“Yes, sir.”
He tilted his head toward the sky before turning back toward me.
“Tell me something. Anne Marie seems a little . . .” He made circles in the air with his hands, seeming unable to reach for the right words.
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
I told Mitch a little about Petty’s life in Kansas under lock and key. He frowned and nodded as I talked, as if this confirmed everything he knew about Michael Rhones.
“He could never love Marianne the way I did,” Mitch said. “He thought he owned her.”
“He was looney tunes,” I said. “His letters were totally obsessive and crazy.”
Mitch seemed to get taller, but I couldn’t see his face with the light behind him. “Well, I’m sure they sound strange to an unintended audience. Imagine how personal love letters you’ve written would sound to Michael. Or to me.”
I couldn’t decide if I was suddenly flooded with shame because I’d read letters that weren’t addressed to me or because maybe Mitch sensed how I felt about Petty. Was it that obvious? The whole father--daughter--potential--suitor dynamic hadn’t occurred to me. I felt chastised, which pissed me off and intimidated me at the same time.
“I need to hear more,” he finally said, looking at his watch, “but it’ll have to wait. Can’t be late for work.” He picked the bags back up and walked toward the house.
I followed him up to the porch and into the cabin. Petty sat staring on the couch exactly where we’d left her, and I hoped she hadn’t heard our conversation. I tailed Mitch down the hall to the bedrooms. Mitch switched on the light in what appeared to be the guest room and set down my bag, then led me to his own bedroom. I set down Petty’s bag and left Mitch alone to get ready for work, joining mute Petty in the living room.
I walked to the fireplace mantel, on which some “Precious Moments” figurines were arranged, big--eyed sad kids doing cheesily adorable things. This was more than a little weird. What bachelor collected Precious Moments? Creepy. Of course, maybe they’d been Marianne’s.
Mitch reappeared wearing a blue wool jacket and a matching cap. He had a utility belt on with a flashlight, a huge brass key ring, and a small--caliber pistol.
“I’ll be back around six--thirty A.M.,” he said, glancing again at his watch. “You kids get some sleep.” He kept his eyes on Petty, but his hands looked like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. Finally he shoved them in his pockets and turned to the door. “Guess I’ll be going. Good night.”
Mitch closed the door behind him, and Petty sat staring, an unfocused look in her eyes. I hoped her shell shock would wear off by tomorrow so she could find out what she needed to know and we could leave.
“You okay?” I said to her.
She shrugged. “Would you help me find a real bandage for my shoulder?”
We walked down the hall. Bathroom on the right, guest room on the left, master past the bathroom. I went in the bathroom, turned on the light then opened the linen closet, where I found a first--aid kit with some large Band--Aids, cotton, and disinfectant spray.
Petty pulled off her hoodie and the towel came off with it, starting the wound bleeding all over again.
“Great,” she said. “I’ll just bleed all over my dad’s bathroom.”
I squirted disinfectant on the cotton, swabbed the ragged cut and placed the big Band--Aid over it.
“Would you mind sleeping in Mitch’s room?” she said. “It feels a little weird to me.”
I was relieved she felt the same way I did.
“Absolutely,” I said.
While she used the bathroom to get ready for bed, I stowed the bloody towel in my Walmart bag, switched my stuff to Mitch’s room and hers to the guest room. Then I snooped around a little. The guest room was dusty but looked like it had never been used—-the bedspread pristine, still with the creases from the package it had come in.
I checked out the rest of the house, and when I returned to the living room, a thought hit me. There were no pictures on the walls. No landscapes or paintings, or portraits or plaques. I walked around once more to be sure, but all the walls were perfectly bare.
This struck me as odd, but I realized something else bothered me more. Mitch had never answered Petty when she’d asked where her mother was.
Chapter 25
Friday
I DIDN'T KNOW where I was. I tried to position things in my mind so that I was in my room in Kansas, but it was all wrong. Was I in Motel 9? And then I remembered. I was in my father’s house in the Colorado mountains, six hundred miles from my prison.
In the house my mother had lived in.