by Kristie Cook
I sat back and held the magazine toward the lady next to me, who’d been staring at me this whole time.
“No, no. You keep,” she said, looking at me as though afraid I might be a little off my rocker, as Mira would say. She probably thought me to be some kind of perv the way I had stared at the nearly naked man on the page. With a huff, she pulled another magazine out of the pocket on the seat in front of me. Apparently she’d already been through the ones in her own pocket. At least now she stopped glaring at me.
I studied the picture of Jeric in his underwear and now that the initial shock had worn off, embarrassment overcame me. A male model. On the pages of a French fashion magazine. And most of our conversation had centered on his deafness, his disability. I was such an idiot.
And now glad I would never see him again.
* * *
I should have known something was off with Uncle Theo’s house the moment the cab drove up, but I was too focused on paying the driver and unloading my bags. The two-story, white house was nothing special, but it was home, for the most part. I paid little attention to the overgrown flowerbeds and too-tall grass, much worse than I’d expected. I’d have to deal with them soon enough. Right now, I wanted to see Uncle Theo and then my bed.
I went around to the side door that entered into the mudroom and then the kitchen, dug my keys out of my bag and selected the one for the house.
The key refused to enter the lock.
Feeling disoriented, I held the key up to eye level and stared at it for a long moment, then studied the lock. The key would never fit, and being the only brass key on my ring, I knew I’d selected the right one. What used to be the right one, anyway. What the hell? Did Uncle Theo change the locks on me? The thought was ridiculous. Why would he do such a thing?
I tapped my knuckles against the glass pane of the door, hoping Mira was there, because Uncle Theo would never hear me. When she didn’t come, I knocked harder, now on the wooden part of the door. I pressed my face against the glass to see if Mira’s gray-haired, plump body was making its way to the back door.
What I saw was all wrong.
The mudroom appeared to be completely cleared out—no brooms and mops in the corner, no cleaning bottles, soaps and detergents on the shelves by the washing machine. In fact, no washing machine or dryer at all. The maroon area rug no longer lay on the floor. I tilted my head to get a better view of the kitchen. All you could normally see would be the wooden table and chairs close to the mudroom doorway, but those were gone, too.
Weird, I thought as I pounded on the door harder.
“Uncle Theo! Mira!” I yelled, but no answer came.
I ran to the front of the house, up the steps and across the deep porch to the door, where I tried the key again. Nothing. My finger jabbed at the doorbell that would also flash the lights for Uncle Theo while my other fist banged on the wooden door.
“Uncle Theo! Mira! It’s me, Leni,” I called. “Open the door!”
With still no answer, I moved to the front window that looked in on the living room. Well, what had once been a living room. Now, it was only an empty space. Uncle Theo’s big, brown recliner, the hunter green sofa, the large, wooden coffee table and matching end tables, the bookcases overflowing with books . . . all gone. No pictures or paintings on the walls. Hot panic rose from the pit of my stomach, threatening to take over my lungs, but I forced myself to swallow it down. To try to stay calm.
Still, my heart raced as I moved to the window on the other side of the door, the one for Uncle Theo’s bedroom, but I already knew it’d be empty. My brain tried to process it all to come up with an explanation while my feet carried me around the house so I could peer into other windows. Most were too high off the ground for me to see into. I glanced up to the second floor, where my bedroom was, and my heart sank. No curtains, no pillows in the window seat, and, I was sure, nothing else, either.
I returned to the side door and sunk down to the step. Where was Uncle Theo? All his stuff? A glance around the overgrown yard made me think no one had been here for weeks. At least my old beater truck still sat at the end of the driveway. The only thing grounding me, confirming I was at the right house. Had Uncle Theo moved? But why? Maybe he’d moved in with Mira, though I found that highly unlikely. He may have liked spending time with her, but my uncle wouldn’t like the constant presence. He didn’t even like me around twenty-four seven. Besides, that didn’t explain why they’d take my stuff yet leave my truck.
I dropped my head into my hands. This was all too much for my tired mind to take. It was nearly six in the evening in Italy, which meant I’d been awake for fifty hours with only a few moments here and there of sleep. My body probably needed food nearly as much as sleep, although I felt no appetite now. Only confusion and loss. And a little fear as horrible scenarios tried to pop their ugly selves into my thoughts. I pushed them away. Someone would have called me if something was wrong with my uncle.
He has to be at Mira’s. The only answer I could come up with at the moment. That’s where I needed to go. I needed to make sure he was okay, which he had to be. He and Mira probably had a sound explanation for everything, although I could think of none now.
I rubbed my temples with my fingers, trying to motivate my body to move. Stand up. Pick up your bags. Put them in the truck. Drive to Mira’s. Check on Uncle Theo. That’s all I had to do, and then I could sleep, but my body refused to move. I could have curled up on the concrete step and fallen asleep right there and then, if concern for my uncle didn’t needle my brain and heart and soul. He has to be okay.
“Can I help ya?” a man’s voice with a southern twang called from the driveway.
My heart jumped with the surprise, pumping adrenaline that shot my body into action. I sprang to my feet, shocked to find a stout man, about forty years old, with a thick mustache and a mop of brown hair on his head, standing right next to a silver, late model car. I hadn’t heard the car pull up or the door as the man got out and shut it.
“Excuse me?” I asked, tilting my head with confusion at this stranger’s offer of help.
“The neighbors called and said someone was bangin’ on my house, tryin’ to get in,” he said.
“Your house?”
“For now anyway. Bought it several weeks ago on the courthouse steps. It’s up for sale, though. Thought you might be interested. That’s why you’re here, ain’t it?”
What was he talking about? Exhaustion had obliterated any understanding of his words. I suppressed a burst of giggles at how silly they had sounded to me. The guy’s brows pressed together with concern. For what, I didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “I’m sleep deprived, so it sounded like you said this is your house. That you thought I’d want to buy it.”
“I did say that. Guess I’m wrong, though.”
“Uh, yeah, you are. Good joke, though. Did Uncle Theo put you up to this?” That’s it! Uncle Theo up to his practical jokes, like the time when he ate all the cream out of the cookies and put the halves back together and into the box, or the time when I was still in high school and he set all the clocks two hours behind, making me think I had left school and come home early. He’d even acted mad at me for skipping class. A little extreme, this one, but he definitely had me.
“Who?” the guy asked.
I snorted. “You can give it up now. Great joke, but I really just want to see Uncle Theo, then go to bed.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I really don’t know who you’re talkin’ about.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied me more closely. His expression turned grave. “I think you need to leave now. I don’t want to have to call the cops.”
My eyebrows lifted at his empty threat. I straightened my back and held up my chin. “Look, sir, I don’t have the energy for this. Please tell me where I can find Theo, and you can be on you
r way.”
He shook his head, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. I watched as he pretended to call the police and tell them a trespasser was on his property. He snapped his flip-phone shut when he was done and glared at me with hard brown eyes.
“The poh-leece are on their way. If you don’t leave, I’ll tell them you were tryin’ to break and enter, too.”
“Whatever,” I muttered to myself, knowing he’d really called Uncle Theo. My excitement to see him had disappeared with my patience, and my body trembled with exhaustion. I sank back to the concrete step and dropped my head into my hands while we both waited for Mira’s car to arrive with Uncle Theo in it.
Instead, two county sheriff cars arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
What the hell?
“You really called the cops?” I asked in disbelief. My body shook harder, anger combining with the fatigue. He wouldn’t really have me arrested, would he? The curtains over the kitchen window next door parted a hair, and Mrs. Gingham’s face peeked out at all the noise. When our eyes met, hers flitted away.
“Who did ya think I called?” the guy asked. “Yeah, I called the cops. I want ya off my property now!”
“But . . . but—” Surely Uncle Theo wouldn’t go this far. “You really don’t know Theodore Drago?”
Something flickered on the man’s face. Aha! I knew it! He did know Uncle Theo.
“We got a problem here?” one of the officers asked, sauntering up to us the way cops do, his thumbs in his pockets. Big, dark glasses hid his eyes, but I felt them on me and not in a protector-of-the-peace-appropriate way. The other policeman stayed by his car on the street, watching us closely.
“Hold on,” the guy said, lifting his hand out to the cop. “You said Drago? Are you Jacquelena Drago?”
I wanted to roll my eyes at my full given name, but relief the guy finally admitted his recognition flooded over me. “Leni, please, but yes. I’m Theo’s niece. You going to tell these nice officers they can go now?”
The guy shook his head. “I still don’t know no Theo or Theodore, but that ugly damn truck there is registered in your name. I was goin’ to have it towed tomorrow. You can take it and get both you and the truck off my property.”
That was it. I didn’t think even my stoic, always proper mama could restrain herself a minute longer.
I threw my hands up in exasperation, then turned to the policeman and tried not to spit my words out. “Sir, please tell this man he is mistaken. This house belongs to my uncle, Theodore Drago, and I live here with him. I’ve been out of the country for over a month, been traveling for two days, and I’m too tired to deal with this nonsense. If this guy doesn’t drop the charade, I’d like you to arrest him for trespassing.”
“You’re the one talkin’ nonsense,” the guy barked.
The deputy stepped forward, spreading his arms out to hold his hands up to both of us. “Whoa, now. This is easy enough to clear up. First, I need to see some I.D. for both of you.”
With a measured breath, still barely able to keep my cool, I dug my driver’s license out of my wallet and handed it to the policeman.
“Wait here a moment,” he said as he took the dude’s I.D. and walked toward the other policeman while talking into the mic clipped to his shoulder.
Within a few minutes, in which neither the man nor I had broken our glare on each other, the cop turned back to us.
“Sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a Theodore Drago on file for ownin’ anythin’ here. This here house and lot belongs to a Maury Mastich.” He turned toward the guy and held out his I.D. “And I see that’s you.”
“Yes, sir,” the guy said.
My jaw dropped. This can’t be happening!
“Ma’am, you need to vacate the premises,” the deputy said to me. “The owner don’t want you here. If you resist, I’ll have to arrest you for trespassin’.”
“There has to be a mistake,” I protested, panic starting to seep into my voice. “I’ve lived here for over two years.”
“Not according to your driver’s license, you don’t. Says here you live on Peach Blossom Street.” He held my I.D. out to me.
Crap. I’d never changed my address when Mom and Dad moved away.
“Still,” I said, flustered. “My uncle has owned this house for . . . forever! You must have the address wrong.”
“The address and deed filed with the county have been verified, ma’am,” the cop said. “You can go to the courthouse tomorrow to see for yourself.”
“I’d like to go right now,” I said indignantly.
“It’s Sunday, ma’am. The courthouse ain’t open.”
I huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to stomp my foot like a child. “Ask the neighbors, then. Mrs. Gingham right next door will tell you.”
“Mrs. Gingham is who called me to say a strange girl she’d never seen before was snoopin’ around my place,” Maury Mustache said.
I glanced toward her window again. She didn’t have the decency to drop the curtain this time, but stared at me as if I’d tried to break into her house and murder her. Mrs. Gingham whose dog I’d walked every time she was sick or out of town looked at me as though I was a complete stranger, and a dangerous one at that. What the hell was going on?
“Can you at least tell me where my uncle is, then, if he doesn’t live here?” I asked, trying to preserve some dignity although I really wanted to scream and throw an all-out temper tantrum at the absurdity of this afternoon.
“Ma’am, we have no record of a Theodore Drago. He’s not in any Georgia database.”
“He hasn’t had a driver’s license for a few years. Look back some.”
The policeman took a step forward and bowed his chest out further. “Ma’am, our databases go back several decades. There is no record of Theodore Drago and when I say no record, I mean no record. No driver’s license. No vehicle titles. No house deeds. No utilities. As far as the State of Georgia is concerned, Theodore Drago don’t exist. Now, please, ma’am, this gentleman would surely like to get back to his Sunday dinner. You must leave the property, or I will arrest you.”
He fingered his handcuffs. I swallowed the lump that had grown in my throat as he explained, then nodded. I’d never been to jail—never been in real trouble in my life—and wasn’t about to break that streak now. Besides, I needed to focus on finding Uncle Theo and then resolve this tomorrow at the courthouse, which I couldn’t do if I were sitting behind bars.
I picked up my bags and lugged them over to my truck, neither of the men offering to help as I threw them into the cab. Where had all their southerly manners gone? Before I climbed into the driver’s seat, I turned to Mr. Mustache.
“Was there anything at all in the house when you took possession?” I asked, my polite way of demanding where our belongings were. I, at least, could retain some manners.
He shook his head once, but then stopped himself. “Well, hold on. There was this book.”
He opened his car door and dug around inside a bit, then popped out, holding a heavy-looking, brown-covered book in his hand. He held it out toward me.
“I tried to open it, but couldn’t get through the clasp,” the Mustache said. “Couldn’t even cut through the leather strap. It’s useless to me, so you can have it if you want it.”
I’d never seen the book—which I could see now looked like a leather-bound journal—in my life, but if he’d found it in Uncle Theo’s house, I certainly wasn’t leaving it in his hands. Fuming with embarrassment and anger, I stalked over to him, snatched the book and stomped back to my truck, where I tossed it to the passenger side floor. I got in, turned the engine over and revved it. The truck was old, but in decent condition.
“You’ll have to move if you want me out of here,” I yelled over the noise.
Massive Mu
stache and the cop jumped into their respective cars and pulled them out of my way. Controlling my urge to floor the gas pedal and peel out, I drove off without a backward glance in my rearview mirror.
I headed straight to Mira’s, but no one was there, either. Her curtains were drawn closed, so I couldn’t see inside her little bungalow. I couldn’t imagine where else Uncle Theo and Mira would have gone. Perhaps the lake, although the likelihood of that was near zero considering Mira refused to drive on highways. None of this made sense, and my brain became slower and slower at trying to figure it out. I considered going to the lake anyway, but there was no way I’d make the hour drive without falling asleep at the wheel. Besides, somewhere deep inside, I knew I needed to stay here. So I went to the only hotel in town. As I crashed, my sleep-fuzzed eyes stared at the tattoo on my wrist.
I didn’t have a tattoo.
Chapter 4
Renting a car as a deaf driver wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do, but not entirely impossible either. I knew Atlanta well enough to know where to go, and several hours after landing, I had a cheap little compact I could barely fold myself into. At least I had a vehicle, and although sleep tried to shut me down, I managed to make the drive to the small town outside of Atlanta. The caramel-curled girl at the airport hadn’t looked back once, and by the time I’d passed through customs, she was gone. Just as well. The girl was driving me insane, the last thing I needed right now.
The sun was still in the mid-spring sky when I crashed in the hotel room, and it was dark when I woke. 3:49 a.m. A little too early to be knocking on someone’s door, especially when I was already the last person they’d want to see. Some people said I was crazy, but I wasn’t stupid. I went for a run then pushed through my sit-up and push-up routine, though I hardly worked up a sweat. Maybe when life returned to normal, I could step up my routine. As if I’d ever have a normal life.
After a shower and breakfast at the hotel’s free buffet of simple carbs that tasted like ass, I searched through my journal for the last known address and plugged it into the rental’s navigation system. It wasn’t even nine a.m. when I pulled up in front of the small, one-story house. After a long pep talk, I forced myself out of the car and up the walk to the door. Jabbed the doorbell button. Again. And again. Pounded on the door with my fist because I couldn’t hear if the doorbell worked. Nothing. The curtains were pulled tight against the windows, so there was no telling if anyone moved around inside.