“That just proves he’s special,” Rachel said.
“He’s a remarkable, all right,” Eric said. “I’m interested in meeting his parents and finding out what kind of people they are. He—”
The doorbell rang, and Eric went to answer it. A stocky bearded man with aviator glasses introduced himself.
“I’m Detective Mark Bristol,” he said, opening a wallet to show a gleaming gold badge. “I’m here in reference to a woman named Nina Blair.”
“I’m Eric Freleng,” Eric said. “Please come in.”
As he led Bristol into the hallway, he turned and said, “Nina was here earlier this morning. Has something happened?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bristol said. “Ms. Blair has been killed in a suspicious accident.”
Eric brought him into the living room and introduced Rachel. He offered the detective a seat, but the man remained standing.
“What happened to her?” Rachel asked.
“We’re not sure,” Mark said. “A neighbor found her just outside her barn.”
He sighed, but his expression never wavered from deadpan.
“We identified the body through dental records,” he said.
“Dental records?” Eric said in surprise. “Was there a fire?”
“It seems she was doused with an incredibly caustic chemical,” Mark answered. “There wasn’t much left of her but her skeleton.”
Eric gasped. He turned to see his wife’s reaction, but she only regarded the detective with cool interest.
Eric felt sick to his stomach, imagining the pain Nina must have suffered. That poor woman! But Rachel still just stared at the detective with neither sympathy nor horror in her expression. When she spoke, it was with almost clinical detachment.
“What does this have to do with us?” she demanded.
“Because Nina was a municipal employee,” Bristol said, “it was easy to find out who she had spoken to today. We asked for a list of clients, and yours was the only name given.”
Eric looked at Rachel, but she was staring hard at the detective. She seemed more annoyed by his presence than upset about Nina.
“We’ll be happy to answer any questions,” Eric said. “But I don’t think we’ll be of much help.”
The detective opened his briefcase and pulled out a clipboard.
“I have a standard questionnaire,” he said. “We use it in all these cases.”
He began to ask generic questions relating to the Freleng’s demographics. Eric answered them all, because Rachel didn’t seem willing. But when Mark asked about their relationship with Nina Blair, Rachel blurted out:
“None.”
Eric volunteered more.
“Well,” he said, “nothing personal. In her capacity as social worker, Nina often came to the high school where Rachel and I work. I had some contact with her.”
“I understand she came to talk to you about a foster child?”
Rachel nodded. “His name is Steven.”
“Isn’t it unusual for work like this to be done in someone’s home?”
“You’ll have to talk to Social Services about that,” Rachel said. She glared at him, as if challenging him to contradict her.
Bristol did not take the bait. Instead, he went on to a few more questions. Finally he asked, “Can you account for your whereabouts in the past twenty-four hours?”
“Of course,” Rachel said. “I spent most of yesterday teaching school. I stayed late to prepare for a concert we had last night. Then I came home, had supper, and got ready to go out again. I conducted the school orchestra, spoke to a few dozen people afterward, then came home and went to bed.”
Eric felt a lump in his throat and fought to swallow it before it was his turn to speak. He’d never known Rachel to lie before. Why was she withholding the fact that she’d lost several hours last night?
“How about you, Mr. Freleng?”
“I was also at school yesterday,” he said. “After classes, I coached the baseball team. Rachel and I came home together. We ate dinner, went to the concert, and came home as a family.”
“Look,” Rachel interrupted. “I don’t understand this line of questioning. Surely you don’t think we murdered Nina Blair?”
“It’s only routine, ma’am,” Bristol said, never losing his cool, professional demeanor. “No accusations are being made. We’re just trying to paint a picture of Nina Blair’s last hours.”
Eric winced. Whatever that picture might be, he knew it was a hideous one. He couldn’t imagine who would hurt Nina Blair, and he said so.
“Of course I don’t know any of her acquaintances,” he said. “We didn’t run in the same social circles. But she came across as a sweet woman who wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Bristol nodded, closing his book.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “Where will I be able to contact you if I need more information?”
“Right here,” Eric said. “Or, as of Monday, at the school.”
He shook his head. “It’s a terrible tragedy.”
“Yes, it is,” Bristol said.
They walked him to the front door. “Good-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Freleng. Thank you again.”
Eric watched the detective’s silhouette through the beveled window. He heard Rachel’s footsteps clicking away behind him.
“I’m going to tell Steven he’ll be with us awhile longer,” she said. “I think he’ll be pleased.”
Eric swung around. “Rachel, wait!”
She stopped and turned. Her face had a quizzical expression.
“Is that it?” Eric asked. “No words of sympathy for Nina? Don’t you even wonder who did that to her?”
“I’m sorry for her,” Rachel said. “But I can’t bring her back to life, and I have a child who needs me.”
“Rachel,” Eric said quietly, “why did you lie about the hours you disappeared last night?”
“I didn’t lie,” Rachel said. “I withheld information. I don’t see what this has to do with Nina, and I didn’t feel like answering a bunch of stupid questions.”
“But, honey . . .”
“Eric, please leave me alone!” Rachel snapped, spinning around and hurrying down the hall.
Eric watched her disappear into the kitchen. He shook his head in dismay and headed into the den, where his baseball-card collection was waiting. He wanted to call Steven in to join him, father-son-like, but remembered the boy didn’t like baseball. He wondered if the child liked any sports at all. Maybe, Eric thought, he came from a family of musical prodigies who frowned on sports.
It didn’t matter, though. He couldn’t concentrate on the cards. Thoughts of Nina filled his mind, but soon they were crowded out by thoughts of Rachel. Something was very wrong with her, and the answers were hidden somewhere in her memory of the previous night.
He heard Tatiana’s voice from the kitchen. His daughter sounded angry about something being “not fair,” and Eric put his concerns about Rachel aside to investigate. In the kitchen he found his wife and younger daughter face-to-face. Tatiana’s eyes were hard, her fists clenched. Rachel had her hands on her hips and was bending down slightly toward the little girl. Eric noticed that Rachel had on the same cold, almost unhuman expression she’d had when Mark Bristol told them of Nina’s death.
“What’s going on in here?”
“Mom’s making me give up my bedroom!” Tatiana cried. “It’s not fair! It’s my room!”
Eric looked at his wife.
“Rachel, this is rather sudden for the kid,” he said. “I think you should have prepared her.”
Steven was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, staring at his hands.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I can sleep on a couch.”
“You most certainly won’t,” Rachel insisted. “After what you’ve been through, you need a proper bed. And, Eric, what time have I had to ‘prepare’ Tatiana? Things will be different around here for the next few days, and we’ll all have to make sacrifices.�
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Tatiana pouted. “But I want my own room.”
“You can double up with Olivia,” Rachel said.
Olivia tried to smile for her little sister.
“It’s only for a few days,” she said. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can pretend we’re having a sleepover.”
“Will you tell me scary stories?”
Tatiana was beginning to accept the idea.
“Sure,” Olivia promised.
Eric held up his hands.
“That’s that,” he said. “Now that we’ve settled sleeping arrangements, can you guys give Helga room to make our dessert?”
Helga, who had kept respectfully silent during the altercation, pointed to a strawberry pie on the counter.
“With homemade ice cream,” she said.
“Wow!” Tatiana cried.
“Have you ever had strawberry pie, Steven?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know,” Steven said quietly. He still felt bad about taking Tatiana’s room, but since the conversation seemed to be closed now, he didn’t bring up his feelings.
Eric patted his shoulder. “Well, you’ve never tasted any like Helga’s, that’s for certain. Come on, let’s get ourselves around the dining-room table.”
The family enjoyed dessert, and on the surface their troubles seemed forgotten. But every once in a while Eric would glance at Rachel, trying to read her thoughts. Tatiana made faces at Steven when no one was looking, and Steven tried hard to fit in with this new family.
At last, at bedtime, Rachel offered to escort Steven upstairs.
“I think the kid’s old enough to put himself to bed,” Eric pointed out.
Rachel gave him an icy glance, then said, “He’s in a new house. He needs help getting settled.”
Steven followed Rachel up the stairs to Tatiana’s room, where he found pajamas in his suitcase while she folded down the bedcovers.
“You can dress in the bathroom,” Rachel said. “You’d better get in there before the girls come up.”
“Okay,” Steven said.
He washed and dressed in the bathroom. As he turned to leave, he saw his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. There was a logo on the shirt of his pajamas, a yellow oval with a black bat in the middle. Steven studied it for a few moments, trying to make himself remember it. But it meant nothing to him; no thoughts of superheroes came to his head, not Batman or anyone else. It was as elusive as his recollection of a family.
Steven sighed and opened the bathroom door. He’d been trying so hard to remember what had happened in the past few days, but nothing would come to him. And he was terribly, terribly worn out right now. He welcomed the thought of a comfortable bed, even if he was unhappy about taking it from Tatiana.
Rachel was waiting for him.
“Do you want to hear a story?” she asked.
“That’s okay,” Steven said. “I just want to go to sleep.”
He climbed into the bed and Rachel tucked the covers around him. She smiled warmly at him, and he felt good for the moment.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting me stay here,” Steven said. “I like you.”
“I like you too, Steven,” Rachel said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You can stay here as long as you’d like. Does that make you happy, Steven? . . . Steven?”
But Steven, exhausted by his long day, was fast asleep.
Rachel met Eric in the hall.
“The girls want you to come say good night,” he said. “They missed you.”
“They missed me for ten minutes?” Rachel asked in a tone of slight disbelief.
She went to Olivia’s room, where the girls were lying side by side in the bed. Tatiana’s small brown head was cuddled against Olivia’s shoulder.
“Good night, girls,” Rachel said from the doorway.
“Aren’t you going to come in and kiss us?” Tatiana asked.
Rachel seemed to hesitate, but just a moment. She walked into the room and kissed each girl on the forehead.
“I want a hug!” Tatiana demanded.
But Rachel had already left the room. Bewildered, Tati propped herself up on an elbow.
“She didn’t hug me,” she said in an offended tone.
“She’s just tired out,” Olivia defended Rachel. She reached for her nightstand and turned off the light.
“But—”
“Go to sleep, Tati!”
Tatiana mumbled something. Olivia didn’t reply, but she had also been surprised at the quick, almost unloving way their mother had said good night.
Well, she told herself, her mother was probably worn out after all that had happened that day. She told herself that it would be for only a few days. Once Steven’s family was found, everything would be normal again.
12
SAMANTHA WAS DREAMING. She was lying in a coffin, staring up through a bluish mist at two figures. One of them bent down and whispered something to her, but she did not understand the words. His face was hidden in the fog. He laid a hand on her chest; it felt cold.
They began to close the lid to the coffin, but somehow she was not afraid. It was a glass lid, and she could see through it. The blue mist vanished, taking along the two figures. Samantha could see up to the night sky, to the stars.
She did not feel afraid, but someone else in the dream did. She heard screaming.
And instantly she was out of the dream and sitting up in her bed. The screams had been real, coming from Julie’s room. Samantha threw aside her covers and hurried to see what was wrong. Julie was pounding on her door, the sound reverberating like thunder down the hall. Samantha jerked the door open.
“Julie!”
The child stood with her fists up in the air, ready to strike the door again. Her eyes seemed focused on something behind Samantha. Samantha even started to turn around, but quickly stopped herself. Instead, she grabbed Julie by the wrists and fought until the child calmed down.
“Julie, wake up! Wake up!”
“I don’t want to go in there! No box! No!”
“Julie, please!”
Suddenly Julie went limp in Samantha’s arms. Samantha sank to the floor with her, holding her tightly and rocking her.
“God, how can I make these nightmares stop?” she asked.
Julie didn’t answer. Samantha could hear her breathing steadily as she drifted back to sleep again. It wasn’t the first time Julie’s dreams had involved some kind of box. Samantha was reminded of her own dream, but she couldn’t make a direct connection. Most important, in her dream she had felt at peace, as if she belonged in the coffinlike structure. Was it only coincidence, then, that they both dreamed of being in small boxes?
“You don’t have to worry,” she said, struggling to her feet with the little girl in her arms. “No one will harm you as long as I’m around.”
She took Julie to the bed and settled her under the covers again. For a few moments she stood looking down at the child. Samantha wasn’t certain, but she thought the warm feeling rushing through her right now had to be mother love. Maybe God had seen to it that she and her ex-husband never had a baby, but he had sent this little girl instead.
It wasn’t until she was downstairs in the brightly lit kitchen, fixing herself a calming cup of tea, that reality hit her.
“Stop yourself, Samantha,” she said firmly. “You can’t let yourself get too attached to that child. She has a family!”
Really, she thought, what had she done to help find those people? Something was preventing her from going to the police. Did the Mr. Henley Julie had mentioned that first day have anything to do with it?
Samantha wished it wasn’t three o’clock in the morning. She wished she had somebody to talk to. Barbara hadn’t been much help, suggesting she keep Julie hidden until she could figure out what had happened. That could take months, or years. No, she had to get help for Julie in some other way.
Her eyes stung, and she was surprised to find
tears brimming. She almost felt as if she was giving up her own flesh and blood. But how could this be? How could she become so attached to a child she didn’t know in such a short period of time?
She pushed aside the almost full cup of tea.
“Tomorrow, at work,” she vowed. “That’s where I’ll get help. Maybe one of my colleagues has an idea.”
* * *
At seven o’clock the next morning, Julie entered Sangre de Cristo Hospital with Samantha. She looked everywhere, taking in all the activity of the emergency room.
“What’s wrong with all those people?” she asked Samantha.
“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Samantha said, taking a file from a rack at the nurse’s station.
The triage nurse smiled at Samantha. Her name tag said Maria Rivera.
“And who is this, Dr. Winstead?”
“My name is Julie,” the child answered. “Samantha’s my—”
“I’m taking care of Julie for a while,” Samantha interrupted. “Would you mind if I set her up in the nurses’ lounge?”
“Go right ahead,” Maria said. “Nanette Belfield is in there now, tidying up.”
Nanette was on the maintenance staff. She was a grandmotherly woman, and when she heard that Samantha was taking care of Julie, she put her hands on the child’s cheeks and said in a lilting Southern drawl, “Don’t you fret one minute ‘bout this little darlin’, Dr. Winstead. I’ll see to it that she’s taken care of while you work.”
“I appreciate it, Mrs. Belfield,” Samantha said. She put a hand on Julie’s shoulder. “I’ll be quite busy for the next few hours. There’s milk and juice in the fridge, and you can have a doughnut. Do you have the things we bought at the Quick Shop?”
“Right here,” Julie said, holding up a brown paper bag filled with activities to occupy her morning.
“Good,” Samantha said. She smiled. “I’ll be back later.”
She left Julie in the care of Mrs. Belfield, who fussed over her like a mother hen. Samantha felt a tugging inside, as if something was drawing her back to Julie. But duty called, and she forced Julie out of her mind until she completed her morning rounds. As an emergency-room doctor she knew very few dull moments, so there was little opportunity in the next two hours to even think of Julie. When at last she was able to get a break, she found Nanette pushing a cart of linens down the hall.
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