just like these.” She kicked her leg out and pointed her toe to display her footwear.
Constance glanced down. The shoes in question were black Mary Janes with a silver buckle. The patent leather showed scuffs and crinkles from age and daily use. Merrie was wearing white knee socks with her dress, but at this angle Constance couldn’t help noticing the old burn scars marring her bare legs just above her knee. They were faded with time, but still obvious as they marched up her thighs and disappeared behind the hem of her dress. She remembered what Sheriff Carmichael had said about Colson and the cigarette burns on the little girl’s body, then felt terribly sick to her stomach. For the scars to still be this visible this many years later, the original burns had to have been horrific.
“When I get new shoes, they’re really just for school and church,” Merrie explained as she continued laying on the nail polish. “But since it’s Christmas, Mom will let me wear them to dress up for a while. But then I’ll have to put them away. I had another pair, but I lost one of them.”
Constance took the opening and gingerly asked, “You lost a shoe? Did you look under your bed?”
“No,” Merrie answered, unfazed. “That’s not where I lost it.”
“Where then?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. I just lost it,” she answered succinctly and gave a quick shrug as she shook her head. In the next breath she changed the subject. “Okay, I’m finished with this hand. Give me your other one, but don’t touch anything until they dry or you’ll mess them up. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Constance switched hands, splaying out her fingers and inspecting the fresh manicure. Merrie had done a good job. Of course, the color didn’t really go with her attire, not to mention that it was definitely a disco era shade.
“I do manicures for my sister Becca,” Merrie announced.
“That sounds like fun. What’s her favorite color?”
“Pink. Like you, Miss Constance,” she replied, then frowned and cocked her head to the side as she continued to paint the polish onto Mandalay’s nails. “But Becca’s not talking to me right now.”
“Why is that, Merrie?”
She answered in a matter-of-fact voice, “She’s mad because I pushed her.”
“Why would you push your sister?”
“To protect her.”
“From what?”
Instead of answering the question directly, Merrie replied, “I worry about Becca.”
“Why?” Constance probed.
“Because she still believes in Santa Claus.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Santa Claus is something grownups tell little kids to keep them from being scared.”
“Being scared of what, Merrie?”
“The man in the red suit.”
“Santa?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Why would you be afraid of Santa?”
Merrie ignored the dangling question. “Becca is only five. That’s why she still believes, but she won’t for much longer, I hope.”
“Why won’t she believe for much longer?”
“Because she’s already been learning to read. That’s when you stop believing the story.”
“Why is that?”
“Umm…because…” Merrie rolled her eyes like she was trying to remember something, then with a small dose of young frustration in her voice, tried to explain. “There’s a word for it, but I can’t remember what it is. Do you know what it is when you can make a word out of another word, Miss Constance? You know, when you rearrange the letters?”
“Yes. They call that an anagram.”
“That’s the word. Anagram. Sounds like telegram.”
“Yes, it does a little bit.”
“Well, we learned about them in school, and Becca will too. Then, just like me, she’ll know the truth.
“What’s the truth, Merrie?”
“That Santa is really Satan.”
“No, honey, Santa isn’t really Satan,” Constance offered in a soothing tone.
Merrie continued painting Mandalay’s nails and replied, “Yes, he is.”
“That anagram is just an unfortunate coincidence,” Constance explained.
“I know that it’s true, Miss Constance. Know why?”
“Why?”
Merrie stopped and looked up at her in earnest. “Because he does very horrible bad things to little girls, even when they’ve been very, very good.”
CHAPTER 12
“Believe me now?” Sheriff Carmichael asked.
He and Special Agent Mandalay were standing at the back of his patrol car on the parking lot of Holly-Oak. The visit with Merrie had produced nothing in the way of information, but it most certainly swelled with an overabundance of heartbreak.
“Yes,” Constance replied, nodding. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you before. I just…”
“…had to do your job,” he finished for her as he slipped a key into the trunk lock and gave it a twist. It let out a dull thump as the latch released, almost as if underscoring his added comment, “I know.”
“Speaking of jobs, ever have one of those days when you really hate yours, Skip?” she asked. “Because I’m having one right now.”
“December twenty-second through twenty-fifth, every damn year,” he sighed, then repeated in a quiet mumble, “Every blessed, goddamned year…” With that, he lifted the trunk lid, extracting the key from the lock as it rose, then offered the jangling ring to Constance. “Here. No need in you standin’ out here in the cold. You might want to start it up and get the heater going. I’ll just be a few minutes. I need to take this stuff in.”
Mandalay glanced into the well of the trunk space and saw three large shopping bags, each with festively wrapped presents protruding from their depths. “I thought you weren’t big on celebrating Christmas here in Hulis,” she asked.
“These are all for Merrie,” he told her. “The new shoes she’s expecting. Some clothes. Mavis Crawford does sewing out of her house, so she makes things for her. And, a few other odds and ends. Whenever anyone travels or goes into the city, they hit those vintage resale stores and pick up old records and such. Things like that. We all carry a list in our wallets of what needs to be under the tree. Of course, most of us have it committed to memory by now.”
“I was actually planning to ask you about that,” Constance mused. “Why are all her clothes and belongings mired in the past?”
“It keeps her happy,” the sheriff responded.
“But is it healthy?” she pressed.
He shook his head as he gathered the bags and hefted them out of the trunk. “I suspect it’s as healthy as it can get. Merrie doesn’t cope very well with change, I’m afraid.”
Since his hands were full, Constance reached up and levered the trunk lid shut for him as she asked, “How so?”
