earlier, when her mother had been really scared and they’d gone to the neighbor’s house. But the police came, and then everything was all right. So now, if she got really scared and her mom wasn’t home, she knew what she would do. She would go back to the neighbor’s house, and they’d call the police for her.
But not right now, because she wasn’t really scared. She was a big girl, a brave girl, and besides, her mother would be back in a minute.
The minutes ticked by, each one of them feeling like forever, and Emily began to feel like she was going to start to cry if her mom didn’t come back to bed pretty soon. She stuck her thumb in her mouth — something she never let her mother see her do — and snuggled down right in the middle of the big bed.
Somehow, it didn’t feel quite as lonely there.
Then she decided to tell herself a story, the way her mother did when she couldn’t fall asleep.
“Once upon a time,” she whispered to herself, “there was a brave little girl… ” Her voice trailed off, and she decided to start over. “Once upon a time…” she whispered, but once again her words trailed off.
A moment later Emily’s thumb slipped back into her mouth, her breathing grew slow and rhythmic, and her eyes gently closed…
And in her dreams, her mother was cuddling her close, just the way her mother was supposed to.
In her dreams, everything was perfect…
Chapter Forty-three
Rick Mancuso sank the spike of the Open House sign into the soggy earth at the corner, two blocks from the Fine house, tamped the mud with his foot, then stepped back. The sign tilted a couple of inches but held; good enough for the few hours he needed. If it fell over by four, so be it. Satisfied, he checked his watch.
Ten of two, which meant he was running late. Normally, he liked to be at his open houses at least half an hour early, just to make certain everything was in order. And Ellen Fine had a little girl; kids in a house — even just one — usually meant the house wouldn’t look as good as it should in order to sell quickly, and since Rick liked quick sales, he didn’t mind spending half an hour putting a place straight.
Not today — there wouldn’t be time, so he’d have to trust that Ellen Fine had done her job. Giving the sign one last desultory adjustment, an adjustment that failed almost as soon as he made it, he slammed the trunk of his car, then drove the two blocks to Ellen Fine’s house and parked across the street. Even though it was small — real small — the house still had good curb appeal, looking more like the “cottage” he’d described in the ad than he actually remembered. The grass was nice and green and looked freshly mowed, and the trees that lined both sides of the street were almost fully leafed out. There were even a few daffodils still blooming along the walk. Nice — very nice: the rain last night had made everything fresh.
As he crossed the street, he saw Emily looking out the upstairs window. He waved at her, but she had already disappeared, leaving only a wisp of swaying lace to show that she’d been there at all. Rick punched another Open House sign into the lawn, picked up his briefcase and the folder of flyers, and headed up the walk.
Usually clients were so anxious about open houses that by the time he was on their porches they were at the open door, waiting. But not this time. He rang the bell.
Nothing.
He pressed the button again, then once more.
Nothing.
No sound from inside at all; no music, no “I’ll be right there” call from the bedroom or kitchen.
Just silence.
But Emily was there — he’d seen her. Feeling faintly uneasy, Rick knocked hard on the door. “Ellen?” he called out. “Ellen, it’s Rick. For the open house?”
And still he heard nothing at all from inside the house.
He tried the door.
Locked. And today was the day she’d promised to have a key for him so he could put a lockbox on. What was going on? Ellen Fine hadn’t struck him as the kind of mother who would leave her child alone in the house. Besides, her car was in the driveway.
The basement! That was it; she was down in the basement doing laundry — the last thing he needed at an open house — and she just hadn’t heard the bell or his knock or heard him when he called out.
He walked around the side of the house and tried the kitchen door.
Unlocked and unlatched.
Standing ajar, in fact.
Rick pushed on the door and it swung wide. He stuck his head in. “Hello?” No answer. “Ellen? It’s Rick Mancuso.”
Now the silence from inside felt eerie. And then the stories he’d heard, about some agent or another — always nameless, of course — being shot by a homeowner who had forgotten about a showing appointment, came to mind.
Gazing around the kitchen made him even more uneasy. There were dirty dishes in the sink and uncooked potatoes in a cold frying pan on the stove. A carton of eggs sat on the countertop along with a jar of peanut butter and another of grape jelly.
He didn’t think Ellen Fine would have left this kind of mess in the kitchen, even if no open house had been planned.
His sense that something was wrong escalating, Rick stepped into the kitchen, put his briefcase down on the kitchen table, and walked into the living room. “Emily?”
For a moment there was no response, but as he was about to call out again, a small voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. “You better go away.”
“Emily? It’s me, Rick. You remember me — I’m supposed to be here today to meet your mommy. Is she here?”
He saw pajama legs at the top of the stairs. Then, one careful step at a time, Emily appeared, her hair touseled and her thumb firmly planted in her mouth. Halfway down the stairs, the little girl sat down, staring at him.
“Hey, Emily — remember me?”
She nodded. Her face was blotchy, and he could tell she’d been crying. “Is your mommy here?”
She shook her head.
“Where is she?”
She shrugged, then sucked in a long, ragged breath. “I–I don’t know,” she finally stammered, and as she spoke, her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears.
Jesus Christ, Rick thought. What did she do, just take off last night? But Ellen Fine hadn’t seemed like that kind of woman.
Not at all.
“I’m going to come up and look, okay?” Emily nodded, and now the tears overflowed and began to run down her cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey,” Rick said, flustered. “Don’t cry, sweetie.” He moved up the stairs and sat on the step next to her, and instantly Emily scooted close to him, climbed into his lap and put her arms around his neck. Now, with her face buried in his shoulder, her sobs began in earnest.
Rick froze, with no clue what to do — never before in his life had a five-year-old girl clung to him, let alone one sobbing as if her heart was breaking. “C'mon, honey,” he finally said, standing up and supporting her with one arm. “Let’s find your mommy.”
But Ellen was not upstairs, nor was she in the basement, nor was there any sign of her anywhere else in the house. Back in the living room, Rick lowered Emily onto the couch, fished in his pocket for his handkerchief, and helped her blow her nose and wipe her eyes. Then he squatted down in front of her so their heads were on the same level. “When was the last time you saw your mommy?”
Emily’s little face screwed up as she concentrated. “Bedtime,” she finally said. “Mommy was scared, so I slept with her.”
