As it was dark inside the house, she couldn’t tell if he was home or not. She decided to stay in the car, staring at his front yard and the browned, mid-fall grass, cut short, and his bushes, squared off. Light-brown circles dotted the trunk of the maple in his front yard where limbs had been trimmed off. Caryn chuckled. So Eks did yard work. He had grown up. She shut off the car and busied herself with visions of Ekhard as a good homemaker and happy husband.
Puffy clouds drifted in front of the sun, alternately creating the need for sunglasses and the need to remove them. His street had very little traffic. One carful of teenagers passed with the radio blaring so loud that her car shook. She wondered what classes those kids were skipping. No one came or went from Ekhard’s house. It was 10:37 in the morning.
Her cell phone rang, and she jumped out of her skin. “Hello?”
“Caryn? It’s Riannda. I was just checking on you. Feeling any better?”
One advantage Caryn had was the ability to feign illness when she needed to get away. Ipecac syrup was a perfect antidote. She shifted the phone to her left hand and reached for the Walmart bag. “Thanks, Riannda. I’m much better.”
“Did you go home?”
“I … yes.”
“You get yourself some chamomile tea for your stomach. That will settle it down right away. And calm your nerves.”
“I will. I’m working from home on my computer.” She had done it in high school. Lied and pretended to be sick. Now she did it sometimes at work.
“Doesn’t sound like rest to me. That chamomile is what you need. Do you have any? I could bring some tea by when I get off work.”
“I’ll be fine.” Caryn had a body type conducive to a sickly persona. She was thin. Fit, but thin. Not too muscular. When she pretended she was ill, people fell for it readily. She would cough or go in the bathroom and stick a finger down her throat. It was also easy to lose a little extra weight if she needed to.
“I’ll get better, Riannda. See you tomorrow.”
It was dark before Ekhard came home. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, Caryn took a swig of the bourbon. The cap had fallen between her feet on the floor of the car. The open bottle, sitting on her lap for some time, had provided less than interesting reading material during the long afternoon. It just gave her a break from her memories, rotten carcasses that floated to the surface of the swamp of decay that was her consciousness.
What was he like now? Did he have children? “Ha! No way.” Caryn laughed out loud at the thought. Ekhard would not have any children. Not considering their own upbringing. And who were his friends? Did he hang out with a bunch of gun-toting thugs wearing leather jackets with chains hanging from their belt loops? Or were his friends neatly pressed, churchy folk? She imagined them with clean-smelling hair, a cappella singers able to harmonize in any key.
Another fine image of Ekhard Klein thrown in the trash. If he goes to church at all, I’ll be a baboon’s ass.
His garage door opened. In the low light, Caryn couldn’t see the make of his car. For some reason, that mattered to her. Is it a better car than mine? Is it newer?
There were no other cars in the garage. No children’s Big Wheels or bicycles. Ekhard lived alone. He got out of the car. An older man now, he looked thin and tired. He opened the trunk of his car and lifted out a duffle bag and a plastic grocery bag. Shifting them into one hand, he grabbed a gallon of milk with the other and shut the trunk with his elbow. He looked vulnerable. Hunched over, he made his way to the house, and the garage door shut.
Now what? So she had seen him. Caryn had been sitting there all afternoon, flipping through scenarios in her head. Should I knock on his door and say hi? She held up the bottle and tipped it back again. “To you, Eks.” She didn’t want to give him an open bottle. And now she was tipsy.
The light came on in his living room, blue light from a TV. It flickered from bright to dim, blinking, then turning completely dark. She screwed the cap on the top of the bottle and tucked it back in the bag.
I could call him, she thought. Caryn recalled the number she had written down earlier today. She dialed slowly and watched the shadow of a man move across the living-room blinds. The shadow reminded her of her father.
“Hello?”
Blood drained from Caryn’s face.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
She could hear him breathing. It was odd that he sounded exactly the same. Exactly like she remembered. But her mouth hung open, refusing to form any words. She was an empty kettle, hot and dried out, without any steam.
CHAPTER 17
CARYN: 28 Years Ago
The sticky-slick pleather car seat was sweat-glued to the back of Caryn’s thighs. She was slumped down in the spacious back seat of her mom’s Pontiac station wagon with the window down. The wind blew her shoulder-length hair in all directions as she stared out at the passing fields. Michael Jackson sang in high-pitched falsetto over the radio, “Keep up with the pup, don’t stop. Don’t stop till you get the pup …” That’s what she thought he was saying, anyway. Over the crackly radio it was hard to tell.
Caryn’s mother Anna drove, white-knuckling the steering wheel. From the back seat, Caryn watched the muscles in her jaw bulge to the beat of the song between puffs of her cigarette.
Eks sat in the front seat with an ice pack wrapped in a pink kitchen towel pressed to his cheek, his head tilted to the side. She wanted to pull his short blond hair. She wanted to hit him in the head. If he hadn’t made Dad so mad, they might not be leaving.
Early in the morning, Caryn had heard her parents yelling. When she went downstairs to investigate, Dad slammed his fist on the kitchen counter. He was saying things like “You bitch!” And, “A man’s got a right …”
Mom cried out, “I’ve been reading magazine articles about it. I have rights. You can’t say that to me.”
Caryn wanted to hear the fight, so she had made herself invisible behind the dining-room wall.
“My house, my rules. I don’t want to see any more of those fucking magazines, do you hear? That shit is messing with your head.”
Eks snuck into the dining room behind his sister. “Whatcha doin’?” He walked all the way around the table to stand next to her near the doorway. He was hiding too.
“Listening.” Caryn looked up at him. Her brother’s body had stretched out that year. He was lanky and about a foot taller than she was.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“They’re fighting again.” She peered out into the kitchen just as Mom threw a coffee cup at Dad and it exploded on the wall tile over the counter. Caryn and Ekhard backed away.
“Duh. At least you aren’t a total imbecile.” Eks put a hand on Caryn’s arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Tearing herself away from him, she crossed her arms tight over her chest. “No,” she whispered. “I want to hear what they’re saying.”
Dad growled at Mom, “Where are you going to go? You have no one.”
“Come on, Ceecee.” Ekhard tugged at Caryn’s arm. His eyes widened further with every word their dad said.
“Stop it, I can’t hear.” She leaned toward the kitchen in order to hear without being seen.
Mom blew her nose into a tissue. “I have friends. I have my cousins. I’m taking the kids, and we’re leaving you.”
“Goddammit, Anna. You can’t …”
Next thing Caryn knew, Eks had an arm around her middle and was scooping her up by her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. With his free hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream, he carried his little sister out of the dining room. She kicked him in the shins and screamed into his sweaty palm. He didn’t set her down till they got to the living room.
As soon as he let his hand go, she shrieked, “Mo-om! Da-ad!”
Eks shoved her to the floor. “You little traitor. I’m going to kill you.” He bent over his sister with his fingers out like claws.
Caryn pulled her knees up to her chest to protect he
rself and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Anna Clare, her mother, running into the living room.
“What’s going on in here? Ekhard, what are you doing?” She waved the tissues wadded in her hand, a white flag of surrender.
From the floor, Caryn watched her dad, his face red as a tomato, swoop in and pull Ekhard back by his shoulders. Then he wound up and slugged him. Right in the jaw.
Mom shrieked, “No!”
Eks fell back into the china hutch, rattling the dishes. Something fell over and broke. His hand went to the side of his jaw, which was already turning purple. Screwing his mouth and eyes closed tight, he ran out of the room.
“Goddammit, Theo!” Anna raised a hand to slap him.
Theo caught her hand in the air. “Don’t you dare!”
Their eyes locked on one another.
Anna wrenched her wrist away and said, “I’m leaving you. Now.” In one big swoop, she took Caryn by the hand and stormed out of the room.
It felt like her arm was being ripped out of its socket. Anna Clare had such a tight grip on Caryn’s small hand that the bones ground together.
An hour and a half later, in the back seat of the car, Caryn absentmindedly rubbed her sore, bruised knuckles.
“Keep up with the pup. Don’t stop. Don’t stop till you get the pup.”
Anna had doted on Eks before pulling out of the driveway. She made sure he had the ice pack and cooed, “Poor baby.” Bitterly recalling those moments, Caryn slouched forward to press her knees into the back of Ekhard’s seat. She moved her knees in time to the music’s beat, rocking his seat and jolting him.
“Stop it, Caryn.” Eks turned around, showing his blackened, swollen cheek.
“Make me,” she taunted.
“Caryn Clare, you stop that right now.” Anna’s long arm snaked over the seat. Though Caryn ducked, Anna smacked her in the face, hard.
“Ow! What did I do?” Caryn lifted bruised hands to her throbbing nose. The last time she had teased her brother Anna had smacked her hands until they turned bright red. They were still sore.
“Leave your brother alone. Can’t you see he’s been hurt?” Anna took another drag on her cigarette.
“Where are we going? Are you leaving Dad?” Ekhard asked.
She flicked her cigarette butt out the window. “That’s none of your business. Your dad and I just had a little argument, that’s all.”
Caryn put in her two cents’ worth. “You were fighting.”
“We were fighting,” Anna agreed.
“Are you leaving him?” Eks sounded hopeful. And scared.
Anna didn’t answer. She slowed the car and turned onto a dirt road, put the car in park, and leaned her head on the steering wheel. Caryn sat up and scooted to the middle of the back-seat bench, draping her elbows over the front seat for a better look. The three of them stared silently out the front window.
“Where are we?” Ekhard asked.
No one answered.
In front of the car was a faded-gray old-fashioned, two-story house with dirty white pillars on either side of the front door. The no-longer-white trimmed windows and doors hung broken against the pale, weathered siding. A shutter lay on top of dead bushes near the steps.
The front porch stretched around the house, as did the railing, missing posts here and there. Caryn thought she could make out a rocking chair at one end. Above the roof of the porch, the shred of a flowery curtain billowed out one open window. Inside, it was dark. Like no one was home. Like it had been abandoned.
For a while, Anna shook. Her hunched shoulders bobbed up and down to the music, no longer Michael Jackson. Neither of the children spoke a word. Then, as if nothing had happened, Anna sat up and sniffed. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and turned that big station wagon around.
Eks threw his towel and ice pack on the floor in front of him. “Where are we going now?”
“Home. We’re going back home.”
CHAPTER 18
MORGAN
“Is Angie upset? It’s Friday night.”
“No, she’s not mad. I dropped Etta off at practice. As long as I do whatever the girls need when they need it, we’re good. And by the way, tomorrow is Etta’s forensics meet. She and her team are debating the pros and cons of a democratic government. I plan on being there.”
“So you’re not spending Saturday with me? I swear, Donnie, where are your priorities?”
Donnie grumbled something under his breath.
“Just kidding. Geez, ever heard of sarcasm?”
“Not when it comes to my family.” He drove his SUV up a long, winding, tree-lined driveway. The Aikens’ home sat tucked in a gated community in the near north side of Indy.
“You’re a good dad. The girls are lucky to have you.” Morgan adjusted her jacket.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Trust me, I know,” Morgan assured him.
The Aikens’ home, a majestic white two-story with columns on either side of the front door, emerged from behind trees. Two huge black Labradors in the front yard saw the vehicle and ran toward it. Together they surrounded the car, barking ferociously and baring their teeth.
Morgan’s eyes widened at the sight of the huge animals. “How did Mr. Aiken react to the news? Maybe they don’t want to talk to us.”
“No, no,” Donnie quelled her worries. “He was relieved. He said they needed the closure.”
“How are we supposed to get to the house?” The larger of the two dogs was up with its front feet on the door and growling through the closed passenger-side window. “I’m not getting out. Call them. Tell them to call off their guard dogs.”
While Donnie dialed, the front door of the house opened. A man in green-plaid slacks and a navy blazer stepped outside. A thin woman wearing a peach-colored sweater dress rushed past him and toward the car. She called to the dogs, “Bernie, Conan, come here! Get over here!”
The dogs trotted to their mistress, tails wagging. She took both dogs by the collar and led them back to the house.
“Look, they’re friendly,” Donnie encouraged Morgan. “Come on.”
Mr. Aiken approached the car. Donnie stepped out of the vehicle and greeted him.
“Good evening. Detective James is it?” Mr. Aiken shook hands with Donnie.
“That’s right. Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Aiken.”
Morgan also shook the man’s hand. His strong handshake was vigorous.
“Call me Bennie,” he said. “Not Bernie. That’s the dog’s name. My wife always gets us confused.” A deep, soft laugh accompanied this statement.
“Nice to meet you.” Morgan pulled away and surreptiously rubbed her hand.
“Come on inside.” Bennie led the way into the house.
The grand entryway had marble tile floors and high ceilings. To the right was a decorator’s showcase dining room complete with table settings and a floral centerpiece.
“Expecting company?” Morgan asked.
“No, Leeanne likes to keep it that way. I don’t ask questions.”
Bennie led them to the left into a high-style living room. The plush-carpeted room was painted light-green so that the white trim popped. A pair of matching dark-green sofas faced each other in front of a gas-burning fireplace surrounded by black marble. A brick patio confined by thick brush and tall trees could be seen through a set of windowed French doors. Outdoor furniture was covered in fallen leaves.
Mrs. Aiken swept into the room. “Thanks so much for coming over, officers. Sorry about the dogs.”
“It’s detectives,” Morgan said. “Detective Morgan Jewell.”
Leeanne’s bleached-blond hair was frizzy, the result of years of processing chemicals. She appeared physically fit for her age and wore bright-pink lipstick. “Please have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee or …” She checked her watch. “It is happy hour somewhere, isn’t it?”
Bennie went directly to a wet bar. “And it’s Friday. How about a drink?” He dug ice from a bucket and dumpe
d it into a wide glass.
“None for me, thank you.” Donnie shook hands with Leeanne; then, careful not to disturb the numerous decorative pillows, sat down on one of the twin sofas.
Morgan also declined a drink as Leeanne poured herself a glass of wine. Leeanne and Morgan sat on the sofa across from Donnie, and Bennie settled into a straight-backed, flower-printed wing chair. There was a collective release of breath.
“You found her. You found our baby Suzy,” Leeanne said.
“I hope you find closure in knowing that. But Mr. and Mrs. Aiken,” Donnie said gently, “the discovery of her body has reopened the investigation.”
“Of course, of course.” Bennie set his drink down on the cluttered table next to his chair.
“Not on the table, Bennie,” Leeanne scolded.
He moved the glass to a pink coaster next to a gold lamp, probably a valuable heirloom, that included a pair of porcelain figurines—a man and a woman wearing garb from centuries ago dancing around a tree trunk. The lamp and gilded shade shook as Bennie nudged the table. He said, “Ten years after her disappearance we held a wake. We wanted the search to finally be over.”
Morgan reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out her tattered notebook and fine-tip pen.
“It’s not like we gave up on her,” Leeanne explained. “But we have two other beautiful girls. They both felt forgotten by us. It took years of counseling to help them recover. I think they still resent Suzy for leaving us.”
“Let’s not get into that, Leeanne.” Bennie picked up his drink.
“We know she was murdered,” Morgan said, coming directly to the point.
“She didn’t run away, you see. I knew she wouldn’t leave us.” Leeanne waved her arms, almost spilling her wine before guzzling half of it.
Donnie pushed aside the sofa pillows and said, “We need to ask you a few questions about that time.”
Bennie rattled the ice in his glass. “Go ahead. The search was mismanaged from the start.”
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