I heard a loud crash.
It sounded as if it came from the living room, but I didn’t recall anything in that space that could make such a noise, and I had an excellent memory. Father often made me step into an unfamiliar room, then immediately close my eyes and recite everything I could recall, and exactly where each item was placed. To practice, we would visit houses for sale on open house day and move from room to room. When we finished with one house, we’d move on to the next, and if there was enough time, we would find another after that. We once stopped at six houses all in one day. My ability to remember the contents of a room was near photographic, Father told me with pride. His, however, was even better—at dinner after the six-house marathon, he asked me to recall the contents of specific rooms in the second house. I hadn’t been prepared for this secondary exam, and although I remembered some, I could not recall all. Father, however, seemed to remember everything. He seemed to—
“Here to water the plants?”
The voice startled me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin as I spun around to face the source. Mr. Stranger was standing directly behind me, his eyes narrow and face awash with frown lines that seemed to have seen their fair share of use during this man’s lifetime. He twirled a hammer between chubby fingers.
“The Carters are on vacation, and I thought I saw someone moving around inside their house,” I blurted out quickly. This seemed like a viable reason for being over here. Sometimes the simplest answers are the best because if you lie and get deeper into a conversation, those lies can start to twist around your throat and cut off your breath.
“That would be my business associate, Mr. Smith,” Mr. Stranger replied. “Like myself and my employer, Mr. Smith is equally concerned because your neighbor hasn’t reported to work in a few days. I think I mentioned that Mr. Carter didn’t put in for time off before leaving on this vacation. It’s all very worrisome.”
I couldn’t remember if he had said that when we spoke the other day, but I nodded anyway. “You shouldn’t be in their house. Maybe I should call the police.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Mr. Stranger said. “Would you like to call from inside or from your house?”
Rats.
Mr. Stranger’s free hand rushed at my shoulder. I ducked, swirled, and came up beside him.
He let out a chuckle and tapped on the window, then curled his finger in a come hither motion. “Relax, kid. I’m only asking Mr. Smith to step outside.”
A rumble filled the air from the direction of my house, and I spotted Father’s Porsche pulling into the driveway. He climbed out of the driver’s seat, and Mother exited the passenger side. Speaking to each other in a hushed tone, they stared at Mr. Stranger and me. They approached, Father with a smile that could light a room and Mother with her arm folded through his. She was wearing a lovely green floral dress that hugged her legs with each whimsical step. They belonged in a magazine.
Father offered his hand and what was sure to be a firm handshake. “How do you do, kind sir? Friend of the Carters’?”
Mr. Stranger offered a smile in return. “I work for his employer, actually. He hasn’t been at work since Tuesday, and talk around the water cooler is getting a little worried. Thought I’d take the drive on out here and see what was what.”
The screen door at the front of the Carter house slammed, and we all turned. A wiry man with long blond hair and thick glasses stepped down off the porch. Rather than approach, he leaned against the railing and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds. I watched as he flicked the tip of a match with his right thumb, setting it ablaze, then lit a cigarette that had found its way into his mouth, though I hadn’t seen him remove it from the pack.
“That’s my coworker, Mr. Smith.”
Mr. Smith tipped a nonexistent cap and continued to survey us from afar. His eyes lingered on Mother a little longer than they should have, and I knew this probably angered Father, although he didn’t show it. Instead, he cordially said, “Pleased to meet you,” and returned his attention to Mr. Stranger. “I didn’t catch your name.”
Mr. Stranger smiled. “No, I don’t suppose you did. I’m Mr. Jones.”
“And you’re a police officer, Mr. Jones?”
Mr. Stranger tilted his head. “Why would you say that?”
Father’s eyes didn’t break contact with Mr. Stranger. “My son said you had a badge yesterday.”
Mr. Stranger did break eye contact, and he did look down at me. “I’m not sure why he would say such a thing. He must have been mistaken.” He offered a quick wink, then ruffled my hair before returning to my father. “Did the Carters tell you where they were going?”
Father shook his head. “We aren’t that close.”
“Did they say when they would be back?”
“Like I said—”
“You’re not that close.”
“That’s right.”
From the porch, Mr. Smith let the remains of his cigarette fall to the floor and crushed the butt under a black boot that belonged on the foot of a motorcycle rebel, not the little man standing before us. He wasn’t much taller than I. But his voice was much deeper than one would expect, raspy. “Mr. Carter was working on a rather sensitive project for our employer, and since he didn’t clear this vacation with the office and he appears to be unreachable, we have to assume he has skipped out on his duties. That in mind, all associated work papers, the property of our employer, must be returned immediately. We hoped those work papers would be here in his home, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. At least, if they are here, they are not readily visible. Did Mr. Carter ever speak about work? Perhaps he mentioned what he was working on?”
“We aren’t that close,” Father repeated again. “I am sorry to say I’m not even aware of Mr. Carter’s profession.”
“He’s an accountant,” Mr. Stranger said.
I saw his eyes shift over to Mother for the briefest of seconds, and she looked back. Something was communicated with that simple glance, but I did not know what that was.
Mr. Smith was holding his hands out before him. He traced a square in the air.
“He stored his work papers in a beige metal box about a foot tall and two feet wide, fireproof, with a key lock on the lid. Similar to a large safe-deposit box. I found it under their bed, empty as a drunk’s shot glass. I’d like to know what he did with the contents.”