The last door in the hall was Mama’s. It was closed, as usual.
Jenny slipped in and shut the door behind her.
At last.
With a pillow and lap blanket off the bed, she crossed the last threshold into Mama’s big square closet. There was a place deep in the back where she’d cleared away all the shoes, and Mama’s long skirts and dresses nearly dragged the floor. Snuggling back against the wall Jenny let the clothes brush against her face, her mother’s scent, her mother’s softness surrounding her. She closed her eyes, breathing in, in, in.
Sometimes everything didn’t feel as bad when you were awake in the dark.
For a while, Jenny worried that Aunt Maddy would take it all away, all her mama’s things in the bedroom. She never did. She just put her suitcases in the guest room and that was that. It was kind of weird, actually. Her aunt had like, no
Jenny sunk deeper into the pillow and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. It wasn’t usually so cold in the closet. Tonight, it felt cold.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that picture her aunt had taken. The one with the dead guy.
It was scary. One of those guys looked sort of like somebody she used to know, maybe. It was hard to remember his face though. That was scary, too. Jenny didn’t like the idea of forgetting faces.
She needed to get another look. Maybe she could find another picture. A long time ago there was one in her mom’s bedroom, but now it was gone. Where could it have gone? Jenny didn’t take it and Aunt Maddy never even opened the door to this room.
Jenny pushed her way out of the closet and thought for a minute. Maybe there was another picture somewhere. Her mom always had special ones tucked in her underwear drawer.
Slowly, quietly, Jenny searched.
When she found what she needed, she put everything else back exactly the way it was. For another time…like maybe tomorrow.
The trip up the hall was quick, but heading downstairs, Jenny had to be careful. The stairs were noisy and Aunt Maddy woke up at the least sound. She was a light sleeper. Jenny’s mom used to say that people who slept well had no imagination or a very clean conscience, which seemed to explain pretty good about Aunt Maddy.
Some nights, Jenny was glad her aunt woke up easy. Not tonight though. She didn’t want to talk about this. Aunt Maddy didn’t like her very much as it was.
All the grown-ups Jenny knew had gotten weird since the accident. Teachers stared at her. The neighbors pretended like they didn’t see her. None of her mom’s friends called anymore. Maybe they’d all forgotten her mom, and her. Even the special friend.
Her mom kept a flashlight on top of the fridge in the basement for tornado drills and storms. Jenny had to stand on a plastic box to reach it. Her aunt’s photo work was on the table near the washing machine.
Jenny took the picture from her mother’s room and laid it next to the ones her aunt had made that day.
Oh yeah. Oh yeah.
It was him.
Maybe his luck was changing.
The house was quiet and dark. He almost went inside. But this time he was watching very carefully. He saw the faint light click on and off in Gina’s bedroom-a nightlight, or the closet light maybe? A few minutes later, a light popped up in the basement window.
One of the girls must be awake.
Good thing he hadn’t gone there. He wouldn’t have been breaking the law or anything. He had a key. But there was no sense getting them all excited until he’d had a look.
The right thing to do was wait. Wait and watch.
Sooner or later the house would be empty. Then, he’d go in and see if maybe Maddy O’Hara had found something that belonged to him. Something that might make her hot to play reporter.
Watching was the smart move.
From now on, he’d watch her carefully. And he’d know when she’d gone too far.
FRIDAY
College Boy arrived on time and raring to go for our first interview. Unfortunately, Jenny’s school wasn’t open at the crack of dawn. Failing to anticipate the intersection of work and family can be fatal in my business.
On the other hand, the survival instinct kicking in with a vengeance does add a certain edge to the morning.
“This is my niece, Jenny,” I said as we piled into the truck. “We’re taking her with us.”
“Hi,” Jenny said.
“Hey.” He nodded hello and offered his hand to guide her over a spaghetti pile of cables and stick bags, so she could strap herself into the spare jump seat. “Wow. You two are related?”
Jenny hit me with her big-eyed, blank look-the mask of trouble. She resembles the female side of my family: smooth brown hair, round dark eyes, and the translucent skin of an Irish elf. Even for a kid, she was small.
Looks-wise, I got my dad’s package: the Viking strain of Celtic blood, tall and broad, plenty of freckles, wild hair which is politely known as red, but actually closer to orange, when I don’t color it-which is never. I’d dyed it fatal-blond right before the job interview. I’m all for irony. Now Ainsley and I looked more like relations than Jenny and I.
“I’m the black sheep of the family,” I said. “Let’s roll.”
Ainsley took a convoluted back route of smaller roads to get us to the site of yesterday’s incident and avoid the morning rush hour. We passed fields, farms and for sale signs.
September was a good time to be in Chicago-another two months, we’d all be freezing our asses off. The rising sun cast a perfect yellow light on dead grass and reddened sumac leaves. I opened the window to snap a few pictures and the autumn air rushed me, crisp with the scent of endings and beginnings. The wind helped blow away the last of the dusty, creepy feeling that had followed me home last night. I was on my way to work. Life was good.
Since I was busy hanging my head out the window taking pictures, Ainsley focused on getting Jenny to chat. It didn’t take long for the two of them to bond; they were practically peers. As soon as we parked, Ainsley set her up with something to watch in the back of the truck. What he was doing with cartoons in stock, I don’t want to know.
It took twenty long minutes to prep for our quickie on-camera interview with Al Lowe, the man whose land had been the site of yesterday’s tragedy. The fact that College Boy had managed to find the man and schedule an interview on such short notice was such a pleasant surprise, I didn’t bug him about his pace. There were always other things to cover.
“Fill the frame with the subject. Don’t try to shoot me. I hate reporters in the story. You’ve seen the kind of stuff I do, right? We’ll cut around my questions and tie everything together with a narrating voice-over. Got that?”
I wanted the black skeleton of the oak tree behind the man being interviewed. It looked different today. More mysterious.
We heard Lowe’s truck before we saw him. He went off-road and parked ten feet from where we stood.
