to appreciate the beauty of nature. She once told me you never knew when life would deal you an unplanned twist of fate. Enjoy things while you can, she said, because you just never knew.” She sighed. “Little did I know she was talking about herself.”
Robby took a deep breath. “It’s beautiful here. A private forest.”
“When Jonathan turned eight, I brought him here to visit. He went shopping with grandma and I spent an entire day out here, whittling away with my knife, making a walking stick. It was as close to a perfect day as I can remember. I wanted to seal the image away in my mind forever. But it wilted real fast once I got back to the office and started staring at grisly crime scene photos. Looking at things like that, the beauty of nature seems to fade pretty damn quickly. You find yourself knee deep in the blood and guts, and the crunch of pine needles beneath your feet is a million miles away.”
They started walking again. “Didn’t help that the day after I got back I caught a new case, one of the first I profiled on my own. Vic’s body was dumped on a forest floor just like this one. Kind of killed the image for me. Haven’t been able to look at pine trees the same way since.” She opened her hand and let the needles fall to the ground.
Robby reached into his pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife, then bent down and chose a short, thick branch. Vail reluctantly took the knife and immediately began clearing the nubs from the stick.
“I didn’t know you liked to carve.”
“Since I was about ten. See these?” She lifted her left hand and showed him several thin, short, barely visible scars on her fingers. “Cut myself lots of times. My father even took me to the ER for stitches once. It was a nasty bleeder.”
“I take it your father passed on.”
“Long time ago. I was twelve. Came home from school and my mom told me he’d had a heart attack. Died in the ambulance.” She stopped carving and stared at the dark landscape ahead of her. “I wonder how Jonathan is.”
“Want to call the hospital?”
She shook her head. “I gave them my cell number. I told them, anything happens, I want to know.” She tossed the stick to the ground and closed the knife, handed it to Robby. “Let’s go in.”
They got back to the house and found Emma seated in front of the television, watching the blank screen intently. Vail took her by the hand. “Come on, Ma. Let’s go make dinner.”
THE KITCHEN APPLIANCES were the same ones installed when the house had been built. With the exception of the countertop microwave, they were all from the aluminum and Bakelite era. An old pink Frigidaire hummed against the far wall.
Vail found a large pot in the cabinet, where her mom had always kept it. She placed it in the sink and turned on the faucet. “Do you still see Aunt Faye?”
“Yes, of course. She comes by and we have tea.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Oh, it’s been a while, I guess. You know how it is with three kids. She’s busy, busy, busy.”
Vail figured she would call her aunt after dinner, see about making temporary arrangements to have Emma stay with her until she could get her mother situated in an assisted care facility. Faye was her father’s sister, but the two women had remained close even after he had passed away.
The shifting in and out of lucidity was frustrating, and Vail felt an urgency to ask important questions while her mother was able to answer them. But under pressure, nothing came to mind.
Dinner was a conglomeration of spaghetti with Ragu sauce doctored with whatever Emma had in her pantry . . . which wasn’t much: stewed tomatoes, canned mushrooms, and a dash of garlic salt. After eating, Vail took Robby on a tour of the house. “Things are pretty much unchanged, if you can believe that,” she said. They walked into a small room on the second floor.
“Let me guess. Your room.”
A large, horizontal glass-faced cabinet was mounted on the far side of the room, which sported sunflower- yellow walls with pink trim.
“Obviously,” Robby said, surveying the dolls behind the glass, “you’re a collector.”
“I can tell you where I got each one.” She walked over to the cabinet and let her eyes roam over them—they ranged from tall to petite, porcelain to plastic—with the world’s ethnicities well represented. “Figured I’d give them to my daughter one day.”
“Until your girl came out a boy.”
A smile flitted across her lips. “Didn’t think Jonathan would appreciate them.”
Robby laughed. “I think you’re right.”
Vail slid the wall closet door aside and found a rolled poster on the top shelf. “It’s still here,” she said. She pulled off the rubber band and unfurled the yellow-aged paper across her bed. “You’ll never believe who my teen heartthrob was.”
Robby looked at the large smiling face staring back at him. “Kind of looks familiar.”
“Shaun Cassidy. Every girl I knew fell for him.” She noticed the reference was lost on him. “
“Oh, yeah.”
She let go of the poster and it rolled back on itself. Robby pointed to the white dresser with gold trim. “Anything left in the drawers?”
“Doubt it.” She pulled one open and peered inside. “Hmm. Must be stuff my mom put in here.” She removed a box, which contained a photo album. They sat on the bed together and thumbed through the photos. “I don’t remember ever seeing these.”
“Who are these people?”
“Haven’t the slightest. Relatives and friends, I guess.” The black-and-white snapshots were held in place on dark paper with scalloped corner mounts. She turned a page and pointed to one of the photos. “Oh. That’s Aunt Faye with my dad. I guess I’m the little one on his lap.” Robby bent forward to get a close look. “You were cute. You were, what, a year old there?”
Vail nodded. “About.” Turned the page. “Here’s my mom again.”
“She was beautiful,” he said, studying the photo. “Who’s that next to her?”
“I don’t know. Kind of looks like Mom, though, doesn’t it?” She carefully pulled the picture out of the corner mounts and turned it over. Written in scripted pen were the words, “Me and Nellie.”
“Obviously,” Robby said, “that’s Nellie.”
Vail nudged a shoulder into his. “Guess that’s why you’re the detective, Detective.”
“Your room is just as you left it.” Emma was standing in the doorway, a knit shawl draped around her shoulders.
“Except for this,” Vail said, holding up the album. “Found it in my dresser drawer.”
Emma smiled. “Haven’t seen that in years. I’d forgotten where I put it.”
“Who are these people?” She opened the album to the first page and handed the book to Emma.
“That’s Uncle Charlie—my Uncle Charlie—and his father, Nate. Nate was from Ireland. Nate O’Toole. Half the people on his side had red hair. Probably where you got yours from.” She pointed to another photo. “And that’s Mary Ellen, she used to live next door to us in Brooklyn, before Gramps moved us all out here.”
A teapot whistled in the distance. “Oh. Do either of you want some tea?”
Robby nodded. “Sure.”
“I’ll go tend to it, then.” She handed the album back to Vail, then disappeared down the hall.
“She’s very sweet,” Robby said.
“She was a good mother.” Vail studied the photo she still held in her hand. “When she loses her memory completely, she’ll take a good part of our family history with her.”
“I’ve got a buddy I work with, an investigator who’s been with VPD for fifteen years. He’s got this software to make your own family tree. Works on it every day. Traced his roots all the way back to the Native Americans who lived in Virginia. Pretty cool. Maybe you should do one. Before it’s too late.”
“I hardly know anything about my family. Would’ve been good to get all this info together before they started dying off.” Vail suddenly became aware of the teapot’s building whistle. She looked at Robby. “She should’ve poured
