Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  She inched her hand along the wall toward the light switch. Eventually, she felt it with her fingertips. She flicked it on and peered around the edge of the door into the kitchen. Across the kitchen, near the small table and the sliding door that led out to the backyard, she could see the source of the crash she’d heard earlier—a flowerpot stand near the sliding door had toppled over, and shattered pottery and dirt were strewn across the kitchen floor.

  Rebecca could also see the source of the tapping noise—the cords used to open and close the blinds of the sliding door were hitting the wall where they hung next to the door. The door, which she knew she had closed and locked earlier, was now wide open. A breeze was pouring in through the blinds and moving the cords in and out.

  Rebecca looked back at her mother. She silently motioned for her mother to follow her into the kitchen. The two moved slowly into the now brightly lit room. Diane noticed the broken flowerpots and dirt on the floor, but said nothing.

  To the right of the sliding door and table were the two other doors in the room—one of them leading downstairs and the other to the garage. Both doors were closed, and from where she stood, Rebecca could see that the deadbolt on the door leading to the garage was turned and locked—exactly as she’d left it earlier in the evening. The door leading to the basement had a security latch on it, and though Rebecca had installed it when she first moved into the house, she seldom used it, and it remained unlatched. Rebecca quietly led her mother toward the door to the garage, pausing just long enough to set the latch on the basement door as they passed by. Rebecca then unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door leading to the garage. She turned on the light; nothing looked disturbed. Her bike was exactly where she’d left it leaning against the wall when she’d come home. She and Diane stepped into the garage, carefully closing the door behind them before stepping over to the bike.

  Rebecca unzipped the carrying bag on the bike and grabbed her cell phone. “Uh, what’s the sheriff’s number?” asked Rebecca, still whispering to her mother.

  “We don’t need the regular number,” said Diane impatiently. “Just dial nine-one-one. This is an emergency, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Just as Rebecca started to make the call, there came another crashing sound from behind the door they had just come out, and then the distinct sound of the deadbolt being set on the door to the garage—someone had just locked them in the garage.

  Diane and Rebecca looked at each other, both frozen with fear, though Diane managed to bring her hand up and cover her mouth. They stood silently for a moment, not knowing what to do. Finally, Diane pointed at the cell phone and whispered, “Call!”

  Her hand trembling, Rebecca punched the emergency number into her cell phone.

  “Cottonwood dispatch,” said a woman’s voice.

  In a frantic but distinguishable whisper, Rebecca said, “This is Rebecca D’Arcy. Someone’s in my house…they’ve locked my mother and me in the garage…please, send someone out here right away.”

  “Okay, calm down, Rebecca. This is Helen Prentiss,” said the dispatcher. “How are you locked in? Can you open the garage door?”

  “Maybe,” answered Rebecca as she looked over toward the garage door button next to the door into the house. She then quickly turned, opened her car door, reached in, and grabbed the garage door remote control unit. “I have the opener in my hand.”

  “Get out of there if you can,” said Helen, “and away from the house.”

  Rebecca pushed the button, and the garage door began to go up. Rebecca motioned her mother toward the opening door, and the two quickly moved out of the garage and into the dark silent night.

  “Okay, we’re outside,” said Rebecca into the phone.

  “And you’re moving away from the house?”

  “Yes…but where should we go?”

  “Just head down the street…I’m making a call to the sheriff’s after-hours emergency number. Stay calm. Are you and your mother hurt in any way?”

  Rebecca looked at her mother. “No, we’re fine, just shaken up.”

  “All right, I’m going to put you on hold for a moment while I speak with the sheriff’s office. Don’t hang up.”

  The connection went silent for a few moments. The two ladies had walked rapidly and were now nearly a block down the street. They had both looked back several times to see if they were being followed. The street was empty.

  “What’s happening?!” asked Diane, after Rebecca had paused the phone conversation.

  “It was Helen Prentiss. She’s calling the sheriff’s office.”

  “Where are we supposed to be going?!”

  “She just said to get away from the house.”

  When they were nearly two blocks away and approaching a streetlight, Helen Prentiss came back on the line.

  “Rebecca,” she said, “Deputy Sparky is on his way. They don’t have a car that works yet, but he’s coming on a bike as fast as he can. He should be there in a few minutes. Where are you right now?”

  “We’re near the corner of Fifth and Madison,” said Rebecca.

  “Are you able to see your house from there?” asked Helen.

  Rebecca looked back down the street. “It’s dark but, yes, just barely.”

  “Good. Stay where you’re at now, and keep your eye on the house. If anyone comes your way, go to a neighbor’s house right away. I’m going to put you back on hold for just a moment while I let Deputy Sparky know exactly where you are.”

  The line went silent again.

  “Sparky is on the way,” Rebecca said to her mother, while stopping under the streetlight. “Helen said stay here and wait for him—and keep an eye toward the house.”

  “My god, what’s going on?!” asked Diane as the two ladies turned around to look back down the darkened street toward the house. They were now on the opposite side of the street.

  “I don’t know, I think it—” began Rebecca, but Helen came back on the line.

  “Okay, Sparky knows where you are, and he’ll be there very soon,” said Helen. “I’m going to stay on the line until he arrives. Are you sure you’re both okay?”

  “Thanks, Helen, I think we’re fine. Just a little shook up…and a bit chilly.”

  Rebecca suddenly realized she was trembling while standing outside in nothing but her underpants and a T-shirt. Her mother, though barefooted, was fully dressed, as she had fallen asleep in her clothes. For the first time, Rebecca also noticed her mother was holding a softball bat that she must have grabbed from the garage at some point. The neighborhood was completely silent except for the sounds of a few barking dogs coming from the general direction of Rebecca’s house. She knew her neighbors behind her owned a few.

  “Do you have any idea who it was? Did you get a look at them?” asked Helen.

  “No, I was in my bedroom and heard a noise, and mom said someone touched her while she was asleep on the couch in the living room. I tried to use the regular phone, but it was dead, so I went to the garage to get my cell phone, and that’s when someone locked us in.”

  “That’s sounds very frightening, dear. How’s your mother holding up?”

  Rebecca looked over at her mother who was tightly gripping the softball bat and keeping a close watch for any movement in their direction. “I think she’s doing pretty well,” said Rebecca. “It takes a lot to rattle her. She’s holding one of my softball bats and looks ready to use it. I think someone would end up on the losing end if they tried to mess with her right now.”

  “She always could take care of herself,” replied Helen. “Just make sure Sparky doesn’t startle her. I hate to think what a mess that would be!”

  Rebecca couldn’t laugh at the remark but knew Helen was only trying to make conversation to keep her calm. “I’ll make sure she uses the bat on the right person, if they’re foolish enough to come her way.” Rebecca said this loud enough so her mother could hear, and Diane turned and gave a nod and strained smile.

  “Well, this is an odd t
ime to mention it,” said Helen, “but as long as things seem to be calming down, I did want to say congratulations.”

  “For what?” asked Rebecca.

  “For your engagement, of course,” said Helen. “You know you can’t keep that a secret for long here in Cottonwood.”

  The previous day at work flashed through Rebecca’s mind—she thought of Blue Clair kissing her ring, of Dr. Reese’s congratulations, and of Eddie’s dark response. “Oh,” said Rebecca finally, “you’re right, there are no secrets in Cottonwood, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m so happy for you, dear,” said Helen. “Is this a young man I might know?”

  Rebecca was certain that Helen knew Matthew, as the dispatcher had lived in Cottonwood all of her life. But what else had the gossip circuit told Helen, especially now that Matthew was in jail?

  “Uh…possibly,” replied Rebecca. “It’s not something I’d like to talk about right now.”

  “Okay, I understand, and I won’t pry,” said Helen, “but there aren’t many men your age left around this town. I have a strong suspicion about who the lucky man is, but I’ll just wait like everyone else to see if I’m right.”

  Somewhere, in a distant corner of Rebecca’s mind, something was telling her she should have, at that very moment, followed up with Helen’s “strong suspicion,” to make certain there were no misunderstandings, but before she could follow up, a dark form on a bike came riding down Fifth Street into the glow of the streetlight where the two were standing. It was Deputy Sparky.

  “Sparky just arrived,” said Rebecca into her phone. “Thanks for holding on the line, Helen. We’ll call you if you we need anything else. Good night.”

  “Good night, dear. I’m sure everything’s going to be fine,” said Helen. “I’ll look forward to the official announcement of your engagement, and the identity of your mystery fiancé.”

  Before Rebecca could say another word, Helen hung up. With the softball bat only partially lowered, Diane had already walked over to Sparky, who was still on his bike.

  “Seems you ladies have a prowler on your hands, eh?” Sparky asked, his voice relaxed, almost sleepy.

  “This is more than a prowler, Deputy,” said Diane. “They broke into the house, cut the phone wires, and then locked us in the garage!”

  Rebecca noticed that Sparky was suddenly eyeing her. She moved partially behind her mother so that his view of her minimal clothing could be somewhat blocked.

  “This is very serious, Sparky!” said Rebecca.

  “I’m sure it is,” replied Sparky, glancing at the softball bat Diane was holding. “I think you’ll both be fine in waiting here. If my patrol car was working, I’d have you sit inside it, but all I have is this bike. I’m going to ride down to your house and have a look around. Which doors are unlocked that you know of?”

  “I think just the back sliding patio door,” said Rebecca, “and the garage door.”

  Sparky nodded and turned to leave, but Diane stopped him. “Do you want to take this with you?” she said holding out the bat.

  “No, you keep it for now. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes—but if I’m not, call Helen for me, okay?”

  Rebecca nodded as Sparky headed down the street, and though it was hard to clearly make out his form in the darkness, the two ladies could see him rest his bike on the lawn of the house next to Rebecca’s and then move toward her house. He appeared to go in the garage for a moment and then came back out and went out of sight toward the backyard.

  “I never thought I’d be so happy to see Sparky,” said Rebecca.

  “Me neither,” said Diane. “He may not always appear to be the sharpest tool in the box, but he’s dedicated and brave. You’ve got to say that for him.”

  After about ten minutes or so, Sparky came back to where the two women were waiting. As he approached, Rebecca once again positioned herself so that her mother partially blocked her from Sparky’s full gaze.

  “Well, you definitely had someone in your house,” said Sparky, “and whoever it was knocked over some things in your kitchen. It appears they somehow broke into your house through the basement.”

  “Through the basement?!” asked Rebecca. “How do you know that?”

  “The door frame and latch to the basement door have been broken off. I figure they must have come up from the basement and broken in through that door.”

  Rebecca looked at Diane. “That must have been the sound we heard when we were in the garage! The prowler must have been in the basement as we passed through the kitchen!” Rebecca looked back at Sparky. “I’m not sure your theory is right. They must have already been in the house when I latched the basement door on the way to the garage. I think I might have locked them in the basement—and rather than breaking in, they broke back out of there.”

  “That sounds right to me as well,” agreed Diane.

  “Well, I guess maybe that’s why I didn’t find any open windows in the basement,” said Sparky. “That fact was puzzling me, but now that you’ve just explained it, it does make sense. I looked at the latch on the patio door, and it appears that it could pop open with a little jiggling. I guess he must have come in the sliding door on the patio. I found it wide open.”

  “I never lock the patio door but am certain I locked it earlier tonight—though it did take a few tries,” said Rebecca. “But you just said ‘he’ rather than ‘they.’ Are you now sure it was a man?”

  “I found some footprints in your garden out back,” said Sparky. “They look fresh and are good-sized prints—like a man’s. It looks like he both arrived and departed your backyard by jumping the fence from your neighbor’s yard.”

  “So you searched the whole house and didn’t find anything else?” asked Rebecca.

  “Helen told me you said the phone line was cut, but I didn’t see any obvious cuts anywhere. I tried the phone and got a dial tone.”

  “That’s odd,” said Rebecca, glancing at her mother and then back to Sparky. “The line was dead. I know I couldn’t call out. That’s why we went to the garage for my cell phone.”

  “When I was down there, I noticed a phone in your basement. Your intruder could have blocked you from calling by having that phone off the hook. Anyway, there’s definitely no one in your house now, and besides the damage in your kitchen, nothing else looked disturbed. I did notice you had a candle burning in your bedroom. That’s pretty unsafe when no one’s around, so I went ahead and blew it out for you.”

  Rebecca looked at her mother but realized she had no hint of what the candle meant. Rebecca felt sick inside. “Thanks,” was all she could manage.

  “I’ll need to come back tomorrow to dust for some fingerprints,” said Sparky, “so could you two maybe stay somewhere else for the rest of the night? Just so nothing happens to mess up whatever prints are there.”

  “We can stay at my house,” said Diane.

  “Is it all right that I at least go in and get some clothes and a few other items?” asked Rebecca.

  “Sure,” said Sparky. “I’ll go with you. Just try not to touch too much—especially around the sliding door in the kitchen. I’ve left it open, so as not to disturb any prints. We’ll just leave it that way for tonight. I’m sure your prowler won’t be back.”

  Sparky rode his bike slowly along side of Diane and Rebecca as the trio went back to the house. Sparky stayed in the living room with Diane, as Rebecca went to her room to get fully dressed. As Rebecca entered her bedroom, she stopped just inside the doorway. “Mom,” she called out, “could you come in here for a moment, please?”

  Sparky remained in the living room as Diane joined Rebecca and found her staring at the lit candle on her bedside table.

  “Didn’t Sparky say he blew out the candle in my bedroom?”

  “I think that’s what he said,” replied Diane, now also staring at the lit candle. “But that’s Sparky for you. I told you he’s not the sharpest. But you’d figure he could at least blow out a candle.”

  “
Yes,” said Rebecca, continuing to stare. “You’d figure that.”

  As her mother sat on the bed, Rebecca quickly dressed, gathered some additional clothes and other personal items, and stuffed them into her backpack. She then handed the backpack to her mother and picked up the burning candle.

  “I’m sure you’ll do a better job of blowing it out than Sparky did,” said Diane as she watched her daughter.

  After a pause and not looking at her mother but at the candle, Rebecca replied, “No, I’m sure I won’t. I’m taking it with us to your house.”

  “Lit?” asked Diane.

  “Yes.”

  The two rejoined Sparky in the living room. “Why’d you relight that,” he asked, watching Rebecca carefully carrying the candle toward the front door.

  “It means something to me,” was all Rebecca said, too tired to explain that she hadn’t relit it.

  The three left the house and stopped long enough for Sparky to get back on his bike. “I’ll escort you to Diane’s house, if that’s okay with the two of you.”

  Neither Diane nor Rebecca was about to complain, and the three headed toward Diane’s through the quiet of Cottonwood. They spoke very little as they walked along, Diane carrying Rebecca’s backpack and the softball bat, and Rebecca carrying only the tiny candle. Rebecca kept one hand cupped slightly over the top of the cobalt blue candleholder, blocking any breeze from extinguishing the tiny flame inside. Part of her was completely certain that even if a breeze somehow did put out the candle, it would relight itself.

  When they arrived at Diane’s, Sparky stopped at the curb. “I’ll be leaving you now, ladies, but if you need anything, just call dispatch again.”

  Rebecca thought for a moment; she did need something. “Thanks, Sparky,” she said. “You’ve been so helpful tonight, but there is one last thing. I found out that the sheriff is going to let me visit Matthew Duncan tomorrow—or, I guess, later on today. How early can I come by to visit?”

  Sparky stared at Rebecca in the darkness for a moment and then spoke plainly, without emotion, “The office officially opens at seven o’clock, but visiting hours normally aren’t until eight. You’ll need to call first, to make an appointment for your exact visitation time.” Sparky paused before adding, “I still don’t understand why you want to see him. Hell, if I didn’t know, for a fact, that he was safe and secure in his little cell right now, I’d suspect it was Matthew who broke into your house tonight.”