What Strange Creatures (19 page)

“I assume, too. But he was Kim’s boyfriend for a long time apparently.”

Zach grimaced. “That’s kind of icky. I had no idea.”

“Never mentioned him?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“How about a Melissa Bailey? Missy Bailey?”

“No. Wait. You know, I think there
was
a Missy in her piece about Jenny Spicer. If memory serves. Did you read that yet?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Did you know that Kim was involved in the original investigation? The trial?”

Zach shrugged. “I got the sense that might be the case. But I never asked her outright. It didn’t seem appropriate. And she didn’t ever come out and supply that information.”

I looked at my hands. My thumb and forefinger were raw from so much picking.

“What
are
you doing?” he asked.

“I just like to untie the little knots.”

“So it’s the opposite of knitting.”

“I guess.”

“You’re an unraveler.”

I thought about this. It sounded better than “a picker.” It was bullshit, of course. But it was elegant bullshit.

“Yes.”

“I suppose the world needs unravelers as much as knitters.”

I smiled. Only an academic would say such a thing. “I don’t think so, Zach.”

“Well, it needs a few, probably.”

“In case there are ever too many sweaters? Too many homemade hats?”

“I meant unraveling more generally.”

“Of course,” I said. “A general unraveler. And while we’re making these sorts of observations, I like how you eat your candy.”

“I’ve always done it this way.” He seemed surprised that I had noticed. “Since I was a kid. My parents always used to buy me a package on Saturdays, when they’d do their boring errands, like the drugstore and the dry cleaners. I’d try to make them last the whole trip.”

“I always eat the red ones and the blue ones first,” I admitted. “Because then what’s left are the colors they had when I was little.”

“That’s funny,” Zach said. “I like blue the best. They feel the freshest. Space-age, even. Like an astronaut power pellet.”

“Chocolate is for comfort,” I said. “Not for efficacy.”

“You’ve obviously never watched a Snickers commercial.”

I glanced at the clock. As much as I would have liked to lose myself in this repartee, I had Jeff to think of.

“I should go now. There’s only an hour left that I can see my brother.”

“I won’t keep you, then.” Zach paused. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Can you send me that teacher’s e-mail address?”

“Sure thing. And let me know if you get a hold of Dustin, will you? I’d feel better if you didn’t try to confront him on your own.”

“I thought you said he didn’t seem violent.”

“He didn’t. But when I sent Kim to Trenton, I didn’t have any idea Dustin would end up harassing her. It would just make me feel better if you were cautious.”

“I’ll see if I can even find him. Then I’ll worry about that.”

I put on my coat to signal that I was ready to end the conversation.

Zach stood up with me. “Good luck, Theresa. I’ll be thinking of you.”

As I walked away, I wondered about that statement:
I’ll be thinking of you.
I often said it to people myself—when they had sick family members or when they lost their jobs. I now wondered what good all this thinking ever did anyone. Under these desperate circumstances, I might have preferred a prayer over a thought. But I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

My father was already visiting with Jeff when I arrived at the prison.

“I wasn’t sure what time you were getting in,” I said, hugging him.

“Decided to come here first thing.”

His glasses—the ones he’d gotten right before he left on his latest cruise—startled me. Our father had recently discovered John Lennon glasses, and neither Jeff nor I had had the heart to tell him they weren’t flattering. We’d figured that one of the bolder cruise biddies might break it to him.

Dad’s hair seemed whiter than the last time I’d seen him. In the last couple of years, it had eased from gray to white. One of his ears was sunburned and peeling. He’d either fallen asleep in a half-shaded spot or put sunblock on one and then forgotten the other.

“You’re okay?” Dad asked.

“Kind of,” I said.

“Your brother’s got some good news. Isn’t that right, Jeff?”

He said it as if Jeff had come home with a Pinewood Derby trophy.

I turned to Jeff. “What’s this?”

“Oh, I was just telling Dad—”

“They’ve found some skin under the girl’s fingernails,” Dad interrupted. “They’re sending it to a lab for some DNA testing.”

“How long does that take?” I asked.

“Gary Norris thinks it’ll be a couple of weeks.”

“When the results come back, they’ll know it’s not you.” Dad rubbed his kneecaps with anticipation.

Jeff scratched at the stubble on his chin. Did they provide razors in prisons? I wondered. Shampoo? A toiletry kit?

“Let’s maybe talk about something else for now,” Jeff said. “How was Sardinia?”

“Oh.” Dad looked surprised but game. “Beautiful. Of course.”

“One of your top five?”

“I don’t know. It would be if I were a beach man. But I’m more of a forest man.”

“Then you’ve taken the wrong job, I think.”

“They don’t pay you to dance in the forest.”

“Maybe someone would. Maybe you ought to look for a job like that.”

“Maybe I ought to.”

“Another million-dollar business idea.”

I watched as my father and brother had this exchange, their lips barely moving, their eyes never actually focusing on each other. They’d started speaking to each other this way when Jeff was a teenager. I wondered why my mother and I couldn’t make bizarre, meaningless small talk like this. My mother had to end every conversation wishing either that Marge had been burned or that I’d stayed married.

“Dad,” Jeff said gently, “I need to talk to Theresa about something. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I wonder how soon after the hearing we can post the bail?” Dad said.

“Mom and Theresa have got that worked out, I think.” Jeff turned to me. “Right?”

“Yeah, we’ve been working through it. Depending on how high it is, we can possibly get Jeff out a few hours after they set the amount. Gary Norris is anticipating it won’t be prohibitively high.”

Gary Norris.
This name would be an important part of our family discussions for a good while now, I supposed.

“I’ll call your mother,” Dad said with a nod. He seemed reluctant to get up. But he did, slowly. He squeezed Jeff’s arm. “Tomorrow,” he said.

On his way out of the visiting area, Dad paused at the snack vending machine by the door. He gazed at it for a moment, then pointed at it and gave Jeff a questioning look.
Do you want anything?
Jeff shook his head. My father raised his hand good-bye and disappeared.

The words “Cheetos for Christ” crossed my mind, making me both hungry and despairingly sad.

“What’s going on? Something?” I whispered. “Or did you just want to get rid of him?”

“The DNA test, Theresa.”

“What about it?”

Jeff gnawed on a hangnail before answering me. “I wasn’t able to talk to him about it like I meant to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying to prepare him for the possibility . . .” Jeff shook his head.

“The possibility that it’s gonna be your DNA?”

“Well, I don’t know how it works. But the morning before she left . . . well, you know.”

“She . . . uh . . . scratched your back?”

“Um . . . something like that?” Jeff stared at the smudged tabletop between us. “Our relationship was . . . like that.”

“Would it need to be something more violent?” I said, avoiding his eyes. “For there to be enough skin?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you ask Gary? Um . . . Gary Norris?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t sure either. He’s looking into it. He said probably not. And especially if she’d showered in between, and all that stuff.”

“I see.”

“Maybe you ought to try to be with him. When the news comes in. Or tell him what I just told you.”

I couldn’t quite imagine how such a conversation with Pops would go down.

“I’ll try,” I said anyway. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Jeff finally met my gaze. “I’ve got an adjustment to one of my million-dollar ideas.”

“What’s that?”

“
How to Win Chicks with Origami.
Let’s change it to
How to Survive Prison with Origami.
”

I tried to smile. “Limited market, I’d think.”

“In any case, I made a friend by folding him an elephant.”

“I would be careful with that. Do you think someone might take it as a sort of courtship?”

“I’m not folding any birds or flowers. And you’re overthinking it right now. It’s just a little county facility, with people awaiting trial separate from the convicts. I won’t need to worry about the Bubbas till after the trial, when they throw me in maximum security.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

Jeff didn’t reply.

“We’re going to deal with this, Jeff. You’re just the guy they stuck it on.”

He squinted at me. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Whoever wanted to shut Kim up.”

He gave me a weak smile. “You think that’s what this is? Big, bad politicos pinning their shit on the unemployed loser?”

I was beginning to feel unequipped for this discussion. “Well, what do
you
think it is?”

Jeff shook his head and said nothing. After a moment he wiped his eye with his index finger, rubbing away a tear.

“This isn’t going to sound rational,” he said. “But I don’t know what it is. All I can think is that it’s my shitty destiny finally catching up with me. It doesn’t need to make sense. This is just where I was always going to end up, somehow.”

This was a very Jeff response. I could’ve accepted it if he were behind a bowling alley’s shoe-rental counter or cleaning birdcages at Pet City. Not sitting in the county detention center. Even
my
defeatism has its limits.

“We’re going to figure this out.
I’m
going to figure this out.”

“Who’s going to believe you?”

“Zach Wagner is helping me.”

“Really?” Jeff looked surprised.

“Yes.” It was kind of an exaggeration, but it made my efforts sound rather expert. I needed Jeff to take me seriously, for both our sakes.

“I like Zach,” Jeff admitted.

Good. “Me, too.”

Jeff had truly seemed to perk up at the mention of Zach. So I decided not to mention Nathan.

I had plans for Nathan. But after our conversation about Kim’s giving him a “back scratch,” we’d probably both had enough inappropriate sharing for one afternoon.

“Hey, Jeff,” I whispered.

“What?”

“I’m thinking I might start putting rainbow sprinkles on all my food.”

Jeff sighed deeply and rubbed his left eye so hard I could see its red insides.

“Go ahead, then,” he said.

I had about an hour before my date with Nathan at Stewie’s, and I spent it in front of my computer, Googling.

Zach was right. Dustin Halliday probably wasn’t an easy man to find. My searches turned up nothing useful. There was a dentist in California by the name of Dustin Halliday, but that obviously wasn’t the same guy. My Dustin didn’t appear to be on social media, and I couldn’t find any sites that mentioned him in a particular school or job.

Dustin’s brother at least had a defunct-looking Facebook account and appeared to be working at Medialink Cable Company, as Zach had mentioned. There was a company e-mail address listed for him.

I kept my e-mail to him simple—saying that I was trying to get in touch with his brother and would appreciate contact information. I supplied my cell number and told him to call anytime. Before I sent the message, I changed the setting on the account so my name wouldn’t show up in his e-mail box. I was using my old Yahoo! account with the address Marge410, so I signed it Margery Lipinski. There was a slim chance, after all, that Trenton would know something about my brother’s arrest.

It turned out that the e-mail address of Sharon Silverstein—Dustin’s old teacher in juvenile detention—was also readily available through a GED program where she worked, so I hadn’t needed to beg Zach for it—although he had sent it to me, as promised. With her I was a little more forthcoming, vaguely referencing my contact with Zach but not explaining the motivation behind my interest in Dustin. I signed my own name.

When those notes were sent, I hit
REFRESH
a few times, hoping for a quick reply. Nothing.

There was also Colleen Shipley to think of—Donald Wallace’s old assistant. She was potentially one of the more promising sources of information, so I needed to plan the approach carefully. Assuming there weren’t many Colleen Shipleys in this general part of Massachusetts, I found that she now worked in real estate. I located her e-mail address but wasn’t sure if I should contact her that way. It seemed a very sensitive thing—her giving Kim old footage that probably shouldn’t ever have been in her possession. I wasn’t sure if I believed that it had happened. But if it had, an e-mail from a random stranger might spook her or put her on the defensive. I’d have to give some thought to my approach.

I refreshed again. It had been ten minutes and still no replies.

It didn’t feel like I was doing nearly enough, what with Jeff in a prison cell fashioning toilet-paper farm animals to ward off fellow inmates.

I found Zach’s book and flipped through the Dustin section again. His father’s murder and his mother’s trial were discussed in relatively general terms—many of the articles Kim had found were more detailed. Zach’s book mostly discussed Dustin’s crimes—drug possession and distribution—and his life at the detention center. The parts Kim had marked—about his brother, his teacher, and about his relationship with his friend Anthony—were the exception. I wondered if she’d focused on parts that would actually help her
find
Dustin. As Zach had mentioned, it was a long shot—but that probably wouldn’t have kept Kim from trying, if she didn’t have many other leads.

Then I looked up the section about Anthony—Dustin’s friend. While most of the other kids came from situations of poverty and often neglect or abuse, Anthony had every advantage growing up. His parents were clearly quite educated and seemed to be much better off financially than most of the families of the other kids profiled.