The Moonlight Child

by Karen McQuestion

  “Do you think this is it?” she asked as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. She craned her head to look, but there wasn’t an address posted anywhere.

  “It has to be. This is the end of the line.”

  They got out of the car and stood, taking it in. The house, if you could call it that, was propped up on concrete cinders and built of weather-beaten gray wooden boards. If it had ever been painted or stained, there was no sign of it now. A small porch jutted off the front. The yard around the house was littered with trash—empty cans, scraps of paper and fabric, an old tire and other car parts—all of it moored in the mud. The roof, which sagged, was covered in something green and fuzzy. The whole thing wasn’t even as big as their garage. “No one could live here,” Wendy finally said.

  “Let’s check it out.” Edwin took the lead, stepping onto the porch and peering through the dirty glass windows on either side of the door. “Can’t see much.”

  Wendy grabbed the doorknob and found it turned easily. She gave it a push, and the door swung open with a creak. Edwin gave her an approving nod. Once inside, they waited for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. “I can’t imagine that the power is on,” he said. “Not if they didn’t pay the rent.”

  “I don’t think the place has power.” Wendy rummaged through her purse and, upon finding her phone, turned on the flashlight app. The house was one big room, a perfect square of filth. The windows were streaked and grimy, and the floor was littered with piles and piles of garbage. At a glance, Wendy noticed empty yogurt containers, Hostess CupCake wrappers, and beer bottles. The only piece of furniture—a tattered mustard-colored couch—was pushed up against one wall. The overpowering pervasive smell could only be human excrement and urine. On one side of the room, a dented soup pot was on the floor, full of what looked like murky water. “Oh my word, the smell. How could anyone stand it?” She gingerly walked around the perimeter, looking for signs of Morgan. She’d envisioned coming across one of Morgan’s possessions or something with her daughter’s handwriting on it. Even a grocery list would have been encouraging, but it was clear there was nothing like that here. It was as if someone had emptied a month’s worth of trash right on the floor of the house.

  Edwin appeared stunned as well. “No electricity, no water, and I didn’t see an outhouse. Maybe out back?”

  Wendy shook her head. They could walk around the property before they left, but she sensed that it didn’t matter. She did another walk around the house, wondering if sifting through all the garbage would yield any clues. Edwin must have had the same idea, because he came across a wire hanger and used it to poke through the refuse. Around the time she was ready to give up, Edwin had come to the same conclusion. “I hate to say it, Wendy, but there’s nothing here.”

  “I’m not even sure this is the place,” she answered. “It should be condemned. How could this be rented out?” Left unsaid, who would rent out such a place? Morgan could have come home at any time. Why would she have chosen to live in squalor instead?

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “You might be right and this isn’t the place. If you want, we can drive down the road and check addresses again. Maybe someone will be home and can tell us where the Hartley place is.”

  On the porch, after they’d closed the door behind them, Wendy brushed off the front of her clothing, unable to shake the feeling of having walked through a large cobweb. At least outside the air was breathable.

  When they were getting into their car, a white pickup truck pulled in behind them. They paused and waited until a beefy man wearing a baseball cap got out. He wore an untucked denim shirt, a shade lighter than his jeans, and a pair of cowboy boots. “Can I help you folks?” he called out as he approached.

  “Are you Craig Hartley?” Edwin asked.

  “I am.” His eyes narrowed. “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Edwin Duran, and this is my wife, Wendy. We left messages on your voice mail.”

  Craig Hartley gave them a hard look. “You’re the folks is looking for your daughter. The one who went missing a few years back.”

  “That’s right,” Edwin said. “If you have a minute, we’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

  “I got a minute, but not much more than that.” His tone was begrudging. “I’m a busy man.”

  “Thank you,” Wendy said. “Do you know if the woman’s name was Morgan?”

  “Never heard her name. I only dealt with Keith.”

  Edwin asked, “What kind of car did they have? Did you get the license plate number?”

  “A junker, and no, I didn’t get the license plate number. I should have, I guess.” He shrugged.

  “Do you know where they were headed after here?”

  “No, and frankly I don’t care. I hope to never see them again.”

  Wendy reached into her purse and pulled out two photos. “This is our daughter, Morgan. Was she the woman who rented from you?” She handed the pictures to him, and he looked them over for a moment before shaking his head.

  “Could be,” he said, handing them back to her. “I barely saw the woman. I dealt with the man for the most part.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Just your classic loser. A drug addict.”

  “You think he was on drugs?”

  Craig made an exasperated snort. “Look, lady, I know you’re missing your daughter and all, but if I were you, I’d hope to God that this couple had nothing to do with her. They were junkies is my take on it, okay? I found them squatting in my hunting shack, and they begged to be allowed to stay, so I rented it to them for fifty bucks a week. An act of charity, you might say. They paid for two weeks, and after that, nothing. They kept giving me all kinds of excuses, and I was a good guy, okay? I gave them weeks to get their act together. I finally had enough and was ready to kick them out, and then he got crazy and got out a gun and tried to kill me. When the cops came they were gone, and I found the place filled with crap. That’s all I know. Now I’m left with the job of clearing out all the garbage they left behind. You try to do a good deed, and what happens? A bite in the butt, every time.” He leaned over and spat in the dirt.

  “I see.” Wendy put the pictures back in her purse.

  “I’m not sure you do,” Craig said. “Now unless you’re here to pay the rest of their rent, or to help me shovel out this house, I’m going to ask you to leave.”

  “Just another minute?” Wendy could hear the begging in her own voice. “Do you know any more about them? Did they have jobs or get visitors?”

  “Lady, I don’t know. They gave me some money. I let them stay. If I had it to do over again, I sure as hell would have told them to hit the road. That’s what I get for being nice. Never again.”

  Edwin said, “When you’re cleaning up, if you come across anything that identifies them, paperwork or whatever, could you call us? Or tell the police?”

  “Sure.” He threw up his hands. “Why not? Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He left their side to cross the yard and go into the house.

  “Thank you,” Wendy called out after him.

  They got into the car, not speaking until they were off the gravel and onto a paved road. Back to civilization, Wendy thought.

  “Well, that was a waste of time,” Edwin said. “We didn’t get any definite answers.”

  “No, nothing definite,” Wendy agreed. She thought about Craig Hartley’s assertion that the couple were drug addicts. If it was Morgan, she was still alive but in desperate need of help. She felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. What a horrible, helpless feeling. She wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Niki left the Village Mart at six o’clock it was already dark, but she was only a few blocks from home, and there were sidewalks all the way there. The path was well illuminated by streetlights, so she never felt unsafe. Tonight the weather was frigid and windy, making her glad for her new warm clothing. Overhead, the night sky was crisp and clear, the moon a bright beaco
n against an indigo backdrop. She burrowed her face into the scarf and leaned slightly forward, taking hurrying steps. With her bag looped over one shoulder, she patted her right-hand pocket, double-checking for the pepper spray Sharon had given her. This was probably the most crime-free neighborhood she’d ever lived in, but it made her feel better to have it close at hand. You never knew.

  Niki was halfway home when a car pulled up next to her and let out a short honk. She glanced over, not surprised to see Sharon driving. She’d noticed that Sharon had developed a tendency to coincidentally be out running errands right around the time Niki was due to walk home, and she would then stop to pick her up. Niki was tempted to tell her not to bother, that she was fine walking, but it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

  Niki opened the passenger-side door and climbed in, setting her bag on the floor and clicking her seat belt.

  Sharon waited until she was through and then proceeded on. “Did you have a good day?”

  Niki noticed that she wasn’t even pretending that the meetup was accidental anymore. “Pretty good. Guess who came in to buy snack food?”

  “Who?”

  “Jacob Fleming!”

  “Really?” Sharon’s voice had a slight tinge of incredulity. “Jacob Fleming. What are the odds?”

  “Right?” Niki knew that Sharon would have the right reaction. “He’s actually pretty nice. Fred introduced him to me, and we talked for a little bit.”

  “Did he tell you his mom tried to get some poor girl fired at the nutrition store?”

  Niki laughed. “No, it didn’t come up. I think we connected, though. Like on a personal level. I asked him where he lives, and he said Maple Avenue, and I said I live on the street right behind him. With my grandma.” Both of them smiled at that. “We talked about families, and I mentioned I was an only child, and he said he was too. Then I said, ‘No other kids in the house?’ and I swear he hesitated. He said no, but you know how when someone pauses and you can tell by their expression they’re about to tell a lie? I swear I saw it on his face.”

  Sharon took a turn onto Maple, and Niki knew that once again they were going past the Flemings’ house. So many times they’d gone this route. It had never yielded any answers, but Sharon kept trying.

  This time was different, though.

  As they approached the Flemings’ house, they could see that the garage door was up and a silver car was parked dead center in the middle of the garage. Mrs. Fleming was getting out of the driver’s side; she must have just arrived home.

  “There she is,” Sharon said. “The Wicked Witch of Maple Avenue.”

  “Kind of weird that she parked right in the middle, don’t you think? Where is her husband going to put his car?”

  “Maybe he’s out of town?” Sharon said as she pulled the car over to the curb. “Or maybe the car is getting serviced?”

  “Out of town, I’d guess. I haven’t seen him from my window for a day or two.”

  Sharon turned off the engine, and the headlights went dark. Mrs. Fleming was now opening the trunk of the car. “I’m going to go talk to her,” she said. “I’m going to ask outright if she has a little girl living with her.” Decisiveness crackled through her words.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Niki blurted out.

  “No, I’m doing it. I’m sick of watching and waiting. I’m just going to go and ask.”

  Niki felt a tightening in her chest. “She’s not going to tell you anything, and she’s a really mean lady.”

  Sharon shrugged. “I’ve dealt with mean ladies before. Trust me, they’re all bark and no bite. Besides, what can she do to me?”

  Niki watched as Sharon opened the door and trotted across the street to catch Mrs. Fleming before she went into the house. She heard her call out, “Excuse me!” and saw Mrs. Fleming pause and turn around.

  Niki felt both fear and admiration as she watched Sharon jog up the driveway. An expression Evan liked came to mind. Balls of steel. Underneath her pleasant facade, Sharon had more nerve than most people, she’d give her that much. Niki craned her neck in order to see better and watched as the two women talked. The conversation didn’t appear contentious, but it was hard to say from this distance. What could Sharon be saying that would justify asking about a stranger’s family? Various ideas flitted through her head. Maybe Sharon was pretending to take a survey? Working for the US government as a census taker? In charge of the neighborhood watch? Niki couldn’t even imagine. By the time Sharon came back to the car, the curiosity was killing Niki, especially since Sharon had a triumphant look on her face.

  “Well?” she asked as Sharon climbed in and shut the door. “Did she tell you anything?”

  “Oh, no. She wasn’t going to budge at all. But she was pleasant. Guarded but pleasant.”

  Sharon started up the car and headed toward home. “I told her I just moved in down the street and that my two young grandchildren live with me. That one of the neighbors said she has a little girl the right age for them to play with, and I wanted to introduce myself so we could arrange a playdate. I said I wasn’t sure if I had the right house, that I get forgetful sometimes. I totally played it like I was a ditsy old woman.”

  “I can’t believe you came up with that. It’s brilliant.”

  “I have my days,” Sharon said with pride. “I gave her a made-up name and pointed down the road to show her my house. She wasn’t even paying attention. I doubt she interacts with the neighbors, and she probably doesn’t even know who lives on that end of the block. She seems kind of full of herself.”

  “Very full of herself,” Niki said in agreement. “So what did she say when you asked if she has a little girl?”

  “Oh, she denied it, of course. Said whoever told me that was misinformed. That she and her husband only have one child, a seventeen-year-old named Jacob. I apologized for the mix-up and asked if she could give me a referral for a dentist, since we are new to the area and all. She said no, that they aren’t happy with their dentist and are looking for a new one themselves. So then I asked about pediatricians. I could tell she was getting aggravated, but she kept smiling. Finally, she cut me off and wished me luck. Said she couldn’t talk anymore and had to get going.”

  Niki had been hoping for more. “Well, I give you credit for asking. You’re braver than me.”

  The car turned down Crescent Street and proceeded onward. They were almost to the house now. Sharon turned into the driveway and pressed the button for the garage door opener. After a slight pause to wait for full clearance, she pulled the car inside. Once she’d shut off the engine, she said, “I still have to tell you the best part.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Right as we were wrapping things up, the door to the house, the one inside the garage, opened up, and guess who was standing there?”

  “A little girl?”

  “Absolutely correct. This small girl opened the door and was standing there plain as day, her little face looking out. Mrs. Fleming yelled, ‘Close the door!’ and then she told me she had to go and rushed inside.”

  “And this happened right after she told you she doesn’t have a little girl.”

  “Exactly. And I can tell you right now that it was not her son. I saw that child clear as day. It wasn’t Jacob. This child was just a little peanut, maybe five or six, with dark hair cut in the most hideous bowl haircut. She popped her head out the garage door, and when Mrs. Fleming yelled she shut the door right away.”

  “So Mrs. Fleming lied,” Niki mused. “I mean it was a complete lie, because if the kid was a foster child or was just visiting she would have mentioned it, wouldn’t she?”

  Sharon nodded. “I would think so. Most people would have said as much.”

  “But why would someone have a secret kid in their house?”

  “There’s no good reason that I can think of.”

  Niki thought about the news stories of people who’d been abducted and held prisoner for years. Did it ever happ
en in middle-class neighborhoods? Maybe. It’s not as if people became more moral just because they had money. There were plenty of criminals and horrible people in all socioeconomic classes. “So should we call the police? Tell them what we know?”

  Sharon said, “I feel like we have to do something, but maybe we should talk to Amy first?”

  Niki agreed. “Amy will know what to do.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mia knew she was in big trouble when she opened the garage door and Ma’am yelled at her, but she hadn’t been punished yet, so she pushed the bad feeling away and thought about the fact that she and Jacob had a new secret. Thinking about it made her smile with delight.

  A few days before, he’d come down to the basement after her bedtime and knocked lightly on the door before unlocking it and entering. She’d known it was Jacob before she set eyes on him because he was the only one who ever knocked.

  Mia sat up in bed and squinted when he flipped on the light switch. “Jacob?”

  “Sorry about that,” he said, indicating the light. “Did I wake you?”

  She shook her head. “No.” Even if she had been asleep, she wouldn’t have minded. Having Jacob come see her could make a whole day much better. It didn’t happen often, but when it did he came bearing gifts: books, usually, or snacks. The last time it had been a word search book, brand new, and he’d given her a pen of her own to circle the words. This was the kind of book it was okay to write on, he’d told her.

  Every time Jacob gave her a gift he cautioned her not to let his mom know. If Ma’am found out, he said, there would be hell to pay. Mia didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she knew Ma’am well enough to know it would be very bad.

  “Hey, squirt,” he’d said that night a few days before. “Do you have a minute to do something really cool?” He held up a plastic bag.