by Angie West
“Are you?”
“I think so.” But not for long , I thought in horror as I watched the Retrievers approach.
“Come on, we have to go now. They’re coming for us.”
***
“How was the meet and greet?”
“Good. Informative.” I passed a basket of rolls across the table to Ashley as I prepared to answer Mike’s twenty questions about my first day on the job.
“Did you get your first assignment?”
“You have homework like me, Mama?”
“Not exactly,” I laughed. “I get paid money to write for the magazine. It’s work, not school.”
“Did you go to school?”
“I did. I went to school for many, many years.”
“Years?” Ashley was awed.
“It’s not as long as it sounds, dear,” Mike was quick to reassure.
“What about you, Miss Ashley? How was your day at school? Did you have lots of fun?”
“Yes, I made a friend today.”
“That’s great. What’s her name?”
“It’s a boy.”
“Oh.” I blinked in surprise. Mike tried to hide a grin. “That’s great, honey. There is no reason why boys and girls can’t be friends. So, what’s his name?”
“Earl.”
“Is Earl in your class?” I didn’t remember any little boys named Earl being in Ashley’s class at school and thought he might have been new.
“Earl isn’t in my class. He was on the playground. He’s a big boy. He’s nice. He said he knows you.”
My silverware hit the plate with a clatter and I glanced first to Mike, and next to my daughter. “Is Earl a big boy like your cousin Tomas, or like your uncle Mike?”
“Big like Uncle Mike. Is Earl really your friend?”
“What side of the fence was he on, Ashley?” Mike cut in. “In the playground area with you, or outside by the street?”
“Outside by the street.”
“What did your teacher say?”
“She didn’t see him.” Ashley continued to eat her dinner, unconcerned.
“Ashley,” I said slowly. “Remember what we talked about? I don’t want you talking to strangers.”
“It’s not safe, I know. But he’s your friend, so it’s okay, right?”
“No. I don’t know anyone named Earl,” I told her as gently as I could manage.
“He lied?” She looked upset at the thought.
“Maybe not. Maybe he only thought he knew me.”
“But he knew my name and everything!”
“A lot of people are named Ashley, sweetheart. But you see? Even if people say they know me, or know your name, they could be mistaken. And that’s not safe. You know what I want you to do next time?”
“Get a grown-up?”
“That’s right. You’re a smart girl, you know that?”
“Yep, can I go play now?”
“Yes.” I watched her run into the living room and turn on the television. SpongeBob was on and Ashley grabbed a puzzle and settled in front of the TV.
“What are the odds, Claire?”
“Not very. I’m calling her teacher to make sure she didn’t see anything. Keep an eye on Ashley, will you?”
***
That night, I double-checked the doors and windows, setting the security alarm earlier than usual.
Mike had insisted on staying another night with us, and I had to admit, I did feel safer with him in the house. For Ashley’s sake, of course. I poured the customary mugs of evening coffee and found Mike sitting in front of the fireplace. He turned to look at me as I entered the room.
“Is Ashley asleep?”
“Fast asleep,” I sighed.
“Good. I didn’t want to talk about what happened today in front of her.”
“Neither did I. It’s a miracle she’s not scared to death already. I know I am.”
“You might not always be able to shield her from the truth,” he pointed out.
“You mean if this gets any worse?”
“Maybe.”
“Yes, I know.” I bit my lip and contemplated the fire as I spoke. “Her teacher didn’t see anyone talking to her on the play yard today.”
“Not even walking by the playground?”
“No, nothing. But Ashley wouldn’t make something like that up.”
“I don’t know, Claire, she goes to a good school. They keep a good eye on those kids. What about an imaginary friend? She’s the right age and she has certainly been through a lot.”
“That’s true, but I doubt it in this case. The timing is off. Something just…feels wrong here, Mike. Maybe if last night…I don’t know. But something is not right. I can feel it.” I was well aware that I was rambling and yet, couldn’t seem to stop. “Who would want to hurt a little girl?” I shivered.
“Who would want to hurt your little girl?”
“You think someone is really trying to get to her?”
“I don’t know, Claire. Maybe someone is trying to get to you through her.”
“I thought of all that, too, last night.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, it’s okay. I guess we’ll know for sure in a week, when those prints come back from the lab.
That is, if they get anything.”
“They will. Don’t worry.”
But that was easier said than done.
Chapter Three
The Dead Walk
As it turned out, we didn’t have to wait long for answers.
“I’m looking for Claire Roberts.”
“May I ask who is calling?” I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder and carried the basket of towels to the kitchen table.
“This is Officer Lance Jones, ma’am. I responded to a nine-one-one call at your residence on the fifteenth.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” I shook lint from a towel onto the floor and began folding the thick terry cloth into fourths. “What can I do for you?”
“The results of the finger print analysis made its way across my desk this morning. You’ll need to come into the station, Ms. Roberts.”
“Come to the station?” I dropped the neatly folded towel back onto the table and put a hand on the telephone. “What for?”
“I need to discuss the lab results with you and ask a few questions.”
“So, I need a lawyer?” Did I mention that I don’t particularly trust the police?
“Nothing like that, Ms. Roberts. When can you make it in to the station?”
I checked my watch, noting that I still had another hour and a half before I was due to pick Ashley up from school. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Fine. Check in at the front desk.”
“See you then.” I hung up and rushed to grab my purse and shoes.
The drive to the police station took longer than it normally would have after I took the wrong exit on the highway. I wasted ten minutes doing an illegal U-turn and circling back around. I guess you could say I was a little bit on edge. Then again, who wouldn’t have been under the circumstances? I was about to find out who had tried to get into my daughter’s bedroom window.
As I threw the car into park and climbed the steps to the station, I told myself to be grateful to the police for finding the man. Or woman, as Jones would have put it. Personally, I had never heard of a woman attempting to break into a child’s bedroom in the middle of the night. An ex-husband or a boyfriend? Sure, that I could see. But a woman? I shook my head and thought about making a side bet with Officer Jones before quickly scratching the idea. Considering he knew who had been in my yard that night, the odds were decidedly stacked against me.
“Don’t bet the house,” I muttered before pushing through the plate glass doors. Or in this case, don’t bet the police station. I got the feeling I would lose.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Lance Jones.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, he is expecting me.” Since when did you need an appointment at the police station?
“Take a seat. I’ll let him know that you are here, Ms...?”
“Roberts.”
The receptionist nodded and punched a button on the intercom system.
Lance appeared about a minute later and ushered me into an office near the back of the station.
“Good afternoon, Claire.”
“Good afternoon. You said the results came back from the lab this morning?”
Officer Jones pulled a file from the sizable stack that littered his desk, opened it, and slid the papers in front of me.
“Do you recognize this man?”
I peered down at the grainy photograph he had placed before me. It was a mug shot, and an older one at that. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but I couldn’t seem to place him. I said as much to Officer Jones.
“Don’t you have a better picture of him? I just can’t be certain….” I trailed off and raised my hands in an apologetic shrug. “Sorry.”
He shuffled through the papers in the file again and handed me a second image. “Do you recognize this photograph?”
It was a full color print of the man in the mug shot. The image was a close up head shot that showcased every roughhewn detail of the man’s facial features in garish detail. Wheat-colored hair, pale skin, eyes closed.
“Oh my God!” I jumped out of my seat and pointed at the photograph as though I were attempting to ward off evil.
“Something wrong, Claire?”
“Is something wrong?” I parroted in disbelief. “Is something wrong? Are you serious?” I demanded incredulously.
“Do you recognize him now?”
“Please tell me that the man in that photograph is sleeping. Tell me that you did not just hand me a picture of a dead man.”
“I apologize if you find this upsetting somehow.”
“Somehow?” I snorted.
“At the present time, these are the only two images that I have in Mr. Atkins’ file.”
“Who?”
“Earl T. Atkins.”
“The corpse?”
“Yes, Ms. Roberts, the corpse.”
“No. I’m sorry, but the name isn’t familiar to me. Neither is the…picture.” I forced myself to take a seat at the desk and folded my hands in front of my lap. “Why are you asking me about this man? I came here to find out who was sneaking around my property.”
“And I have just told you. The fingerprints that were taken from your window have been identified as Earl T. Atkins.”
“Well I’m sorry, but I have never seen that man before in my life. And I hate to break this to you, but I don’t suppose he will be bothering my family again anytime soon. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get my daughter from school.”
“We aren’t finished here, Ms. Roberts.”
“Excuse me, officer, but that man is dead,” I spoke slowly.
“Yes, that man is dead.”
“Well I don’t see how—” I broke off as the meaning of his statement finally hit home. “You think I killed him.”
“Earl T. Atkins died last year, Ms. Roberts. What I want to know is how a dead man managed to walk through your property last week and then vanish without a trace.”
***
“How was school, peanut?” I asked Ashley an hour later. I gave myself a pat on the back for somehow managing to keep a light tone of voice and a steady hand while going through her backpack.
There were two perforated ABC 123 homework sheets that her teacher had torn from a workbook.
“That’s my homework!” she chirped.
“I see that. Do you know what you have to do?”
“Yep. It’s matching. I’m good at that. Mrs. Harris said so.”
“I know you are.” I sighed. “Today it’s matching, tomorrow it’s Stanford.”
“Your school?”
“My school.” I grinned. “You remembered that story?” It was difficult to keep the surprise from my voice. I had only mentioned my alma mater once before to Ashley and that had been more than eight months ago. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My daughter had a fantastic memory. Her ability to recall both events and conversations was becoming somewhat legendary in our family. My mother frequently consulted Ashley on a number of important matters. Where she put her car keys, for instance. Or what was written on the disappearing grocery list. Their newest game, television remote finding, had begun over last Christmas break.
Megan had suggested having I.Q. tests administered, but I was reluctant to do so…not so soon at least. The past year had been hard enough on her. I wanted to give her the chance to have a real childhood.
The chance to be a normal kid. To run and play and watch cartoons, and take hour long bubble baths.
From what I could discern, normalcy had been a rare commodity throughout most of Ashley’s young life.
But for the most part, her past remained a mystery. Strangely enough, she couldn’t seem to remember much of it. It was as though her early years were a slate that had long since been wiped clean. She had told me that her parents were dead, killed by the “bad men,” and that a woman had been caring for her.
But she claimed not to know the caretaker’s name, what the woman had looked like, or even where they had lived. My best guess was that she had come from Haelport, where I’d found her on the streets. After all, how far could a child her age get on foot? Especially in Terlain, where the dangers to children left unattended were multiplied tenfold. At any rate, for a child who had a photographic memory, she couldn’t remember a lot. I had suspected from day one that she was simply too scared to say where she had come from or how she had gotten her bruises. In the early days, she had been quiet and withdrawn. Now she was blossoming. So maybe it was better if she did eventually forget her past.
“Mama?”
“Yes? Sorry I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”
“I’m gonna go play outside, okay?” She was already reaching for the sliding glass doors that led to the back patio and yard.
“No!” the word burst forth vehemently. I took a deep, calming breath and tried again. “What I mean is, I had other plans for this evening.”
“But I always play on the swing set after school on Fridays.”
“I know you do, but I need to drop some things off at your Aunt Megan’s. How would you like to go see Grandma and Grandpa tonight?”
“Why can’t I go with you?”
“Because I’ve got grown up business to go over with Aunt Megan, that’s why.”
“Oh. Okay.” Bless her heart, she didn’t question it beyond that.
“Why don’t you get your bag and some toys and books?”
“Sure.” She ran down the hall and into her room.
“Take your homework too!” I called after her.
“I’m ready!” she announced several minutes later.
“Me too, let’s go.”
I called my parents en route and told them I would be dropping off Ashley. The next call I made was not to Megan but to my brother.
“Can I meet you at the house in twenty minutes?”
“Yours or mine?”
“That’s right, twenty minutes.” I glanced in the rear view mirror at Ashley. There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Your house, then?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” I replied breezily.
“I’ll be there.”
“See you then.”
We pulled into my parents’ circular driveway ten minutes later. Bret and Angel Roberts may not have had the largest house on the block, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in character. Although the home was by no means small, it didn’t possess the same towering qualities of the majority of homes in the upper class neighborhood. Morrisbrook was one of the oldest sections of town and it showed in the graceful lines of the neighboring homes.
The lots in the neighborhood were absolutely enormous and the homes for the most part were original. All had been well maintained and many had been updated over the past hundred years. But the original designs had remained largely unchanged. Two-story colonials and three-story Victorians graced the landscape as far as the eye could see. Eighteenth century moldings and towers stood as proud reminders of days long gone. Ashley always called them castles whenever we drove past.
And then there was the Roberts’ house. Dad was an architect; Mom was now an architectural designer, and it showed in every inch of their property. My parents bought the house at 404 Elm in 1978, and to the neighbor’s collective horror had the original structure razed to make room for their dream home—a single-story masterpiece that Mom referred to as “neo Spanish Colonial.” I never did quite understand what that meant, but the house had always reminded me of a Spanish villa with its red slate tile roof and white stone walls. The grounds were beautifully landscaped and professionally maintained.
Growing up, the yard had been my favorite part of the property, my own private sanctuary. While Mike had been poring over National Geographic and Megan had been playing softball, I had been outside memorizing every detail and nuance of every bit of plant life I could get my hands on.
The Japanese maple trees with their red-purple spring blooms were always my favorite, because no two were ever the same. The pushia tridentate was another favorite with its white flowers in the summer.
I used to call them “wedding flowers.”
“It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?” I opened Ashley’s door and lifted her from the car, swooping her into a hug as I did so.
Mom and Dad’s red front door opened almost as soon as our feet touched the porch.
“Well, I was wondering when you were going to show up!”
“Grandma!”
“Hi, Mom. I can’t stay. I’ve got some business to attend to, but I’ll be back tonight to get Ashley.”
“Take your time, dear. We’re going to have lots of fun here, aren’t we, Ashley?”
“Yep! Bye, Mom!”
“Love you, be good.”
“I’m always good.”
“I know you are,” I whispered, long after the front door had closed behind them. “I know you are.”
***
Mike was waiting for me when I returned home. He was leaning against the porch smoking a cigarette when I came up the walk and waved a hand through the thin smoke that curled around him like a halo.