The Summer We Lost Alice (23 page)

"Closure."

Flo laughed a laugh that reminded Ethan of a foot kicking dead leaves. "Closure. As if it were that easy, like a book. Close the cover and move on. But when it's your own daughter who dies—disappears, I mean. How do you write 'the end' to something like that?"

"What was it like afterward, in town?" Heather asked.

"People were plenty uneasy, you can bet, for months. After a year or so, when there were no more abductions, they began to relax a little. Let their kids walk to school on their own. Every year for, oh, I don't know how long, we had a memorial service for the children. Then one year it didn't happen for some reason. People seemed relieved to forget about it. They stopped holding the service ten years or so ago.

"Not that anything was over for those of us who lost children, of course. We used to get together, but not so often anymore. It was a long time ago. Life goes on, even when you think it can't.
Even when you don't especially want it to."

"So after Mrs. Nichols left, no more children went missing," Ethan said.

"Now, Ethan, don't start. You went down that road before and look where it got you."

"Nowhere.
I just know what I saw, and what I heard."

"You were a child
. So was Alice. You can't possibly look at those old memories and think you know what happened."

"I know."

"Perla," Heather said, apparently out of the blue.

A shadow fell over Flo's face at the name. Heather had stopped in front of a once-white house that had lost its glow. It was gray, now, and obviously vacant. Windows boarded up.
Yard overgrown. Even the "for sale" sign in the weeds was crooked and faded.

"That was the Ingram house," Flo said. "The family gave it up a few years ago. Their daughter,
Perla—"

"She was the first victim," Ethan said.

"Yes. How did you know, dear, that this was her house?"

"I just knew," Heather said.

"You recognized the number," Ethan said. "It triggered a subconscious memory. You read the number somewhere and when you saw it—"

"What number, Ethan?"

There was no house number. Had there ever been one, it had disappeared along with the Ingrams.

Flo regarded Heather with new interest.

"Maybe you're the one with the gift," she said.

"Me?
No, not in the least." Heather glanced at Ethan, wondering how much to reveal. Her words hung in the air for a moment too long to escape Flo's notice.

"
Hm," she said.

She tugged on Ethan's arm, leading him away as a mother might turn her child from the scene of an accident.

"The Ingrams moved away," she said. "No one wants a house filled with so much sadness. We haven't had a new person move into Meddersville in, oh ... you know, the last one was that FBI man. Wallace Myer. Retired to a farm outside of town."

"When?"

"Few years back. Checked his mother into the nursing home. She passed not long ago. Lived to a ripe old age."

"Has anyone talked to him about the missing boy?"

"I'm sure Sammy has."

They walked past more houses with yards and flower gardens, all losing their green under the spell of autumn.

"Up here, around the corner, is where the Proosts live."

"Willy
Proost."

"Yes.
Their only child. The missus is in the hospital. I don't know what her husband will do if she dies. He's helpless as a child without her. She exhausted herself sick looking for her son. It breaks your heart."

Ethan stopped.

"Flo, tell me something." He took her hands. The skin was soft and cool. "The Proost boy—is it a fluke? Or is it happening again?"

Flo sighed.

"That's the sixty-four-dollar question, isn't it?"

She urged
Ethan on as if afraid to linger too long in any one place. She leaned against him as they walked.

They walked another half block, Flo staring at the sidewalk and the trees, waving a quiet hand at a car that passed, smiling to the curious face behind the wheel. The thought occurred to Ethan that Flo was the polar opposite of Brittany.
Where Brittany seemed fragile and only marginally material, Flo was too real, too much of the world. That solidity made her fragile in her own way. She dared not bend for fear of breaking.

"This must be especially hard for you," Heather said. "Pardon me, but I'm still trying to put it all together."

"I married late, dear," she said. "I was in my early thirties when I married Bill. Soon after that we had Catherine. I thought I was beyond childbearing when Alice was conceived. Twenty-five years after her death, I'm an old woman. But I'm not as old as I look, or feel. No one listens to old women. They don't touch us, they don't hear anything we say. They won't listen if I tell them this. They'll think I'm going dotty.

"There's something here. I don't know what it is. I can't describe it. It's just a presence I feel when it tingles my skin. It makes the muscles in my neck go tight. I look around to see if someone's entered the room, but there's no one there.

"I used to see Alice. I'd see her everywhere, but of course, it was always some other little girl. I had to remind myself that, even if she was still alive, she'd be so much older. Eventually I stopped seeing her at all."

She looked at Heather.

"I see her in you. Is that the secret you're keeping from me? Is there some ... bond?"

"We don't know," Ethan said. "It's weird."

"Hm. There's other things, too," Flo said.

"A couple of nights ago, during the storm, I'd have sworn I saw old Boo. I heard a howl that sounded just like him, heard his claws scratching the back door, so familiar-like. I never could get that dog to quit scratching at the door. I went to the kitchen and looked out and saw him running off. I would swear it was him. It's silly. How old would he be now, thirty-something?"

"Maybe he left a pup behind," Ethan offered. "Besides, he was a mutt. I expect a lot of dogs look like Boo."

"Well, he'd been fixed, but I know, I know. It wasn't him, it couldn't have been." She shook her head.

"It isn't just my imagination, though. Something's changed. Something's come to this town. Whatever it is, Ethan, it's evil. It's pure evil.

"More children are going to die. I'm bone-deep sure of it."

CAT WAS FIGHTING a stubborn deposit at the base of Sarah Higgs lateral incisor when her boss, Jimmy, stuck his head in the room. She jumped when he said, "Cat."

"Sorry," Jimmy said. "The sheriff's here to see you."

Cat nodded. "Almost done."

Jimmy put on a mask
. He motioned her aside. It was one of the things she admired about him, his willingness to take on the routine work now and again.

"Take your time. Hi, Sarah," he said, his eyes smiling over the mask.

Cat pulled off her latex gloves. She dropped them in the metal bin and headed for the reception area. Inside the front door stood Sammy, hat in his hands, literally.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said.

"It's okay. Let me get my purse."

They crossed the street to the
Meddersville Cafe.

Eyes followed them as they took a table. Cat smiled a tight smile and Sammy gave curt nods to the other patrons. Mina herself came over to take their orders. The menu never changed except for the daily
special, which today was Chicken Cordon Bleu, written on a blackboard near the door.

"You can use the table in the back room if you want some privacy," Mina said.

Sammy shook his head. "Just cause more talk," he said.

"We're fine, thanks, Mina," Cat said. "I'll have a Caesar salad.
Iced tea."

"You want some grilled chicken on that, sweetie?"

"Sure. No anchovies."

Sammy ordered the special and a cup of coffee. He eased up as the stares subsided into occasional glances and the room filled with the low murmur of conversation. He leaned forward to keep his voice low.

"FBI's asked Wallace Myer to get involved," he said.

"I thought he was retired."

"It's nothin' official. They just thought, since he'd been here before, lives hereabouts—you know, maybe people would open up."

"Sammy, please. Can't you keep him away from us? This whole thing is disturbing enough without opening up old wounds."

"I don't think you have to worry. He wants to keep a low profile, nose around quiet-like. Anyway, he's kept up pretty good on your cousin. Did you know Ethan has connections in Las Vegas? Professional gambler. I know, the casinos are supposed to be cleaned up, but still, it ain't wholesome. I was thinkin', what with the kids in the house and all—"

"I'll keep an eye on him, Sammy."

"Any idea what he's doin' here?"

"Looking for a cure for nosebleeds."

Sammy nodded. "He had one of those yesterday, when I—ran into him."

Cat's jaw dropped.

"You saw him yesterday? You knew he was in town and you didn't warn me?"

"He said it was a surprise."

Cat leaned back in her chair. She squinted at Sammy.

"Remind me, Barney," she said, "
when exactly did I move to Mayberry?"

"Okay, not smart. I'm sorry. I kept a watch on your house, though, for what it's worth."

"Fine. Add stalking to your list of sterling traits."

"What about the nosebleeds?"

"Oh, they're psychosomatic. Something about the Willy Proost thing bringing up memories about that summer."

"He was a weird kid."

"Yeah. Sensitive, maybe. I think he was kind of in love with Alice. He took it real hard."

"Bad summer for romance."

"You can say that again."

"For all of us, I mean."

"I know what you mean."

Mina brought their drinks
. She invited Sammy to help himself to the Chicken Cordon Bleu in the warming tray. He said he'd wait, sipped his coffee. Cat toyed with the ice in her tea. The third time she looked up to find Sammy staring at her, she decided to say something.

"What are you thinking?" she said. Years ago she might have thought that Sammy's face had been painted with melancholy. Now he reminded her of a dog who'd been kicked. Where once her heart had harbored romance, there was a hole, like a missing tooth. The realization made her feel old and washed-up.

"What happened to you and me, Cat?" Sammy said.

"Kansas City happened. Remember? The bleeding, the ambulance—"

"Don't." Sammy glanced around to see who was watching. A pair of eyes flicked at him and darted away. "It was a long time ago. It was terrible, I know that. Worse for you than me, but it was bad for me, too. We was just kids then, kids with ragin' hormones and less sense than God gave a goose. Of course it didn't work. But why can't we start again? Why can't we at least try?"

"Oh, Sammy, don't you get it? I'm just hanging on, here."

"It's hard raisin' two kids by yourself. One income. Nobody to share the burden."

"I have Mom."

"She's gettin' older. She'll be another burden herself soon enough."

"You don't marry a person because you need help with the kids, Sammy."

"I look stud in a uniform, too. And I'm a great dancer."

Cat raised her glass to her mouth, hiding her smile behind it. "You're a terrible dancer," she said.

"I can work on that. But listen, that wasn't why I asked you to lunch."

"Sure it was. It always is."

"I want you to be careful around Ethan," he said. "I was talkin' to my dad. He won't say nothin' direct, but I'm sure—he still thinks Ethan made up that witch story to cover up what he really knows about the murder."

"We call it the 'disappearance.'"

"Just watch your back, all right?" Sammy said.

"Okay, but I tell you, you're barking up the wrong tree. Ethan's as mixed up about this whole thing as we are. There's somebody bad out there, Sammy. You can't let your dad's prejudices take you off the scent. I know what you're like once you get a notion. You tear at it like a dog with a rag doll. And while you're flinging that rag doll from side to side, this guy could be out killing more kids."

"I'll take that under advisement. But still, you watch Ethan."

"I'll report any suspicious moves,
Officer."

"Just take care. My dad was sheriff here for about a hundred years. His instincts count for
somethin'."

Cat's salad arrived
. Sammy helped himself to the Chicken Cordon Bleu. The hot rolls Mina brought out were fresh and yeasty. Mina had baked apple pies that morning. Neither Cat nor Sammy could say "no" to slices topped with creamy, homemade ice cream.