Hawthorn Woods

by Patrick Canning

  “That’s the guy next door to you, right?”

  “Yeah. Retired Marine. He has a tattoo on one shoulder that’s a sort of three-edged shield. He’s also the guy who groped me yesterday.”

  “Wait, you were serious about that? I thought you meant it as, like, an expression or something.”

  “Since when is ‘grabbed my tit’ an expression?”

  “I thought maybe it meant having a tough day. Like, ‘Monday really grabbed my tit last week.’”

  Francine laughed, but Bruno looked serious.

  “I should say something to him. That’s not right.”

  “I might’ve broken a few of his fingers, so I’m calling it even. For now.”

  Chapter 19

  I am afraid of a knife or anything very sharp or pointed.

  [ x ] TRUE [ ] FALSE

  “A walk at dusk, I love it!” Laura Jean said as they left her driveway. “The sky is spooky-beautiful, and if I have to approve one more parade permit today I’m gonna scream. Thank you for the welcome break.”

  “One of my better ideas,” Francine conceded.

  “I read that walking is super good for you for a million reasons,” Laura Jean said. “Locomotion brings blood to the brain, lets you think more clearly, stuff like that. Hell, the Greeks did it all the time, and they invented democracy, for God’s sake.”

  “They also ate lots of green olives, so nobody’s perfect.”

  “Okay, I gotta ask,” Laura Jean said as they passed the inconspicuous mint-green house Francine had left less than an hour ago. “Where have we landed with Michael? Anything new?”

  YES. Holy shit, yes.

  It was hard—physically, painfully hard—for Francine not to immediately tell Laura Jean every detail of the investigation, but it wasn’t her secret to tell. However, while her professional collaboration with Bruno was out of bounds, topics relating to their failed coupling were still fair game.

  “We did sorta hang out today.”

  “Ooh, goody!” Laura Jean stuttered her feet in a little dance. “I knew you two would get together.”

  “We hung out as friends, I mean.”

  “Friends? No, no, no. That won’t do. This is a romance for the ages. Trust me, I can spot these things a mile away.”

  “At your party he said, and I quote, ‘What are friends for?’ Nobody says that stupid line unless they’re trying to politely tell someone, ‘Hey, we’re never gonna sleep together, buddy old pal.’”

  “Nonsense.” Laura Jean waved away a mosquito. “People say that all the time. He’s probably just nervous. Or playing hard to get.”

  “He’s not single.”

  “He said that?”

  “It was a forced statement and kind of…waffley, but yeah, he said it.”

  “Well, he’s not married.”

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “Francine, please. I may not know much, but the things I know, I know. No wedding ring, no tan line from a hidden wedding ring, and no frequency of divorce. Yes, it’s a real thing and yes, you have it. That boy has never been married.”

  “Maybe he has a girlfriend back in New York.”

  “Maybe. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Well, he could be gay, couldn’t he? Did you ever think of that?”

  “I thought you wanted to set us up?”

  “That was before I knew he’d spurned your advances.”

  “One, I made no such advances. And two, if a guy’s not into me, that means he’s gay?”

  “Honey, as my grandfather liked to say, you make a blind man see. If he’s not married and he er-um-uhs when a heavenly vision like you asks him out—”

  “I didn’t ask him out.”

  “—then he may very well be a confirmed bachelor. I have zero problem with that, but in the case of you, it’s his distinct loss.”

  “I only asked if he was single so I wouldn’t confuse what we’re doing.”

  “And what are you doing?” Playful innuendo lingered in Laura Jean’s eyebrows.

  Francine felt her face warm. More lies. “Spending time together. Platonically. I still have a burnt tongue from the divorce. There’s no flavor in that kind of stuff for me yet. I was never that interested in him, anyway.” Now she was just lying to herself. “Roland kinda steered me into it.”

  “Roland? I thought I was your confidante!”

  Again, Francine was bursting to tell all, but couldn’t.

  “I can have more than one. You’re my feisty Southern matron, and Roland’s my ancient…Swiss oracle.”

  “Roland can be your big-picture, life advice guru, but he’s not qualified to run your love life. That’s my job. We just need to help Michael get his head, excuse me, out of his rear end. I’m gonna find you a new lipstick. I’ll make my own shade if I have to. Flirty Francine Fuchsia. Naughty Neighbor Nectarine. Hey, I’m good at these! Bang Me Bruno Burgundy!”

  Francine laughed. “I thought the latest prevailing theory was that Bruno didn’t like women.”

  “I don’t care if he doesn’t like women, he should still like you!”

  ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

  They reached the grassy section between the Banderwalts and the Asperskis, and watched as Diana Banderwalt walked toward Lori’s farm, hands cupped oddly in front of her.

  “Poor thing’s always pale as a sheet,” Laura Jean said. “I swear, if I ever catch her brother giving her a hard time, I will bring the hellfire.”

  Diana unhooked a gate in Lori’s fence with her elbow and went inside. The chickens flooded out of their coop and swarmed around the girl, making her laugh as she dropped a handful of corn. She spun happily in a circle, lost in the moment until she spotted Francine and Laura Jean. The spinning stopped. The smile vanished.

  “Mrs. Asperski says I can be here,” she said in a thin voice.

  “Honey, don’t mind us,” Laura Jean said.

  Francine approached the fence. “Do you always feed the animals?”

  Diana nodded slightly. “I used to feed Brownie, too.”

  “It’s sad that she’s gone.”

  “Really sad,” Diana agreed as the birds pecked around her untied shoes. “The chickens still like me, though. I like that they don’t fight.”

  The side door of the Colonial flew open.

  Lori Asperski shuffled her weight down the steps and rushed across the lawn with impressive speed, her eyes narrowed into slits above the rounded cheeks of her smile. “Looks like I’m hosting a party I didn’t even know about.”

  “Hello, Lori,” Laura Jean said, trading a quick look of exasperation with Francine.

  Lori strode showily up to them, then lasered her attention onto Diana.

  “Diana, honey, let’s go ahead and agree to no more feeding the chickens, okay?”

  “I can use different corn,” Diana peeped, barely audible above the happy clucking of the birds.

  “It’s not an issue of the corn. No more feeding, okay?”

  “’Cause of Brownie?” Diana whispered.

  “Doesn’t matter why.”

  “Lori,” Francine interrupted. “She likes doing it. If it doesn’t hurt anyone—”

  “If it doesn’t hurt anyone?” Lori repeated. “Sweetie, do I have to remind you of all the wild things that have been happening since you arrived?” The eyes inside the heavy dusting of blue eyeshadow were bloodshot, like they hadn’t closed in days. The woman really did miss her goat.

  “I’m sorry about Brownie,” Francine said sincerely. “It’s awful.”

  “Hollis is looking into the matter, though I think he could be looking into it a lot more. I just can’t quite imagine anyone who lives here in Hawthorn Woods doing such a thing. I have to say, I think the best tourists always leave things the way they found them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Francine said. “Do you think I—”

  “Of course not!” Lori said, sounding scandalized by the thought. “As I said, it’s just so hard to imagine someone here inv
olved in such an atrocious crime. The better-known families, anyway,” she added, looking over at the Banderwalts’ yard.

  Francine followed her gaze and saw Eric idly digging into a tree with a small knife.

  “Diana,” Lori said quietly. “Was your brother outside the other night when my Brownie was murdered?”

  Diana shrank in on herself, looking down at the chickens who continued to peck at the last of the corn. “I don’t know.”

  “Well was he or wasn’t he?”

  “Leave her alone, Lori,” Francine said.

  Lori turned on Francine. “I’d like to know what happened to my Brownie, is that so terrible? Do you have something to tell me instead?”

  “You’re scaring her.”

  “I assume when someone is on my property, I can treat them how I like.” Lori shifted her focus hotly back to Diana. “This is my yard, these are my chickens, and if I don’t want anyone feeding them, then that’s that!” she ended shrilly.

  Diana took a step back in fear, tripped on one of the chickens, and fell into the fence. She let out a short cry of surprise.

  “Hey!” Eric Banderwalt sprinted toward them, hopping Lori’s fence in one easy jump before helping his sister up. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  Eric looked between Francine, Laura Jean, and Lori, apparently deciding where best to direct his anger. “Why are you yelling at her?”

  “I wasn’t yelling, Eric,” Lori said. “I was telling her I don’t want anyone bothering the chickens anymore, because I don’t.”

  “She doesn’t bother the chickens, she feeds them. Why can’t she feed them?”

  “I’m aware she feeds them. I’m the one who let her do it. I don’t want her doing it anymore.”

  “Because of your stupid goat?”

  Lori’s eyes bulged like she’d just swallowed a bug.

  “I was generous before, and look what happened to my Brownie. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

  “You think I killed your goat?”

  Lori flicked a finger in Diana’s direction. “For all I know, it was her.”

  “She loved that goat as much as you did, you stupid bitch!”

  Eric’s outburst seemed to echo in the silence that followed.

  “Very nice, talking that way in front of your sister,” Lori scolded, but the authority in her voice was gone. “Everyone get off my property right now, before I call Chief Durham!” She stomped back up the steps, then turned. “It’s no wonder she’s wasting away with you scaring her half to death all the time. I hope you’re enjoying killing your sister, Eric.”

  Eric stared with wild eyes as Lori slammed the door. Francine couldn’t tell if he was going to scream or cry.

  “Diana, honey,” Laura Jean said. “You pay Mrs. Asperski no mind. She’s just…well, that’s just her way.”

  Hand sticky with tears and corn, Diana gently grabbed her brother’s wrist, snapping him out of his trance of rage.

  Eric gave Francine a look she couldn’t quite classify, then walked off with his sister.

  “Jeeeeez,” Laura Jean whispered as they resumed their walk. “I always wondered if Eric and Lori were gonna blow up at some point. Looks like they just did.”

  “The worst is probably yet to come,” Francine said. She should have known that a decompressing stroll was out of the question. Hawthorn Woods didn’t do relaxing.

  They passed the tree Eric had been jabbing with his knife. No showy initials, no four-letter words—just aimless gashes into the hard core of the trunk. This wasn’t passing the time. It wasn’t even vandalism. It was a buildup of bad emotion, looking for a vent.

  Chapter 20

  I like to visit places I have never been before.

  [ x ] TRUE [ ] FALSE

  Through the window, across the roof, down the sheet, out of the yew bush.

  Charlie ran beneath a flock of honking geese as they flew in a tight V across the night sky. The navy canvas was stenciled with the unmoving branches of stern oaks and a dabble of clouds in the distance.

  He copied the stealthy flight of the bats he’d seen the other night, running low along the ditch with his arms out like wings, sidestepping spiky weeds. Shoes would make quick work of weeds, but wearing them before September would violate an unspoken rule of summer.

  He raced past the mulberry tree where girls liked to trade colorful Perler beads, catching the faint, ashy scent of dormant burn piles in backyards, waiting for their bounty of autumn leaves. He was breathing heavily when he finally he reached Banderwalts’ house, and a bedroom window that had lost its yellow-orange glow.

  Just like Charlie had expected, Diana was curled up on her dirty sleeping bag, cradling a dark Glo Worm.

  He pulled chunky, C-cell batteries from his pocket and set them carefully on the windowsill, feeling a little like Santa Claus as he did it. Hopefully Diana wouldn’t be scared by the surprise, because it sure didn’t seem like Santa visited her house the way he visited Charlie’s.

  Diana’s bedroom didn’t have much else other than the mattress, a dresser, and a rug that looked like the map of a town. There were a few glow-in-the-dark star stickers in one corner of the ceiling, but they were all a dull, weak green, robbed of whatever had once made them glow.

  The breeze brought a chorus of hollow clangs from the wind chimes hanging from a tree in the backyard.

  Diana’s eyes opened and she saw Charlie standing at the window.

  He froze, then gave a little wave.

  She sat up on the mattress. “Hi.”

  “Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “What are those?” she asked, sounding more curious than scared.

  “I brought batteries. For your Glo Worm.”

  “Oh!” She crawled excitedly out of bed and pressed the new batteries into the Glo Worm’s case. With a tight hug, the toy’s fresh light lit her smile. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  She said it like Charlie had given her a thousand dollars or a flying pony.

  “If you need more toys,” he said, “there’s a bunch of them in the firewood pile behind Mister Mystery’s house.”

  “Those are my toys,” she said.

  “Really? Why don’t you keep them in your room?”

  “I want them to be safe.”

  “From what?” Charlie asked.

  “Bad things.”

  “Like when Brownie got hurt?”

  Diana kind of shrugged and shook her head. Charlie didn’t know what that meant.

  “Y’know, whenever I play Hide and Seek,” he said. “I like to hide in window wells. You guys have covers on yours, which makes them even better. You could hide things there.”

  Diana nodded. “Okay.”

  Charlie dug his thumbnail into the windowsill. “Do you think your brother hurt Brownie?”

  “No.” She sounded sure, even a little angry. The smile Charlie had won with the batteries was gone. “He wouldn’t hurt Brownie. He knew I loved her. Sometimes he catches animals, but then he lets them go again when I’m asleep. People think Eric’s bad, but he’s not.”

  Somewhere in the trees at the edge of the backyard, twigs snapped.

  Charlie squinted at the darkness. He could just faintly make out a shape moving through the trees in the direction of the Asperski’s house. Thankfully, it didn’t look like Eric.

  “I gotta go now,” he said to Diana. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Charlie darted across the backyard and followed the figure through some white-barked aspens, hanging back by the willow tree as his target walked across the Asperskis’ deck, waking the chickens. As the man opened the sliding screen door and sat down in the kitchen to untie his gym shoes, Charlie finally saw the face of Mr. Asperski.

  Mrs. Asperski came into the kitchen a moment later, wearing a bright orange nightgown that made her look like the sun. Her hands were curled against her hips like she was really mad about something.

  “Why do you need to keep goi
ng over there so much?”

  “Leave me alone,” Mr. Asperski mumbled.

  “What the hell did you two talk about for three hours?”

  “Lori, I don’t bother you about your hobbies, don’t bother me about mine.”

  “I have been working my butt off getting ready for Garage Sale Day. It has to be bigger than the barbeque. You understand that, right?”

  “Who cares?” Mr. Asperski pushed past her. “I’m going to bed.”

  But Mrs. Asperski grabbed his arm.

  “We’d have to move, Dennis. If anyone found out what you do at night, we would have to move. Do you understand that? You could probably even go to jail.”

  “It’s worth it to me,” he said, pulling his arm from her grasp.

  What the heck were they talking about?

  Whatever it was, Charlie was certain that Mrs. Asperski was the last person he wanted to catch him snooping. He left the backyard as quick as he could, intending to go home. But the night wasn’t done with him yet. A light in the upstairs bedroom of the Durhams’ house signaled to him that there was still more to see. Did he want to help Aunt Francine, or not?

  Charlie scrambled up the angled branches of a sycamore to peer inside the bedroom window. What he saw almost made him fall out of the tree.

  Mrs. Durham was in her underwear. But it wasn’t normal underwear. It was black and complicated. She was standing at the foot of the bed, where Chief Durham was reading a book.

  “It was a long day. I’m tired,” he said.

  “You are always tired.”

  “Aren’t I allowed to be tired?”

  “You sit in your office. You have secret meetings with new girl. You have been thinking about her?”

  “Maggie, you have to stop. The only one who has been thinking about her is you. Why are you so fixated on her?”

  “Fixated?” Mrs. Durham shrieked a bunch of words in another language, then grabbed a flower vase off a dresser and threw it at the wall above the bed.