“Please go!”
“Baby want her bottle? Baby pee in her didies, get all wet? Baby go wah-wah-wah?”
“Stop it!”
He sat back. “I will if you do one thing for me. Will you do something for me, Grace?”
“What is it?”
He told her, and then Sarah was shaking her and telling her to come down and have some cake, so it had just been a dream after all, a bad dream, and she didn’t have to do anything, but if she did, that dream might never come back.
She made herself eat some cake, although she really didn’t want any, and when Mom and Sarah were sitting on the couch and watching some dippy movie, Grace said she didn’t like love-movies and was going upstairs to play Angry Birds. Only she didn’t. She went into her parents’ bedroom (just her mom’s now, and how sad that was) and took her mother’s cell phone off the dresser. The policeman wasn’t in the cell’s contact list, but Mr. Gold was. She called him, holding the phone in both hands so it wouldn’t shake. She prayed he would answer, and he did.
“Marcy? What’s up?”
“No, it’s Grace. I’m using my mom’s phone.”
“Why, hello, Grace. It’s nice to hear from you. Why are you calling?”
“Because I didn’t know how to call the detective. The one who arrested my father.”
“Why do you—”
“I have a message for him. A man gave it to me. I know it was probably just a dream, but I’m playing it safe. I’ll tell you and you can tell the detective.”
“What man, Grace? Who gave you the message?”
“The first time I saw him, he had straws for eyes. He says he won’t come back anymore if I give Detective Anderson the message. He tried to make me believe he had my daddy’s eyes, but he didn’t, not really. His face is better now, but he’s still scary. I don’t want him to come back, even if it’s only a dream, so will you tell Detective Anderson?”
Mom was in the doorway now, silently watching, and Grace thought she would probably get in trouble, but she didn’t care.
“What should I tell him, Grace?”
“To stop. If he doesn’t want something bad to happen, tell him he has to stop.”
7
Grace and Sarah sat in the living room, on the couch. Marcy was between them, with an arm around each. Howie Gold sat in the easy chair that had been Terry’s until the world turned upside down. A hassock went with it. Ralph Anderson drew it in front of the couch and sat on it, his legs so long that his knees almost framed his face. He supposed he looked comical, and if that set Grace Maitland a bit at ease, that was all to the good.
“That must have been a scary dream, Grace. Are you sure it was a dream?”
“Of course it was,” Marcy said. Her face was tight and pale. “There was no man in this house. There was no way he could have gotten upstairs without us seeing him.”
“Or heard him, at least,” Sarah put in, but she sounded timid. Afraid. “Our stairs creak like mad.”
“You’re here for one reason, to ease my daughter’s mind,” Marcy said. “Would you please do that?”
Ralph said, “Whatever it was, you know there’s no man here now, don’t you, Grace?”
“Yes.” She seemed sure of this. “He’s gone. He said he would go if I gave you the message. I don’t think he will come back anymore, whether he was a dream or not.”
Sarah sighed dramatically and said, “Isn’t that a relief.”
“Hush, munchkin,” Marcy said.
Ralph pulled out his notebook. “Tell me what he looked like. This man in your dream. Because I’m a detective, and now I’m sure that’s what it was.”
Although Marcy Maitland didn’t like him and probably never would, her eyes thanked him for this much, at least.
“Better,” Grace said. “He looked better. His Play-Doh face was gone.”
“That’s what he looked like before,” Sarah told Ralph. “She said.”
Marcy said, “Sarah, go into the kitchen with Mr. Gold and get everybody a piece of cake, would you do that?”
Sarah looked at Ralph. “Cake even for him? Do we like him now?”
“Cake for everyone,” Marcy said, neatly dodging the question. “It’s called hospitality. Go on, now.”
Sarah got off the couch and crossed the room to Howie. “I’m getting kicked out.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer person,” Howie said. “I will join you in purdah.”
“In what?”
“Never mind, kiddo.” They went out to the kitchen together.
“Make this brief, please,” Marcy said to Ralph. “You’re only here because Howie said it was important. That it might have something to do with . . . you know.”
Ralph nodded without taking his eyes from Grace. “This man who had the Play-Doh face the first time he showed up . . .”
“And straws for eyes,” Grace said. “They stuck out, like in a cartoon, and the black circles people have in their eyes were holes.”
“Uh-huh.” In his notebook, Ralph wrote, Straws for eyes? “When you say his face looked like Play-Doh, could it have been because he was burned?”
She thought about it. “No. More like he wasn’t done. Not . . . you know . . .”
“Not finished?” Marcy asked.
Grace nodded, and put her thumb in her mouth. Ralph thought, This ten-year-old thumb sucker with the wounded face . . . she’s mine. True, and the seeming clarity of the evidence upon which he had acted would never change that.
“What did he look like today, Grace? The man in your dream.”
“He had short black hair that was sticking up, like a porcupine, and a little beard around his mouth. He had my daddy’s eyes, but they weren’t really his eyes. He had tattoos on his hands and all up his arms. Some were snakes. At first his shirt was green, then it turned to my daddy’s baseball shirt with the golden dragon on it, then it turned into white, like what Mrs. Gerson wears when she does my mom’s hair.”
Ralph glanced at Marcy, who said, “I think she means a smock top.”
“Yes,” Grace said. “That. But then it turned back into the green shirt, so I know it was a dream. Only . . .” Her mouth trembled, and her eyes filled with tears that spilled down her flushed cheeks. “Only he said mean things. He said he was glad I was sad. He called me a baby.”
She turned her face against her mother’s breasts and wept. Marcy looked at Ralph over the top of her head, for a moment not angry at him but only frightened for her daughter. She knows it was more than a dream, Ralph thought. She sees it means something to me.
When the girl’s crying eased, Ralph said, “This is all good, Grace. Thank you for telling me about your dream. All that’s over now, okay?”
“Yes,” she said in a tear-hoarsened voice. “He’s gone. I did what he said, and he’s gone.”
“We’ll have our cake in here,” Marcy said. “Go help your sister with the plates.”
Grace ran to do it. When they were alone, Marcy said, “It’s been hard on both of them, especially Grace. I’d say that’s all this is, except Howie doesn’t think so, and I don’t think you do, either. Do you?”
“Mrs. Maitland . . . Marcy . . . I don’t know what to think. Have you checked Grace’s room?”
“Of course. As soon as she told me why she called Howie.”
“No sign of an intruder?”
“No. The window was shut, the screen was in place, and what Sarah said about the stairs is true. This is an old house, and there’s a creak in every step.”
“What about her bed? Grace said the man was sitting there.”
Marcy gave a distracted laugh. “Who would know, the way she tosses and turns since . . .” She put a hand to her face. “This is just so awful.”
He got up and went to the couch, only meaning to comfort, but she stiffened and drew away. “Please don’t sit down. And don’t touch me. You’re here on sufferance, Detective. So just maybe my youngest will sleep tonight without screaming the house down.”