, he saw the curtain in the guest room fall back into place.
Chapter Ten
Jason stepped inside the house, and Sierra’s voice greeted him from the top of the stairs.
“Who was that?” she asked.
Jason stood at the bottom of the steps, craning his head back a little so he could look up at his niece. Her hands rested on the banister on one side and the wall on the other, her body leaning forward until it looked like she might tip over and go headfirst down the stairs.
“Just a friend,” he said. “Did you hear anything from your mom?”
“Nothing. Silencio.”
Jason lifted his foot and placed it on the bottom step. “You know how we were talking about my friend earlier? Logan?”
“Yes.”
“Did your mom ever mention any of her other friends from back then? I mean, besides your dad.”
Sierra rocked a little at the top of the stairs. She looked like a ski jumper at the beginning of a long run. Her hair was down, and it shook around her face, partially covering it so Jason couldn’t see her expression.
“Any other names?” she said.
“Yes. Has your mom talked about anyone else lately? People she might be seeing here or talking to.”
“Do you mean a name like . . . Jesse Dean Pratt?”
Jason jerked his head up. “Did your mom say that name?”
Sierra stopped rocking, but she didn’t say anything.
“Sierra?”
“Is he someone special?” she asked.
“Where did you hear the name?” Jason asked. “It’s important.”
Sierra paused before answering. Finally, she said, “Do you work with Jesse Dean Pratt? Because I thought whoever came to the door had to do with work.”
“I know Colton through work.”
But Sierra had turned away from the top of the stairs. Jason went up and, when he reached the landing, saw that Sierra’s door was closed, a thin strip of light glowing along the bottom. He knocked and received no response.
“Sierra?”
He expected to have to knock again, but the door came open, leaving him face-to-face with his niece. “What?”
Jason took a calming breath. “Just tell me if that’s a name your mom mentioned recently. Did she say anything about Jesse Dean before she came to Ednaville? Did she say his name on the phone, or mention him to anyone else?”
“Who is he?”
“Okay. Jesse Dean was a scumbag. Is a scumbag. I didn’t even know he was still alive. He was a couple of years older than us when we were in school. I don’t know what all he was involved in, but I know he spent some time in jail, back then and again after I moved away. I suspect he dealt drugs and probably did some other things.”
Sierra looked at Jason from the corner of her eye. “Is that it? Is that all you know about him?”
Jason rubbed his hand across his chin. “He was friends with your dad back in high school. And he was kind of friends with your mom. By default, I guess. Your mom and dad were dating, so your dad’s friends became your mom’s friends.” Jason shifted his weight again. “I don’t know what ever became of Jesse Dean. I moved away, and like a lot of people I knew back then, he just faded from the picture. Does that answer your question?”
“You’re saying both Mom and Dad ran with a bad crowd?”
“Is that a surprise to you?” Jason asked. He looked around the guest room and saw very little clutter. Sierra had been keeping order in her space. No dirty clothes on the floor. No scattered shoes or towels. “People change, remember? That’s what your mom told me last night.”
“I hear you,” she said. “Mom mentioned the name Jesse Dean to me.”
“When? Recently?”
Sierra said, “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since Mom up and decided I was going to come and stay with you. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention any of it if Mom just came back okay, but first she sent that text, and now your friend shows up saying he saw Mom with this guy. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Fair enough. So what did you hear?”
“I overheard Mom talking to him on the phone one day, maybe a week ago. I didn’t hear much, but it seemed like Mom was pissed. It was like this Jesse guy was trying to talk her out of something, you know? And Mom kept saying that she had made up her mind, that she was going to do it no matter what.”
“But you don’t know what she meant?” Jason asked.
Sierra gave Jason the kind of withering look only a teenager could muster. “If I knew that, I’d know everything, wouldn’t I?”
“Did they mention your dad at all? Like I said, Jesse was frie
nds with your dad.”
“I didn’t hear Dad come up. I think Mom knew I was eavesdropping. She has a sixth sense for that. She moved into another room and shut the door. I couldn’t make out anything else, but it did sound like her voice was raised a couple of times.”
“And that’s it?” Jason asked.
“It? She has that conversation with that guy, saying she was going to do something, and then she comes here, where that guy used to live? And then she’s with him? And she sends me that text?”
Jason considered it all. What could Hayden possibly have to do with Jesse Dean after so much time? Before Jason could say anything else, Sierra said, “I tried looking him up on the Internet, but there were about ten Jesse Dean Pratts. And none of them were listed in Ednaville.”
“He could live anywhere.”
“But there are a bunch of Pratts in Ednaville. Do you remember where he lived when you were in school? Maybe his parents are still in that house? We could go.”
Jason stretched his brain. Jesse Dean. He knew he lived south of town, on what his parents called the wrong side of the tracks as though that were the given name of the neighborhood. He remembered the street, having driven by it during high school. Kids pointed it out to one another, awe in their voices. That’s where Jesse Dean lives. It wasn’t impressive. A little box of a house with a junk-filled yard. Jesse’s father was never around, and his mother might very well be dead. The truth was simple—yes, the text and Colton’s visit set off alarms in his mind.
“Your mom said she’d be back tomorrow night.”
“You don’t want to call the police and tell them about this? Some convict is with my mom. Just tell them that.”
“Hanging out with an old friend is not against the law,” Jason said. “Even if the guy is a convict.”