by Wendy Wang
“Oh yeah.” Charlie nodded. “It's gonna have to get bad first, but I definitely think she'll call.”
“Good. Till then I'm gonna keep looking.”
“I wouldn't expect anything else.” Charlie touched her hand to her stomach. And it almost growled on command. “Now I believe it's your turn to buy me some dinner, isn't it?”
He made an indignant noise in the back of his throat but his lips curved into a half-grin. “No. It’s your turn.”
“No way. You ate free at the café the other day.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t you paying, that was Jen.”
She shrugged. “Same difference. Now where are you taking me?”
Jason’s mouth stretched into a Cheshire cat grin. “How ‘bout a Happy Meal at McDonald's?” Charlie made a sad face and Jason laughed. “All right, you win. We’re not that far from Shem Creek. Want some seafood?”
“Sure,” Charlie said and hopped into her car.
Chapter 11
The next morning, Charlie parked her little blue Honda on the concrete pad next to the white mobile home where Trini’s mother now lived.
Charlie opened the file folder, ran her finger over the original address that Elena Dolan had given when she filed a missing person report in 1977. She and her daughter had been living in a small house on Palmetto Island.
Charlie took a small pad of Post-it notes from her purse and wrote herself a note to run by the property where they originally lived. Sometimes spirits went home, especially if they didn't realize they were dead. Even though Trini knew she was dead, it might be worth a shot. Charlie closed the file folder and tucked it into the quilted tote that Bunny had made for her when she left for college. She had recently found it when unpacking her things and couldn't remember why she had stopped using it.
Charlie got out of the car and glanced around the mobile home park. All the homes looked clean with neatly kept yards. Two boys on bicycles rode by laughing and yelling at each other. She walked up the steps to the small deck and knocked on the metal door. A moment later the face of an elderly woman with short curly white hair and cloudy blue eyes appeared in the diamond-shaped window.
“Who is it?” the elderly woman asked, her voice muffled.
Charlie called up her most reassuring customer service smile. “Ms. Dolan, my name is Charlie Payne. We spoke on the phone, remember?”
“Oh yes.” Ms. Dolan nodded.
Charlie heard the clicking of locks and finally the door opened. The elderly woman stepped back so Charlie could pass.
The stale smell of cigarette smoke and fried food assaulted Charlie's senses, coating the back of her throat as she breathed. The dark brown paneling combined with the brown plaid couch and coordinating tan chair that took up most of the space in the small living room made Charlie claustrophobic. She watched the bright sunny day disappear as the old woman closed to door. Charlie took a deep breath and faced her.
“Thank you so much for seeing me. I know you spoke to Lieutenant Tate. Did he explain what it is I do?”
“Please take a seat.” Ms. Dolan guided her toward the couch. “All he said was that you sometimes help out on cold cases.”
“Yes, I do.” Charlie took a seat on the couch, and Ms. Dolan sat in the chair. By the look of it, it was her regular seat. A blue plastic ashtray filled nearly to the brim with ashes and cigarette butts was next to the arm of the chair. A sweaty glass of tea with half melted ice sat on a cork coaster. The television was tuned to a talk show. Ms. Dolan picked up the remote control and clicked it off.
“So, that nice young man said that you would want to see some pictures of Trini if you could.”
“Yes, that would be very helpful.”
Ms. Dolan leaned forward, grunting a little as she reached for two heavy photo albums on the bottom shelf of her coffee table. She placed them in front of Charlie and leaned back in her chair, panting. “Every picture I have of her is in here. I also clipped all the newspaper articles they did about her when she went missing and put them in there too.”
“Do you mind if I —” Charlie pointed to the album on top.
“Not at all. Please help yourself. Can I get you something to drink? Some water or some iced tea?”
Charlie smiled. “Iced tea would be wonderful, thank you.”
The elderly woman got to her feet and headed toward the small kitchen.
Charlie sat back on the couch pulling the album onto her lap. She flipped open the first page and touched her hand to the photos protected by plastic pockets. Almost immediately, images danced through her head. Trini as a baby. Trini taking her first step in a different place with a green shaggy carpet under chubby baby feet. Charlie turned the page and there was Trini on the banana seated blue bike. She wore the same rainbow shirts she was wearing when Charlie met her.
Charlie started to turn the page when something dropped onto the photo. It landed on the plastic and Charlie stared at it for a moment unsure if what she was seeing was real or not. She touched her index finger to it and pulled it back, surprised that it felt so warm. She squeezed the red liquid between her thumb and forefinger. It was sticky. Another drop fell onto the photograph drawing Charlie's eyes up to the ceiling. She could find no obvious source. She glanced at the elderly woman who was pouring iced tea into glasses and arranging cookies from a tin on a plate. She wiped the blood on her jeans and a stain appeared. Would laundry detergent get out ghostly bloodstains?
Carefully Charlie fished the photograph from its protective sleeve. Trini sat on her bicycle at the end of a paved driveway. Behind her was a cul-de-sac and across the road was a trim split level house with a Buick parked in the driveway. Another drop of blood fell from the ceiling landing on the partial view of a shed peeking out from behind the house. The thick red liquid seeped into the faded matte paper, soaking the shed and warping the image.
A pebble formed in Charlie's throat, and she could hear blood rushing through her ears. She looked up and opened her mouth to apologize to Ms. Dolan for somehow ruining the picture. Ms. Dolan placed a glass of tea on the table in front of Charlie and glanced over her shoulder. “I took that the morning she disappeared.”
“Where is this?” Charlie asked.
“That's at the old house. I lived there till hurricane Hugo hit. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you know, just in case she came home. But an old oak fell on the house during that storm and I lost everything I had. Those photographs were about the only thing I was able to save. Then I moved here. Been here ever since.”
“Do you ever go back?”
“No, I don't really drive much anymore. I did stop by once after the new owners took the property. They razed the house and put a great big new house on the land. I left one of the fliers that I had made of Trini and asked them to call me if she ever showed up.” The elderly woman sat in her chair. She took a sip of her watered-down tea. Her cloudy blue eyes swam in tears that didn’t fall. She cleared her throat. “They never did call.”
“I'm so sorry Ms. Dolan. Do you mind if I borrow this picture? I promise I'll be really careful with it.”
The woman smiled, her face a relief map of wrinkles and sorrow. “Sure. That’s fine. I’ve looked them over so many times, they’re burned into my memory now.”
Charlie had to plug the address to Trini Dolan’s old house into the GPS app on her phone to find the place. The cul-de-sac had changed a lot in the years since the picture was taken, but the split-level house across the street from the Dolan’s former residence was still there. It was no longer pale green with dark green shutters. It had been painted a crisp white with black shutters and a red door. The shed, which she could see once she pulled her car around the circle and parked, was still there too, and it had been painted white to match the house. Charlie pulled a small pair of binoculars from her purse to get a better look at the shed. The black door had a padlock on the top and bottom. What could be in there that required so much security? Despite its updated paint and the bright yellow
mums in planters on the front porch, a dark energy emanated from this place. Being this close to it made her skin thrum with awareness.
Charlie watched as a young woman emerged through the front door. She was slight in height and her dark brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the base of her head. She wore blue scrubs and comfortable tennis shoes. A stethoscope dangled from around her neck. She stopped on the porch and pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it inside her messenger bag before heading to the silver Prius in the driveway. She got into the car, backed out into the street, and drove past Charlie's car without even a second glance her way. Did the young woman live there? Or was she treating the owner? Charlie pulled the picture of the house that Mrs. Dolan had let her borrow from her purse and touched her fingers to it. There was no way to know if whoever lived in this house when Trini disappeared even still lived here. Thirty-five years was a long time and people came and went. People died every day. Still the shed was padlocked. It had to mean something, didn't it?
A flash of blue from the corner of Charlie’s eye startled her out of her thoughts, and she quickly found the source. A girl with long blonde pigtails rode past her car on a bicycle, rounded the cul-de-sac, and then headed back up the street.
Charlie pulled her phone from the front pocket of her purse and dashed off a quick text to Jason.
I met with Trini Dolan’s mother today. We need to talk.
As she waited for an answer, her chest filled with cold dread and impatience. The child on the bicycle made another pass by her car, closer this time, following the same path as before. Her pale blonde pigtails floated behind her as if caught in a heavy wind. Charlie glanced at the trees in the neighborhood. There was no wind, and the child didn’t appear to be going that fast. Charlie drew her attention back to the silent phone.
“Come on. Text me back.”
Two more times the child passed her. Charlie pressed the window button in her car door and the motor hummed as the window retracted. “Hey!”
The girl stopped her bike and threw a look over her shoulder.
“Do you live around here?” Charlie asked.
The child glanced around. Before bringing her gaze back to Charlie. She nodded her head.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Charlie asked.
“I'm not supposed to talk to strangers,” the girl said.
Charlie smiled and an image of Tom popped into her head. She’d said something similar to him.
“No. You're right. That's a good thing,” Charlie said. “Thank you anyway.”
The child turned her bicycle around and pedaled back stopping several feet away from Charlie's car—out of arm's reach.
“Are you lost?” the girl asked.
“Not really. I was just wondering if you knew who lived in that house?” Charlie asked pointing to the split-level.
The child's gaze followed the line of Charlie's finger, and she stared at it for a long time before a visible shiver shook her little body.
“Are you all right?” Charlie asked.
“The monster lives there.” The girl’s hollow, high-pitched voice settled over Charlie’s skin like a cold fog. Charlie stared at the child with a different set of eyes. The girl wore denim shorts and a pink t-shirt. Her pale skin was almost translucent.
“Dammit,” Charlie muttered to herself. Of course.
“How long has it been since anybody's talk to you?”
The child whipped her head around and fixed her eyes on Charlie. “I don't know. I don't remember.”
“What's your name?” Charlie asked.
“Missy. What's yours?”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie's a boy's name,” the girl scoffed.
Charlie smiled. “It's short for Charlotte. But my family calls me Charlie. Missy, who is the monster?”
“Old Mr. Hatch. He poisoned my dog.”
“Why did he do that?” Charlie asked, horrified at the idea.
The girl shrugged one shoulder. “Isn’t that what monsters do? Kill things?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said softly. “I guess it is.”
“He told my brother that if Lady got into his garbage one more time he would kill her. Then we found her dead one day on the lawn.”
“I'm sorry, honey. How long has Mr. Hatch lived there?”
“Longer than us.”
“I appreciate you talking to me. Is there . . . anything you'd like me to tell someone? Maybe your mom? Or dad?”
The girl shook her head. “I have to go now. He's awake.”
“Who's awake?” Charlie asked.
The child took off without answering. She sped down the street toward the end of the cul-de-sac before making a hard left into the yard of the split-level house. Charlie watched as the child and her bicycle flickered, like it was just a bad video. A glitch in the system. The child stood up pushing herself harder and completely disappeared into the wall of the padlocked shed.
Charlie's breath caught in her throat and blood thundered through her ears.
The phone vibrated in her hand, and she let out a little scream, dropping it into her lap. She reached for it and knocked it onto the floorboard.
“Shit,” she muttered and bent down to grab it.
Jason’s text read: Where do you want to meet? When?
The Kitchen Witch. ASAP.
Okay. See you in a bit.
Charlie cast one more look at the house and shed. She needed something concrete to give Jason. Something other than a ghost girl disappearing into the shed. He would believe her, but it wouldn't be enough. Warrants took actual evidence. Maybe he could give her some ideas, though, on how to get the evidence he needed so they could search the property. She didn’t know or care how they made it happen. All she knew was she needed to get into that house. Needed to come face-to-face with the monster.
“Blood?” Jason said, his expression a cross between disgust and incredulity. “Can I see?”
Charlie frowned and pulled the picture from her purse. She pushed it across the table toward him. “You probably won't be able to see it.”
Jason picked up the photograph and studied it. “Well, you're right about that. You say this shed had three padlocks on it?”
“Yep.”
“Charlie, there's no law against somebody padlocking their shed. Especially in this area. There's a decent amount of crime. Maybe they've had lawn mowers or dirt bikes or whatever stolen and this is just their way of being cautious.”
“I know but—there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I met another girl today.”
“What do you mean another girl?”
“I mean while I was looking at this house,” Charlie leaned forward and lowered her voice, “A little girl on a bicycle rode past me. And she was dead.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I did. Only I didn't realize she was dead at first. She seemed – more solid. It didn't really strike me as strange until I realized she was wearing short-sleeves and shorts.”
“So?”
“It's only 62 degrees today. I wouldn't have let Evan wear shorts. Even though he'd argue.”
“All right, well, maybe her mother's not as good a mother as you are.”
“I asked her who lived in that house and she told me the monster. She told me he killed her dog.”
“Did she tell you her name?”
“Missy. No last name.” Charlie fiddled with the paper napkin. “Sorry.”
Jason's lips pressed into a flat line and he blew a breath out through his nostrils making them flare. “Anything else you can tell me about her?”
Charlie sighed and shook her head. “Not really. She was maybe ten. Blonde hair. Pigtails. Blue eyes. I think. Oh and she rode into that shed behind his house.”
“The monster's house?” Jason said his voice full of skepticism
“She said his na
me was Mr. Hatch.”
“Well, at least that's something.” Jason took out his notepad from his front breast pocket and scribbled down the name. “Do you have the address?”
Charlie nodded and rattled off the street number and name. He wrote it down and snapped the cover of the small notebook closed. He shifted in his seat, his lips tugging downward into a frown.
“What's wrong?” She asked.
“Nothing's wrong,” he said.
“Must be really uncomfortable sitting there with your pants on fire.” She challenged him. He blew out another heavy breath through his nose and clenched his jaw. “What?”
“Nothing exactly, I just—I got called in to my boss’s office this morning. That's all,” he said.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just—unless we can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that this case you’ve stumbled upon is somehow tied to Macy Givens, I've got to let it go.”
“Why?”
“Because it's a thirty-five-year-old case. And as my boss ever so gently reminded me today, I have more pressing priorities than a thirty-five-year-old cold case.”
“Macy Givens is a cold case.”
“I know but Macy Givens is my cold case. Trini Dolan's isn't and neither is Missy no-name. I don't mean to sound harsh or—” The hand he had resting on the table clinched into a fist. “He's giving me a hard time about the Givens case and about Haley Miller's case. The medical examiner hasn't signed off on it yet because they're still waiting for results of a full tox screen. But based on the evidence we have, it looks like an accident and that's the way my boss wants me to treat it. So, unless you have something new to offer, something real.”
“Real,” Charlie scoffed and sat back hard against the cushion of the booth. She crossed her arms and frowned.
“Okay, tangible then. Physical. Then he wants me to spend less time on the Givens case.”
Charlie gritted her teeth. “You're the one who asked me to help you. This is the kind of help I can give you.”
“I know. And it's not that I don't believe you. I do. But —”