The door was getting closer. But so was the fire. The flames were dancing along the wall like they were chasing Roo.
She shrieked and pulled on Mommy’s hands but, this time, she didn’t move. Roo’s arms were shaking from the effort. She was out of gas, as Daddy would say. Out of gas and out of time.
She sank to the floor and covered her face as sobs racked her body and the air in the house got hotter and hotter. After a minute, she was so hot she started to get dizzy. She tried once more to wake up her mom, but Mommy just lay there. She hugged her around the waist to say goodbye, then crawled to the door and used all her weight to push it open.
Cool night air rushed in.
And so did Grandfather.
He swept her into his arms and raced across the street, placing her gently in the back seat of his car, and plunged back into the house for Mommy.
After the fire, Aroostine went to live with Grandfather. Sometimes her parents crashed with them. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they were gone for weeks or months at a time. And then they died.
* * *
The sound of an ATV rumbling by jolted her back to the present. She raised her hand to her face and was surprised to find her cheeks were wet.
She found a washcloth and used it to dry her tears. She sucked down her glass of water in one long drink. She washed the plate, the fork, and the glass, dried them, and put them back in the cabinet as if she were in a trance.
She wrapped a fleece blanket around her shoulders and went outside with Rufus to stare up at the stars and clear her head. In the morning, she’d find out whether Marlene Glasser was as neglectful a parent as hers had been, and then she’d start the search.
6
Investigative Services Branch Special Agent Patton Banks cocked his head and eyed Boyd Caine across the rough-hewn desk in his borrowed office. The counselor fidgeted under his gaze.
“I appreciate your coming in, especially so early in the morning—” Pat began.
“Well, I’m scheduled to be at the elementary school today, so I don’t start until eight. I figured I could see you before work. This is important. Certainly worth getting up an hour early.”
Pat gave him a slow nod of understanding. “You seem very concerned about the Glassers.”
“It’s the girl I care about,” he answered instantly. “I’ve been working with Joy-Lynn since she was five.”
“And you treat her …” He glanced down at the file on the desk and decided not to attempt to pronounce prosopagnosia, “Face blindness, correct?”
The counselor gave him a slight frown. “There’s no treatment for the condition. I work with her to develop coping strategies to help her identify people and tools to keep her mood up. It can be isolating and anxiety-provoking not to know who anyone is, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Actually, he couldn’t. It sounded like a waking nightmare.
“So she can identify people using these, uh, strategies?”
Another frown.
“Identify was probably the wrong word. Her prosopagnosia is sufficiently severe that she doesn’t recognize people. For instance, she knows me in context. If she sees me in my office, she knows who I am. Or when I’m on the Qualla, she’ll run up and say hi. But once I bumped into her in town and she had no idea who I was.”
Pat tried to imagine a life where everyone he met was always a stranger. He couldn’t.
“Does she recognize anyone? Her mom?”
The counselor was slow to answer. “I don’t know. I imagine she knows who Marlene is, but … I’m not sure. We come up with key characteristics that will help her slot people into their places in her life. Ellis Brown, for instance, has distinctive dyed blue ‘mermaid’ hair. She knows to look for that. Joel Pine, her art teacher, lost a leg as the result of an IED he encountered in the military. She knows him by his prosthetic limb.”
Pat wasn’t a trained counselor, but six years seemed like a long time to spend basically telling a kid to use her context clues to figure out who people were.
Caine seemed to sense his confusion. “We also practice behaviors to help when she can’t recognize a classmate or a friend. Marlene made the decision to keep Joy-Lynn’s condition private, so her friends don’t understand when she seems standoffish.”
“Why would the mother do that? Hide the condition, I mean. Is she embarrassed or something?”
Caine shook his head. “No. She’s more paranoid than anything. She worries someone will take advantage of the girl. I mean, think about it. If she can’t identify you, you can pretty much do what you please. But, I think that’s a rotten view of human nature. Not surprising, really, given Marlene’s background.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “You don’t think much of Marlene Glasser, do you?”
“I think she’s misguided. Uneducated. Ill-equipped to act as a single parent, let alone the single parent of a child facing the challenges Joy-Lynn faces.”
“Why do you think she took off?”
Caine shrugged. “You’re the special agent. But I know she was having financial problems. And rumor is the dead guy was an enforcer for a local loan shark. She may have reported the murder and then thought better of it. She may be mixed up in that world. It wouldn’t surprise me. The casinos bring a lot of money to town, but they bring a lot of problems, too.”
What he said squared with Pat’s preliminary investigation. Marlene Glasser’s finances were a mess. And her inability to hold down a job meant they’d been patchy for years. It was within the realm of possibility that she’d sought a loan from a … nontraditional lender.
“Are you suggesting Marlene may have killed Demetrius Costa?”
Caine went wide-eyed and raised both hands, palms facing Pat. “I’m not suggesting anything. But … did she give a description of the alleged killer or just tell you where to find the body?”
Pat gave him his best stone-faced look. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the investigation. Frankly, I wish your boneheaded chief of police hadn’t released her name in connection with the case.”
“Well, that’s Chief Wagner for you. A bonehead of the highest order. But my real concern here is Joy-Lynn. She needs her routines to function. A life in hiding … uh … or on the run, that will knock her off-balance. Do you have any leads? Are you organizing a search party? I’m willing to help find them any way I can.”
Pat rocked back in his chair and assessed Boyd Caine. After a long moment, he said, “At this point, we’re following all leads. The office got a tip they’d been spotted outside Harrisonburg, Virginia. Do you know if they have any family in the area?”
Caine twitched his lips to the side and thought. “I’m not sure. But you should definitely check it out. I can go out in the woods after work and look for them. I’m happy to.”
Pat stood, signaling the interview was over. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The woods are a bit dangerous this time of year. In addition to some bears who are doing their last foraging before they hibernate, there’s at least one man with a gun roaming around.”
He stuck out his hand. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Caine.”
Caine shook it. “Please, call me Boyd. And let me know if you need any other information.”
“Much obliged, Boyd.”
Pat ushered him to the door and watched him walk away. His brain clicked into overdrive as he considered how the counselor fit into the puzzle he was constructing of the Costa murder.
Boyd pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. The crack of his footsteps against the pavement echoed across the still, quiet parking lot as he headed for his ancient sedan.
He hoped the meeting with the special agent hadn’t been a mistake. But his fear and concern had been mounting ever since the press reported that Marlene had witnessed the murder of Demetrius Costa in the woods. And when Joy-Lynn hadn’t shown up for school on Monday, panic tore through him like a wave, rocking him sideways.
; Steady, Boyd.
He reached his car, threw himself into the driver’s seat, and turned the key in the ignition.
“It’s a little late to worry about that now,” he scoffed at himself as the car sputtered to life.
He had to find Joy-Lynn and Marlene before the authorities did. He had to. And he would.
With any luck, Special Agent Banks would follow up on the tip Boyd had called in from a landline on the Qualla. If Banks headed to Virginia, it would give him more time to comb the woods where he knew Marlene and Joy-Lynn were hiding.
As Boyd wound his way down the curvy road from the mountaintop to the town below, his tires squealed. The shrill noise jolted him back to the present, and he blinked at the speedometer. Apparently the sedan had been keeping pace with his racing mind. He pumped his brakes to reduce his speed. The hairpin turns and switchbacks he was negotiating were challenging under the best of circumstances. There was no reason to tempt fate by taking a turn too fast while he was lost in thought.
If he stayed calm and focused, he’d flush out the mother and daughter before Banks did.
7
Aroostine searched the small pantry for the makings of a quick breakfast so she could eat before her dog walker showed up. There was only one logical choice: pie.
She carried her morning tea and a slice of Pattie’s masterpiece out to the small picnic table designated for her campsite. Rufus followed and settled himself at her feet.
“Don’t judge, Rufus. Fruit’s good for you, you know.”
He tilted his head and yawned loudly.
She savored a bite of the tart-sweet cranberry-apple filling. The wind lifted her hair and dropped it back on her neck. The sensation gave her shivers. Autumn was coming to these mountains. The leaves were still in full color throughout the park, but in a few short weeks, the trees would be bare and the ground would be littered with brown detritus that would decay to nourish next year’s growth. If Marlene and Joy-Lynn were hiding in the woods, she hoped they’d found shelter.
She needed to start talking to the people on Ellis’ list. She swallowed the last bite of pie and returned to the camper to dump the dirty dishes in the sink and retrieve the envelope. She was leaning against a wide red oak tree, reviewing the names Ellis had provided when the sound of bicycle wheels kicking up gravel announced the arrival of the ranger’s daughter.
“Morning, Ms. Jackman,” the girl called cheerfully as she swung her leg over the bar of her ten-speed and toed the kickstand down into the dirt with her sneaker-clad foot. Aroostine noticed her socks—one sky blue, one deep purple—and was instantly reminded of Joy-Lynn’s hair ties.
“You must be Rory.” She folded the list and returned it to the envelope, which she jammed in the back pocket of her jeans.
“That’s me! Rory Painter, of A Walk in the Park dog-walking service. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Jackman.” The girl advanced toward her with her hand outstretched.
“You can call me Rue.”
Her eyes widened. “No, ma’am, my father wouldn’t like that one bit.”
Aroostine suppressed a smile as she shook Rory’s hand.
“Thanks for coming by to meet Rufus. I’m heading into town for the day. If I give you a spare key, can you walk him when you get home from school and make sure he has water?”
“Sure thing!”
“Great. This is Rufus.” Aroostine crouched and peered under the picnic table. Rufus was sound asleep, oblivious to their visitor.
Rory squatted beside her. Rufus’ upper lip trembled as he snored loudly. “I guess he’s not much of a guard dog, huh?”
“He’s more of a lover than a fighter. And more of a snoozer than a …”
“Bruiser?” the girl suggested with a wide grin.
Aroostine laughed, and the sound penetrated Rufus’ sleep. He opened his eyes and jerked back his head as if surprised to see two human faces staring back at him from a few feet away. She figured he probably was.
“Hi, boy. I’m Rory.” The girl extended her hand in a fist.
Rufus unfolded himself and padded out from under the table to smell Rory’s hand. After a thorough sniffing, he thumped his tail against her leg and cocked his head.
“He likes to have his ears scratched,” Roo told her.
Rory reached out and gave Rufus several deep, satisfying scratches. Aroostine returned to standing, and the girl followed suit.
“He’s sweet.”
“He likes you.”
Rory checked the watch on her left wrist. “My school bus doesn’t come for another twenty minutes. Can I take him for a quick get-to-know-you … ‘W’?” Rory had obviously met her share of dogs who knew the word walk and responded to it with enthusiasm.
“Sure. If you have time. I’ll get his leash.”
She leaned inside the open camper door and grabbed the coiled leash from its place on the steps. At the sight of it, Rufus sprang to life.
She clipped the leash to his collar and handed the other end to Rory. “He’s likely to pull if he sees a squirrel. Or a bird. Or a leaf.”
The girl laughed. “I’m stronger than I look, Ms. Jackman. C’mon, Rufus, I’ll show you where all the good leaves are hiding.”
“Why don’t I give you the key now and you can lock up when you bring him back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She handed over the spare key and crouched to pet Rufus’s head. “Be good for Rory.”
The girl waved goodbye and walked toward a path that wound through the trees, Rufus trotting along at her heels as if he’d known her for years.
Once they disappeared into the woods, she pulled the envelope from her pocket and scanned Ellis’ list:
Terry Marsden, Marlene’s neighbor
Shane Kingsley, the boss who fired Marlene from the discount store
Hanna Carothers, the boss who fired Marlene from the cleaning company
Joel Pine, Joy-Lynn’s art teacher at the Qualla art class
Sherry Wu, Joy-Lynn’s homeroom teacher at school
Boyd Caine, Joy-Lynn’s therapist
Might as well start at the top. If she hurried, she might catch the neighbor before she started her day. If she didn’t … well, she’d just let herself in and have a look around.
Aroostine rang the doorbell again. She pressed a bit longer and harder this time. While she waited to see if Terry Marsden would finally answer the door, she pulled the sheet of paper from her jeans pocket, unfolded it, and double-checked the address that she knew full well was correct.
This was the house where Marlene and Joy-Lynn lived. They rented the first floor. The elusive Terry lived on the second floor. There was only one doorbell. From what she could see of the interior, the house hadn’t been carved up into actual apartments. She just hoped the bell could be heard upstairs.
Maybe she’s already at work. She waited another half minute before crossing the porch to peer through the grimy front window. The living room was filled with worn furniture. The coffee table held some magazines and two coasters. The Glassers had left in a hurry. Just as Ellis had said.
Also just as Ellis had said, an eviction notice was taped to the front door, announcing in bold, capital letters that Marlene Glasser was being evicted for non-payment of rent.
Before she realized what she was doing, Aroostine ripped the legal notice down from the door and tore it in half. Then in half again.
The gesture was meaningless. Marlene and Joy-Lynn Glasser were still every bit as homeless as they’d been ten seconds ago. But it felt good to do it all the same.
She wadded the scraps of paper into a ball, raised her fist, and pounded on the front door; it felt good to take out her frustration on the door even though she highly doubted knocking would be more effective than ringing the bell had been. Two interminable minutes later, she faced the reality that if the upstairs neighbor was home, she knew she had a visitor and she had no intention of opening the door.
It was time for a Plan B.
Aroostine H
iggins’ idea of a Plan B would be leaving a polite note under the door asking Ms. Marsden to call her. This situation, however, called for a Rue Jackman Plan B—more along the lines of breaking and entering than leaving a note.
Aroostine leaned against the railing and considered her options. Part of her wished she’d dragged Rufus along. He wasn’t the protective type, but he’d have made a decent lookout. She laughed at herself. Who was she kidding? Rory had probably worn him out with their romp through the woods, and he was likely snoring on the pullout bed.
Act like you belong. She glanced up and down the deserted street. Nobody was watching. She vaulted the railing and landed like a cat in the narrow alleyway that separated the Glassers’ house from its neighbor to the left.
As she walked between the houses she waved the balled up paper in her hand as if she were obviously headed for the trashcans that she could only hope were out back. And they were. Two dented metal trashcans ala Oscar the Grouch sat side by side at the far end of the yard by a gate set in a chain-link fence that seemed to run the length of the entire short block. She noisily opened the can with the numeral “1” painted on it and disposed of the remnants of the eviction notice, replacing the lid with an equally loud flourish.
She turned and surveyed the forlorn backyard. The greenery consisted of tall patches of weeds springing up from cracks in the broken cement. An empty clothesline sagged between two poles. She sensed movement in one of the upstairs windows before she saw it and raised her eyes in time to see a sheer curtain fluttering, as if someone had been peering down at her.
“Well, hello, Terry,” she said under her breath.
She walked toward the back door, taking her time, as if she had every right to be wandering around the backyard. She hammered on the door with her fist and waited for the woman to make her way down the stairs and through the Glassers’ space to the kitchen.
She spotted a silhouette moving along the dim hallway leading from the front of the house to the kitchen.
Crossfire Creek Page 5