Little Owl

by Lauri Schoenfeld

  Sam.

  He bunched his fists as rage built inside him. Adaline was his wife. She didn’t need protection from anyone else—that was his job. He had the ring to prove it. His fingers became numb as he held his fists tighter. Cache wanted to believe Adaline more than anything, but she couldn’t see her behavior as he saw it.

  Protection from herself had to be the priority above everything else. He’d be the bad guy out of love. No one else understood that, but they didn’t need to. Cache prayed Sam had a good excuse for how this looked, otherwise he feared for the safety of the man, and for the sanity, and control, of himself.

  On the table, Cache saw the flowers that Adaline threw away at Lost Treasures, blossoming wildly and brightening up the whole room, including the warmth in his heart.

  She’d kept them, and he was home.

  Home.

  Being away for a few days and living in a dumpy motel made him appreciate now.

  Right here.

  This very moment.

  It wasn’t the house that made the home, it was her.

  He’d protect her at any cost. Cache went over all the details in his head, starting with someone attacking him. Could it be a coincidence? No one took anything from him, making it obvious that it wasn’t someone needing money to grab a quick fix. He did just get fired. Did his boss have a problem with the way Cache handled things while working there?

  He shook his head.

  Don’t let your mind go.

  That brought him to the question of how he got his job to begin with. He knew he was massively underqualified for it. And who the hell was his real estate agent, who apparently had multiple identities? Both the agent and his job brought them to Salt Lake City, and all the strange incidents started happening once they arrived: Sam showing up after fourteen years of being a ghost, Adaline finding Dr. Lynchester out of the blue, who conveniently has an office a few blocks from their place.

  Officer Abbott giving him the card for Dr. Lynchester?

  Officer Abbott’s case.

  Adaline’s clearly right in the middle of it, but what secrets could she be hiding?

  Cache pulled out his business card case and removed more than thirty cards he’d gotten from clients, which he wouldn’t need anymore. He flipped through the pile for Miss Tisher’s card, throwing the others one by one into the trash. Near the back, he found her name and dialed the number on the back of the card.

  The phone rang three times.

  He glanced at his watch.

  9:00 pm

  “Hello. Who is this?”

  “Miss Tisher? It’s Cache Rushner.

  “Who did you say you were again?”

  “Cache Rushner. We bought a home from you.”

  “This is Miss Tisher,” the woman on the phone said. “But your name doesn’t sound familiar. Where exactly do you work?”

  He scratched his head and wrinkled his nose.

  How does she not know me?

  “You know, we have some issues with our home too, and we need help.”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid not. Do you remember when we did a final walk-through on our house, a few months ago, and the top stair squeaked when the heater turned on?”

  “Mr. Rushner, I can’t say I remember that.”

  Cache shook his head.

  What the hell is going on?

  He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, we talked about the heater. You said getting a home warranty was a smart way to go to cover our asses if the heater ever died on us. Well, it’s decided to do that.”

  She coughed and cleared her throat. “Young man, do you know what time it is? It’s getting late.”

  Cache rolled his eyes and bunched his fist. She seemed off and unclear. Come to think of it, her voice sounded hoarse. Maybe she was coming down with something?

  “I do. I’m sorry, and I’ll make it fast. I just need to know if when we bought the house, did we purchase a home warranty?”

  “What’s your address, and I can see what I can find out,” she said.

  Cache hesitated. “256 Dreary Oak Drive.”

  “Yes, here in Salt Lake City. I remember this house. I met with the owner. She was quite a character.”

  “You don’t remember meeting with me?”

  “Like I said, I only worked with the seller, not the purchaser. Would you like me to email you a copy of the paperwork?”

  “Yes, that would be great.” Cache gave her his email address.

  “I’ll send that right over. Sorry I can’t be of more help to you. Oh, and please don’t call me again at this time of night. An old lady like myself needs her sleep.”

  The line went dead. Cache sat in silence, trying to figure out what just happened. Being in the elevator with Miss Tisher, or whoever she was, made him curious about her double identity and the secret under her belt. It seemed she had more secrets than he could’ve imagined even an hour ago. The first time he ran into her was in Owling, a few months before the girls’ murder, also the same day that he suddenly received a promotion from Kirkham Trading located in Salt Lake City. She happened to be handing out business cards, trying to get some property to sell in that area, but she told him that she mainly worked in Salt Lake City. At the time, he couldn’t believe how miraculous it was that everything seemed to be falling into place on its own. She asked about Adaline. He found that weird but didn’t give much thought to it. Before Miss Tisher left, she gave him one of her cards and said if they needed a new start, Salt Lake’s where to do it.

  Salt Lake. What a joke.

  His phone beeped, and the email she promised came through. Cache opened the attachment. Looking down, Miss Tisher didn’t stare back at him.

  Who is this? I didn’t make a purchase with her.

  A white-haired lady with a short bob and saggy eyelids peered at him. She appeared to be in her 70s, and the raspy voice he heard went well with the picture. This lady, the real Miss Tisher, was unwell.

  Who the hell did I buy the house from?

  Cache quickly glanced through the attachment until he spotted it. The seller was an Arlene Williams.

  Arlene.

  The only Arlene he knew of was Adaline’s aunt, but he’d never met the lady before or seen a picture of her. Something to look into, leaving Adaline out of it for now.

  One call down, two to go.

  “Hello. Dr. Lynchester? I know it’s late, but I’m Adaline’s husband, Cache Rushner.”

  Rustling muffled on her end, and a light gasp escaped her lips. “Yes.”

  “I hear she’s been seeing you, and that she’s remembering things from the past. The thing is, my wife’s really fragile right now, and I don’t want anyone or anything giving her more ideas. She’s been through enough. We both have.”

  “Mr. Rushner, I’ve been hoping you would call. I understand your hesitation, but did Adaline tell you what she has?”

  “Yes. She said she has PTSD.”

  “That’s right,” Dr. Lynchester said.

  “I’m going to be very forward with you here. I don’t think you have her best interest at heart, and she won’t be seeing you again unless I’m with her.”

  Silence lingered on the phone.

  “Doctor?”

  “Mr. Rushner, I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Adaline needs your support.”

  “Why?”

  “She hasn’t handled the memories well. Every time is a first time for her.”

  “Are you saying you’ve tried to help her remember before?” Cache asked.

  “Precisely, and it didn’t take, to be honest. Each time she’s rediscovering who she is and what has defined her. She’s going to need someone there to support and believe in her. Someone she can open her heart to.”

  “You think that’s me, yet you don’t know me.”

  “I do know you,” she said. “You have some secrets of your own. Secrets that can help Adaline unlock hers.”

  Cache shivered and debat
ed throwing the phone on the ground. “How do you know anything about me?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “Are you blackmailing me? What do you want?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Only to help.”

  The wind blew hard against the motorhome as he waited for his parents to get home. They should’ve been right behind him. There wasn’t any food for him to eat, but he checked the fridge again for the fourth time.

  Still empty.

  He lay down and held his stomach, trying to ignore the pain and gurgling it made. Cache closed his eyes, but the hunger kept him from sleeping. He grabbed his coat and walked into the blistering cold, watching for any sign of his parents. A rich aroma of spices and meat filled the air. Cache licked his lips, his stomach gurgled again, and his feet carried him to the smell. He hesitated before knocking on a motorhome door. An elderly couple took one look at him and invited him inside for dinner.

  Rushing in, he sat at their table.

  Pot roast and rolls.

  He tried to be patient while saying grace, and he carefully ate—until they glanced away, then he fed his mouth by the spoonful with haste. Halfway through his meal, a car horn honked. The older couple stood, and he wiped his hands on his pants, ready to flee. They opened the window a crack, looked outside, and exchanged glances.

  “Stay here, son,” the old lady said.

  “I need to get home now,” he said. “It’s probably my parents.”

  “Son, you heard my old lady. Stay put. We’ll take care of this,” the man said.

  Their faces were afraid, but the man looked at his wife, and she at him. They smiled lightly and nodded before they held hands and went outside. The front door shut, and a loud bang erupted in the air, almost like lightning striking the house itself. Cache ran to the window and pulled back the curtain. The older couple knelt in the snow with their hands behind their heads. Two men pointed guns to their faces.

  He gasped and placed his hand over his mouth, bending down further toward the ground, but keeping his eyes glued on the elderly couple.

  “Tell us where he is,” a tall man said. “He took something from us, and we want it back. I’m not shooting at the air next time. Tell me where he is.”

  The couple stayed silent.

  “My ass is on the line here. TELL ME.”

  The old man and his wife didn’t say a word.

  “All right then.” The tall man signaled to the other man. Two shots, one after the other, rang through the night sky, and their stationary bodies tilted to the ground.

  Dead.

  “Mr. Rushner, are you there?”

  Cache grasped the table and hunched over, holding his stomach. Nausea hit him just like the day the couple was shot.

  “I’m here,” he said, hoarsely. “What do you need from me?”

  “Come into my office tomorrow. Both of you.” She paused. “Adaline doesn’t know, does she?”

  “No one does.” Cache looked down. “I don’t know if I’m ready to share this with anyone else.”

  “Not even your wife? You both have secrets. Believe me, you need each other, now more than ever,” she said. “This isn’t about you anymore. Every decision you make impacts Adaline, and every decision she makes impacts you. Do you want to put her in any more danger?”

  “I never wanted to hurt Adaline.”

  “Tomorrow morning, 8:30. Come to my office together.”

  Cache closed his phone. He worried about how they would possibly protect each other after what he knew might ruin their marriage, or their trust in one another, for good.

  Forty-Five

  Seth Duncan

  Friday, November 12th

  8:00 a.m.

  Lifting the white water pail behind Lost Treasures, Seth retrieved the store key underneath. He cracked the door open to let some of the cool breeze in and opened the blinds. Adaline had a true gift for making broken things into creations of wonder and beauty.

  Building masterpieces with someone else’s garbage.

  Seth liked many things about her, that was only one. He grabbed the feather duster to remove lint clinging on some vases and restocked the shelves with new vintage items she’d been working on. Outside the store, sounds of happiness and laughter erupted. Stepping higher on the ladder, he peeked to see who the happy couple was. An attractive younger woman and that cop all over the news hugged each other. He tried not to stare, but she looked familiar. Uncanny, even. They stopped in front of Lost Treasures and hid in the corner under the overhead. Both of them glanced around like spies before she waved goodbye, and the lieutenant grabbed the door handle to the store. Seth got off the ladder and jostled to the front door to unlock it.

  “Lieutenant. Hello.”

  “Seth, is it?”

  “You got me,” Seth said, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’ve been on the news, son. Working or being near Mrs. Rushner will draw attention.”

  “I suppose it would. Those reporters are on top of everything,” he said, holding the door half shut. “You seem to be on the news often, too, these days.”

  The lieutenant smiled. “All a part of the job.” He fidgeted and peered at the people passing on the street. “Listen, I need to get something before I jump into work this morning. Would you mind if I looked around before the store opens?”

  Seth stared at the sign on the door and hesitated.

  “I’ll make it quick,” the lieutenant said, with a wink.

  I could get fired letting someone in.

  Seth watched his face, staring at all the bedazzled items, and remembered the way the lieutenant stared at the woman outside…he’d buy something. Adaline would forgive him.

  “Yes, please come in and take a look. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.”

  Lieutenant Stalk nodded.

  He pretended to dust and let his mind process the information in his head of how he knew that woman.

  “Son. How much is this brooch here?”

  Seth put the duster on the counter and moved toward him to view a blue and green crystal brooch lying in the palm of his hand. The sunlight hit the crystal in a way that made it sparkle and reflect a strand of glimmer on the glass shelf.

  “I have a lady I’m fond of who has an eye for shiny items,” the lieutenant said with a chuckle.

  “She looked familiar,” Seth said. “Do I know her?” His question was answered.

  “Let it go, son,” he said. “The price?”

  “I’ll run in the back and check in our books. One minute.” Seth bowed his head and hurried toward the back room where the books were kept. His hands felt clammy, and he tried to wipe them off on his pants, only to have them perspire some more. He continued pacing the floor and smacked his head.

  Glancing at the binders on the shelf, he found the one titled inventory. Seth opened the book and turned to the page with the prices for the brooches.

  Bingo.

  He kept the binder in his hand and walked toward the register. “It’s $1,200, and a collector’s item. Would you like it?” His voice trembled as he spoke.

  The lieutenant peered at it. “Do you think I can get some ass from buying this for her?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Laughter barked from the lieutenant, a broken record of noise and odd beats between confidence and uncertainty. “I’m messing with you, son.”

  Seth scratched his face. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Can you box this up?”

  “S…sure.” He got a box and placed the brooch inside.

  Lieutenant Stalk inched so close to Seth’s ear that his breath stung his cheek with germs. Seth wiped his face with his sleeve and moved two steps backward.

  “You didn’t see any of this today. I wasn’t here, you got it?”

  He nodded and moved behind the register to ring up the purchase. “The total with tax comes to $1,375.00.”

  The lieutenant pulled out a wad of hundreds. “Here’s s
ome for you. To keep you quiet. I believe five hundred is enough for a man that just got out of a cage.” He held the money up in his hand and waved it around, mocking him.

  Seth hesitated and grabbed for the money, only to have the grip tighten on the other end.

  “Remember what I said. I know who let you out of your hole and I could end you. Keep that in mind.”

  Clenching his fists, Seth put the money in his pocket. “I understand you perfectly.”

  “Good.” The lieutenant turned around and left the store without looking back.

  Forty-Six

  Sam Wendell

  Friday, November 12th

  8:00 a.m.

  He hadn’t realized how tired he’d been until he woke the next morning, the steering wheel curled up against his face. Wiping away drool from his mouth, he glanced down Adaline’s street. After picking up Cache last night and hearing about what happened to his car, the desire to keep an eye out for her safety amplified. Sam wished he was the one staying the night with her, and the “other guy” could be waking up at the wheel, right where he sat. Cache seemed like a good guy, but that should’ve been his girl. He should be inside that house holding her, not him. Sam patted his cheeks.

  What am I missing here?

  He knew everything from Adaline’s past with her mom and her visit to the psych ward as a kid. Even her being taken by the strange young man known as Owl Keeper.

  Sam gave him the name when he was nine, after the first time he’d seen the man, who was in his early twenties. A long burn mark crept behind his right ear, and he tried to hide it with his long, matted hair. He’d worn ragged clothing and smelled of sweat and gardenia. Rarely did the man smile, and he walked as if the world was on his shoulders, but Adaline changed him. She had a way of seeing the best in people, and she truly believed he was her friend—but Sam knew better.

  His mind shifted to the night Adaline’s parents died.

  He waited in the cornfield for her like he did most nights, except that night felt different. She didn’t meet at the usual time. Plucking the husk from the corn with nervous anticipation, he continued to wait. Minutes passed before the field swayed with movement, coming from the opposite direction of where he stood. Following the ripple of noise, he hid, making sure not to be seen in case it was her parents.