“Are you serious? Wait, one of your degrees?”
The kid nodded. “I’m working on my third right now.”
Porter blew through a very yellow light and swerved to avoid a Volkswagen Bug merging into traffic.
Watson’s knuckles were white as Porter dropped the Charger into third and made a right-hand turn from the far left lane, nearly clipping a red Buick. “I think I should drive. The captain wanted me to drive.”
“We’re almost there.”
“I’m not even sure going there is the best thing for you.”
“Not going isn’t an option. If it’s him, I need to see.”
They turned onto Fiftieth Avenue and skidded to a stop at the station. Porter negotiated the Charger into a handicapped spot and put his police placard on the dash. Reaching into his shoulder holster, he pulled his Beretta and slipped it under the seat. He eyed the watch in Watson’s hand. “Where did you say your uncle’s shop was?”
“It’s called Lost Time Antiques and Collectibles, on West Belmont.”
“Let me hold it,” Porter said. “I don’t want to leave evidence unattended.”
Watson handed him the watch, and he dropped it into his pocket.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Watson asked.
“I think it’s a horrible idea, but I need to see this kid.”
51
Diary
I woke to a loud knock.
My neck and back ached from sleeping in a sitting position on the cold wood floor. I forced myself to stand and tried to stretch the pain from my limbs. My fingers still clutched the butcher knife. They were wrapped so tight around the handle I practically had to pry them apart with my free hand.
I set the knife on my nightstand. I still wore the clothing I had on the previous day. The sun was out and I had no idea of the time.
Another knock, heavier than the first.
It came from the front door.
I pulled the chair out from under my doorknob and pushed it aside, opened the door a crack.
Father (and the empty bourbon bottle) were both gone. At the other end of the hall Mother and Father’s bedroom door stood open, the bed made. If anyone had slept there, they were gone now too. The house felt oddly quiet.
“Mother? Father?”
My voice seemed louder than I intended against the stark silence.
Was Father at work? I’d lost track of the days. Today felt like Monday, but I wasn’t sure.
The knock again.
I went to the door and pulled the curtain aside at the side window. A heavyset man of about seventy stood on the porch in a beige trench and rumpled suit. He looked down at me and raised a badge in his left hand so I could clearly make out the shiny silver.
I released the curtain, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Morning, son. Are your parents home?”
I shook my head. “Father is working, and Mother set off to the store to get fixings for dinner.”
“Mind if I wait for her to return?”
Considering I had no idea where either of them went, it didn’t seem wise to say yes. Mother could have been in the basement, doing who knew what to (with?) Mrs. Carter. How would she react if she came upstairs and found a stranger in the house? A stranger with a badge?
“I don’t know how long she will be,” I told him.
He sighed and wiped at his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. I found it strange he would wear not only a suit jacket but a coat atop it while he was clearly hot. Perhaps it was to hide his gun? I pictured a .44 Magnum tucked under his meaty arm in a shoulder holster, ready to be drawn and fired at the drop of a pin like the one Dirty Harry carried in those old movies. Didn’t all cops secretly want to be Dirty Harry?
This particular cop didn’t resemble Dirty Harry in the slightest. He was severely overweight, and his hair had deserted him some time ago, leaving nothing but a large head covered in wrinkles and age spots. His eyes had probably been blue at a younger age but now appeared the color of diluted Windex. He had a several chins, the skin rumpled like that of a shar-pei or an apple forgotten in the sun.
“Maybe I can help you with something?” I made the offer knowing full well he would turn me down. Adults rarely accepted help from kids. Many adults didn’t notice kids at all. We were lost to the background of life, much like pets and old people. Father once told me there was a sweet spot to life between the age of fifteen and sixty-five when you were fully visible to the world—any older and you fade from sight, dimming to obscurity. And the young? Well, the young started out invisible and gradually took form, solidifying till those mid-teen years when we joined the rest of the world in the visible spectrum. Poof! One day you were there and people held you accountable, people saw you. I knew that day was coming for me, but it hadn’t quite arrived yet.
“Well, maybe you can,” the man said, much to my chagrin. He raised his sleeve to the side of his head and blotted a trickle of sweat inching down his ear. He nodded toward the Carters’ house. “When was the last time you saw your neighbors?”
I turned toward the house with as much disinterest as I could muster. “Couple days ago. They said they were going on a trip, and I promised Mrs. Carter I’d water her plants.”
This was a good story. A plausible story. There was a flaw, though. As soon as the words left my mouth, I couldn’t help but wonder: Does Mrs. Carter own any plants? Although I hadn’t been looking, Father taught me to capture my surroundings with my mind’s eye, and I didn’t recall any plants, not one.
“Are you a budding botanist?”
“A what?”
“A botanist. It’s someone who studies plants,” he replied. More sweat dripped down the side of his head, and I tried not to stare. I tried not to look at all.
“No, I don’t study plants, I just water them. Not much science in that.”
“No, I suppose not.” His eyes flitted past me into the small living room.
Was Mother there? Had she been in the basement after all and come up?
“Can I trouble you for a glass of water?”
The sweat dripped from his jaw, rolled down all his chins, and fell to his shirt. I felt a sudden urge to reach up and wipe the salty trail of yuck from the side of his head before it dripped again, but I did not. “Okay, but you should stay outside,” I said. “I’m not allowed to let strangers into the house.”
“That’s very heedful of you. Your parents taught you well.”
I left the man standing at the door and went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Before I reached the sink, I realized I hadn’t closed the door. I should have closed and locked it tight. He could walk right in if he wanted to. After such an egregious trespass, he would surely go down to the basement, where Mrs. Carter eagerly waited to tell him all about everything that had happened over the past few days.
What if she screamed?
Don’t let her scream, not now. He would hear her from the door for sure.