by Ray Garton
"H'lo, sir," she said. "Anything I can do for you?"
The baby gave him a loud, wet raspberry.
Oh, well; it was the best he'd gotten so far.
He smiled, told her who he was, and what he wanted.
"Well, I ... I dunno if I could tell y'anything I ain't already said. The other reporters, y'know, they come by a couple-three times askin' questions an' a'course the police was crawlin' all over the place askin' all kinds of questions and, well, I couldn't tell 'em nothin'. So I'm real sorry, but I don't know how I could help you." A dog began to bark in the house.
"Well, how about giving it a try?" he asked hopefully. "Who knows, I just might ask a question that the others didn't."
She shrugged and grinned again. "Well, tha's fine with me, long as you don't think I'm wastin' your time."
The baby belched.
He turned on his recorder. Her name was Suzie Bastino. Bent asked all the typical questions — where were you that day, what kind of things were you doing, do you remember seeing anyone at all strange around the neighborhood the day the boy disappeared, that sort of thing — then went into the more delicate questions about what kind of people did the Walkers seem to be, did she have any reason to think someone was angry with the Walkers ... all that stuff.
But he got nothing.
He kept trying, pounding his brain for something new, a fresh angle, until she finally tried to bring it to an end.
"Look, like I told you, I din' see nothin' strange in this neighborhood that day, I don' even know them people. But I sure do feel awful bad for 'em. Seem like real nice folks." She reached up with her free hand and absently fingered the simple silver crucifix she was wearing around her neck as she frowned briefly, glancing in the direction of the Walker house. "Yeah, I'm 'fraid the only strange thing I ever did see 'round this neighborhood was that dark car with the funny cross."
Bent had already turned off the recorder but hit the button again instantly. "I-I'm sorry? What did you say?"
"I was talkin' about that car drivin' around here, little slow, sometimes."
"B-but I thought you said you didn't see anything strange in the neighborhood that day." He was trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt.
"Wasn't on that day, tha's why I din' say nothin' about it."
The baby gurgled, then made a noise like a duck. It had begun to pick at the delicate chain holding the crucifix around Suzie Bastino's neck.
Bent took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "Okay, then, Mrs. Bastino — "
"Miss Bastino."
"Miss Bastino, I need you to reach back and try to recall everything you can about that black car." He realized he'd been standing on that porch for a long time and wondered if it would be pushing it to ask to go inside. He tried it, being very polite.
Suzie Bastino's eyes narrowed suspiciously and she took a cautious step back.
The baby gurgled, "Gee-wee-phpheee!"
"No, no, it's okay, this is fine, really, Miss Bastino, we can just stand right here. If, um, in fact, if there's something you have to do, I could just, um, wait out here until you're done."
"Well, it's not that I think you'd do somethin' bad or nothin', I just never liked invitin' total strangers into my house, y' unnerstand?"
"Perfectly. That's fine."
" 'Fact, my black Lab Horsefly'd prob'ly send you outta here singin' soprano, so it prob'ly wouldn't be a good idea anyway." She said it so casually, but there was something in her eyes, the glint of lifelong paranoia. "I'm sorry."
"No problem at all," he said, grinning. "Then let's talk about that black car."
"Well, nothin' really unusual 'bout it, 'cept that I never seen it around here before. That wasn't so bad, really, lossa people drive through here by mistake, sometimes, I guess." She frowned. "But then, this car come back the next day, see, 'bout the same time, maybe early afternoon, like two or so, maybe, so I watched a little closer. I noticed it drive real slow sometimes, slowin' down like he was lookin' for a house, or somethin'. Maybe he was there to visit whoever he ended up visitin' the day before ... 'cept I remembered right then that he'd been drivin' the same way the day before ... slow down a little an' creep along, then drive, then slow down awhile. Same way."
"The driver was a man?"
"Oh, wasn't sure, yet. Then a couple days go by and he don't show up. By then, after seein' him that second time, I'd been waitin' for him, even though I figgered there was nothin' to it."
"How long before the Walker boy's disappearance did you see this car?"
"Oh, like I told the police, 'bout a couple weeks or so. Anyway, then he comes again a couple more times and I go out on the front step with the baby, sit down as if it's somethin' we do every day, an' wait. I figgered maybe I get a look at who's inside. Sure enough, he comes and it is a man."
The baby made a sound like a toy motorboat, still fingering the chain around Suzie Bastino's neck.
"What kind of car was it?"
"Um, prob'ly a Mustang, I think. An older one, like from the seventies. I know 'cause my brother used to drive one just like it when I was just a li'l girl, an' it was pretty new back then. This one was black. A flat, dirty kinda color, no shine to it, like it needed a real washin'."
"And the man, what did he look like? Was he white, black, Hispanic ... what?"
She frowned. "Well, "I only got a good 'nuf look at his head to see he was a white man and tha's about it."
"What color hair?"
She shrugged. "Somethin' dark. With a little round bald spot top his head."
"Could you tell if he was wearing glasses?"
"If he was, I don' 'member it."
The dog barked inside again, then growled a little, sounding closer to the door.
Bent glanced cautiously over her right shoulder, then asked, "What was that you said earlier about a cross? A 'funny cross,' you called it?"
"Yeah. I only spotted it that last time I saw him. Swingin' from his mirror. Just saw it for a second. Wasn't very big, an' it was hangin’ from the rearview mirror, swingin' back and forth there." She made the motion with her forefinger.
"What was funny about it?"
"Y'know," she said sheepishly, covering her eyes with her hand for a moment and bowing her head, as if she was embarrassed, "I know this's gonna sound stupid, but ... I just don't know." She removed her hand and, still smiling, frowned at him. "I just can't figger it out. I didn't get a real good look at it, what with it movin' like that, but there was somethin' ... different about it. Somethin' about it ... well, it kinda give me the creeps. I just don't know what."
"You say you saw it only that one time, very briefly, and that it was very small. How could you be sure it was a cross?"
" 'Cause ... well, it just was. I mean, it's a pretty obvious shape, y'know."
"A cross like that one? A crucifix?" He nodded toward the one around her neck.
She touched the crucifix, noticed the baby was pulling on the chain, and patted the tiny hand away. Suzie Bastino pulled the crucifix away from her chest, turned it upright and looked down at it. "Well, yeah, it was a cross like this ... She frowned at it a moment, then: "Sort of. A little bigger, prob'ly." She let go of the crucifix and shook her head. "I jus' can't figger out what was so different 'bout it."
The baby began to pull on the chain again.
Bent bit his lower lip a moment. "Did you happen to get the license number?"
She shook her head.
"Were there any bumper stickers on the car, or decals, anything on the antenna?"
"Not that I noticed. Shoot, I barely noticed that cross, an' tha's been buggin' me ever since, an' I don't even know why."
The baby went into a fit fidgeting and flailed its stubby arms making sudden loud but playful noises, then began to tug on the chain again, quietly.
She tapped the baby's hand again. "You jus' cut that out, now, y'hear?"
"Have you told the police about the cross?"
"Yeah. They weren't all th
at innersted, but they wrote it down. They were more innersted in what th'man looked like an' I kept tellin' 'em, I didn't see what he looked like. But they jus' kept askin' again and again, till they seemed to get tired of it an' jus' went away, didn't come back."
Bent thought some more, wondering where to go from there, but he couldn't come up with anything ... not for now, at least. He turned off the recorder, reached into his jacket pocket, removed a small card and pen, and wrote something on the back of the card. It was one of the Lamplighter Inn's business cards; he'd taken the whole stack from the front desk.
"Tell you what, Miss Bastino," he said, handing her the card, "I'm staying at the Lamplighter Inn just a few blocks from here. I'm going to be around for a while. That's my name and room number on the back. If you think of anything, any — "
" — anything at all, I be sure an' give you a call, right? Yeah, tha's jus' what the police said."
"I'm sure they did, Miss Bastino. But remember, I'm not the police."
"Well, tell you th'truth, whole lotta people 'round here wish you were the police. You reporters sure get there first, if y'know what I mean." She laughed. "Seems like the reporters're always here b'fore the police. It's easier to get on TV than it is to keep y'own chile safe these days." She lifted the card and smiled at him. "Yeah, Mr. Noble, I'll be sure an' give you a call, I think of anything, 'kay?"
"I'd appreciate that very much, Miss Bastino. Thank you for your time."
"Oh, tha's no problem at all, nice talkin' t'ya."
Bent glanced once at the baby — still tugging on that little chain — then nodded and turned, started down the narrow, cracked walkway, deciding he should probably give this up for the time being and go grocery shopping when Suzie Bastino cried out. He spun around and saw her clutching her chest, and for an instant he thought she was having a heart attack.
He was hurrying back to her when she snapped, "Why you go an' do that for, huh?"
Bent realized that the baby had broken the chain and the crucifix had fallen off, because Suzie Bastino hunched over and began scanning the broken and cracked porch.
"Let me help you," Bent said, searching each step as he made his way up, looking into the cracks.
"They it is," she said, pointing to the front corner of the porch.
Bent spotted it, reached for it, then Suzie Bastino gasped with shock. He looked up at her as she continued to point at the crucifix, mouth gaping.
"Tha's it," she whispered.
"What?"
"Tha's the cross in the car."
He looked back and forth between them, settling on her shocked eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, tha's it!"
He thought for a moment that he had wasted some time and tape on a crazy woman.
"Tha's what made that cross in the black car look funny. Thassit!”
He understood then, and leaned closer to the tiny crucifix. "What? What about it?"
"Well ... that," she said emphatically, stabbing a finger it.
Bent realized then that, from where she stood, the cross was upside down.
He snapped the recorder on. "You mean the cross looked like this when it was hanging from the rearview mirror of the black car, Miss Bastino?"
"Yeah, tha's it. It musta been hangin’ upside down."
"You're sure it was — "
"I'm positive! 'Sbeen naggin' at me for a couple months, now, 'cause I couldn't figger out what wasn't right about that cross, but tha's it. Yeah, that cross was hangin' upside down."
He picked it up and handed it to her.
"And the cross was always hanging from the rearview mirror? Every time you saw the car?" he asked.
"If you mean was it the same car I saw ever' time or was I jus' a little confused 'bout the whole thing, yes, it was the same car I saw ever' time."
"I didn't ask if it was the same car, I asked if the cross was hanging there each time."
"Why you so innersted in that cross, Mr. Noble?"
Bent opened his mouth, but said nothing for a moment, just frowned. "Well, I'm not really sure, Miss Bastino. It's hard to tell what's important and what isn't."
"Well, I'm gonna have to go feed my babies, so you take care, now, 'kay?"
"Are you going to tell the police about this, Miss Bastino? About the cross?"
"Don't see why I should. They din't have no innerst then, don't know why they'd wanna hear 'bout it now."
"Thanks again, Miss Bastino."
As he headed back to the car, he realized it was probably nothing he could use, in spite of the obvious blasphemous symbology, but it was the kind of nothing cops creamed their jeans over if they were looking for anything they could get their hands on, and an upside-down cross hanging from the rearview mirror of a car that had been creeping around in the neighborhood could very well prove helpful in ID’ing the possible childnapper's car ... maybe.
And, at that same time, it might be a little nothing he could use. Bergenstern loved stories that involved anything occult or demonic. This might be a shiny little nugget he could toss into the story, just a little something to slightly, if ever so slightly, balance out all that hope and faith crap.
"Cut it out, jeez," he breathed to himself as he got in the car. Something like that would make the story more painful for the Walkers. Adding blasphemy to an already horrible story of a pastor's son disappearing? Cami would've scolded him for having such a thought. Then she'd kiss him, of course.
He drove out of the neighborhood, deciding to go back to the motel, rest a little, clean up, and change, then go in search of a supermarket ...
6
Bent had just drifted into a comforting nap, having set the alarm clock that was bolted to the nightstand to wake him in about ninety minutes when the telephone rang. He sat up frowning, wearing a T-shirt and briefs, and picked up.
"Hello?" he said in a tone that suggested they probably had the wrong number.
"You're in," Coll said.
"In what?"
"I mean, you're back. How come you didn't return my call?"
Bent looked at the telephone. "Well, the red message light isn't blinking." He tapped the telephone a few times, lifted it half an inch from the nightstand, and dropped it. "Okay, it's blinking now. Sorry. High-tech motel, I guess. I didn't know you'd called."
"No problem. I just thought you might like to drive over here after dinner with the Walkers. It's been a while."
"Yeah, that's for sure. The thing is, I don't know how long dinner's going to last, or even where it's going to lead. I may have to come right back here and do some writing."
"Okay, tell you what. I'm just gonna be sitting around here doing some reading — I'm doing a cover quote for a friend's book and I've got to finish the galleys — so when you're done with dinner, give me a call and let me know if you're coming or not. I'm up late, so don't worry about waking me."
"Funny you should mention it. I was just drifting off when you called."
"Oh, sorry. Drift away, we'll talk later."
"Wait, one more thing." Bent frowned, wondering why he'd thought to ask the question, why it had come to him so suddenly. "What do you know about upside-down crosses?"
"What do I know about upside-down crosses?" Coll asked, as if the question were at once confusing and stupid. "Well, that they look better right side up, I suppose. Why, for crying out loud?"
"Oh, it's nothing." Another quick frown. "I think."
"You think? Something I can help you with?"
"Maybe so, I'm not sure. We'll talk later."
Bent lay back down after hanging up, but it wasn't as easy to get to sleep this time.
It was that damned upside-down cross ... or maybe just the idea of it. It wouldn't let go of him. It continued to gnaw at his mind like a rat gnawing at an old wooden beam in somebody's attic. It was so obvious, so ludicrously cliched, that he was sure it was nothing, absolutely not. But he kept going back to it.
He ended up sleeping for about forty minutes, but not very well ...
7
Bent was deft in any kitchen, and once he'd been shown where everything was, he went to work as if he'd been living there for years.
It was one of the things Cami had loved about him, his cooking. She'd even loved watching him cook. She was limited to the simplest of dishes, but he could whip up exotic meals as easily as most people made macaroni and cheese; he chopped meat and vegetables with extravagant agility and mixed sauces as if he were performing before an audience. Yes, Cami had loved it. Of course, she could fix a broken VCR or assemble a cabinet as easily as dusting furniture, and when it came to that sort of thing, Bent had always been a consummate clod. So, it all evened out.
But he tried not to think of Cami now — All these years, he thought, and you 're still doing it to yourself — because he was cooking and having a good time doing it. It had been a long time since he'd cooked for others — which was always the best kind of cooking to do — and it felt good.
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Loraina asked, coming into the kitchen for about the dozenth time, but this time just minutes before the meal was completed.
"Absolutely not," Bent replied. "You just go sit down and relax."
"Well, whether you like it or not, I'm going to set the table. I can at least save you that little bit of work." So she began to set the small, Formica-topped table in what they called the dining room, but was nothing more than the other end of the kitchen.
How do they do it? Bent wondered as he finished preparing the meal. They've lost their son — surely they must know they've lost him for good — but they just go on with their lives. They 're hurt and upset, of course, but he's gone! Where's the tension? Why isn't Ethan Walker drinking himself into a state of numbness, pastor or no pastor — the man is human, for crying out loud! How can they be so ... so relaxed?
A little while later, they were all seated at the table and after Ethan said grace, quietly asking god to watch over Samuel, wherever he was, and to bring him home soon, they began to eat. Silverware clattered gently against plates, and Ethan and Loraina made little sounds of approval as they ate the meal Bent had cooked.