A Family of Strangers

by Emilie Richards

  “Not yet.”

  “The picture can tell the story before the words do?”

  “It can,” Mrs. English said.

  “Can somebody tell a story with pictures and no words? That would be okay?”

  They continued the conversation as the other children started to move and whisper to each other, but Noelle was so focused she didn’t notice. It was the most I’d ever heard her speak.

  “I think you should try one yourself,” Mrs. English said, just as a bell rang.

  As the children filed out of the room, she came over to speak to me, although Noelle didn’t, even though she’d finally noticed I was there.

  I introduced myself, and Mrs. English nodded pleasantly. “My daughter-in-law said she met you this morning.” The mystery of the identical names was solved.

  “Noelle seemed...” I couldn’t think of the right word.

  “Involved,” she supplied. “Yes, she’s such a bright little girl, and her artwork is unusually advanced. Plus she’s so much fun to talk to, I sometimes forget the other children need attention, too. I have no doubt that tomorrow she’ll sit at her table and tell a story with drawings. And it will be wonderful.”

  “I don’t know this little girl. She’s nothing like this at home.”

  “Have you spent much time with her?”

  I had to say no.

  “Well, you’ll get to know her now, as well as her sister. My daughter-in-law tells me Holly is smart as a whip, too.” Her smile faltered, as if she was trying to think of a way to broach the bad news I’d already heard.

  “But tired too often,” I supplied. “There’s been a lot going on in their lives, but I’ll be sure they get to bed early.”

  “Good, because Noelle seems tired in the mornings, too.”

  “I guess I have a lot to learn about children.”

  She clapped a hand on my arm. “I wouldn’t worry. They’ll make sure you learn whatever you need to. You can always count on that.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At the grocery store I’d stocked up on after-school snacks my nieces might like. String cheese. Whole grain crackers. Fruit. Yogurt.

  Now, with their backpacks stowed and hands washed, I set an assortment on the counter. “I bet you’re hungry.” I got apple juice out of the refrigerator, and when I turned around to show them, they were gone. The snacks lay exactly where I’d left them.

  I found both girls in front of the television set in the great room, watching something that passed for a cartoon, but only because it was animated. This definitely wasn’t Looney Tunes. The little debutantes, in sherbet colored party dresses, were prancing back and forth reciting insipid moral lectures. Was I lucky my nieces hardly spoke? Would I be forced to listen to constant discourse on the importance of being a good friend, or not copying homework if they did?

  I stood in front of the screen and waved my hands. “Nobody’s hungry?”

  Holly was galvanized enough to speak. “We always watch this show.”

  “Not today.” I flipped off the set and folded my arms. “Come in the kitchen and tell me about school. There’s apple juice if you’re thirsty.”

  I went in the kitchen and poured juice, whether they wanted it or not.

  When I turned around they were in the doorway, staring at me as if I were a chimpanzee at the zoo. “Mommy lets us watch TV,” Noelle said.

  Since Wendy wasn’t there to defend herself, I held out the juice. “What else do you do when you come home?”

  They took the glasses, but not with enthusiasm.

  When they didn’t answer, I supplied possibilities. “Stand on your heads? Cut the grass? Make long-distance phone calls to Australia?”

  Nobody cracked a smile.

  “Or maybe you go upstairs and play, before you come back down to do homework?”

  Noelle looked down at her feet. “We’re tired.”

  “Do you need naps?”

  Holly, who was still staring at me, narrowed her eyes in answer.

  “Would you like to go down to the playground?” On my jog I’d discovered a small one beside the community pool. “Or would you like to go for a swim?”

  “TV.” Noelle came over and set her glass on the counter, but while she was there she took a sleeve of string cheese.

  Encouraged, I compromised, which meant I hadn’t been completely brainwashed by the Arlie Gracey School of Parenting. “Tell you what. While I’m taking care of you, you can watch a half hour of TV after school, but you have to agree on what you’ll watch or take turns choosing. And just half an hour.”

  The girls looked at each other. I’d already noticed they practiced the art of silent communication with skill and cunning. When Holly named another show I’d never heard of, Noelle nodded, as if it was her idea, too.

  I was beginning to see how my sister had been able to work at home in the afternoons. “How was school? I know Noelle heard a story about a cat who wants to be a raccoon.”

  Silence.

  “What did you do, Holly?”

  “Who cares?”

  “I do if you want to tell me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why don’t you finish your drinks down here, and then go upstairs and play until your show comes on? You can take snacks up with you if you’re careful.”

  “Did you buy cookies?” Noelle sounded hopeful.

  “Didn’t think of it.” A more precise reply would have been: didn’t think of it because I didn’t want you to have them.

  “Or potato chips?”

  “We’ll be eating early, so you won’t starve. You can do homework after your show.”

  Holly set her full glass of juice on the counter and left, muttering under her breath. Noelle waited until her sister was out of sight, then grabbed some crackers and followed in her wake.

  The afternoon dragged. There was half an hour in front of the television. Another half hour when they sat and stared at the blank screen in protest. Eventually, homework. I scraped carrots and cut up red peppers for all of us to snack on while I made dinner. I snacked alone.

  Dinner itself was a wash. Each girl ate just enough to keep from passing out. Before they left the table, I got a pad and pen and sat down again.

  “Tell me what you’d like for dinner.”

  Nobody spoke.

  I prompted. “I hear you like macaroni and cheese.”

  Noelle gave a tiny nod. Holly glared as I put that on my list.

  I pointed at her. “Holly, your turn, and don’t shrug. We’re staying here until I hear your ideas.”

  She looked mutinous and didn’t reply.

  Noelle looked at me, then at her sister. “She likes hot dogs.”

  “Be quiet,” Holly snapped.

  “Thanks.” I wrote down hot dogs and hoped I could find healthy ones. “How about hamburgers, Holly?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Whale? Groundhog? Tasmanian Devil stew?”

  No response.

  “Maybe you’re vegetarians. I make a mean salad out of leaves and twigs.”

  Noelle actually giggled.

  In a quick preview of her adolescence, Holly rolled her eyes. “Can we go now?”

  I pretended to think it over. “Well, if you do, you’re leaving the menu up to me. And you’ll have to eat every bite of whatever I choose.”

  “Fish and chips,” she said, as if I’d dragged the words out of her with a real fishing rod.

  I knew better than to push. “Great. We’re done for now. Want baths or showers tonight?”

  I was so tired by seven-thirty—the time my internet parenting research insisted I should tuck them in—that I thought about crawling in with them. Safely in bed, though, neither girl looked sleepy.

  I widened my own eyes to keep them open. “Would one of you like
to say the prayer tonight?”

  Of course neither volunteered. I repeated a version of the previous night’s, and asked if they wanted a story. Again, no response.

  I pulled Holly’s Frozen sheet over her shoulders. No surprise her back was to me. I expected the same treatment from Noelle, but when I made it to her bedside, she was watching me intently.

  “Why didn’t Mommy come home?”

  The question had taken so long to emerge that whatever story I’d concocted yesterday disappeared. Luckily, Holly gave me time to rethink it.

  “Shut up, Noelle!”

  “‘Shut up’ is something we don’t say,” I told her. “Everybody has the right to ask questions.”

  “Noelle...” Holly’s tone was still threatening.

  By then I’d recovered my poise. “Like your gram said, your mom found out she had other commitments and couldn’t leave when she planned to. She has a friend who needs her help.”

  “Why didn’t she tell us?” Noelle asked.

  Noelle had said this as if Wendy communicated with her daughters directly. There were several ways to read her question, but I wasn’t taking chances.

  “How would she tell you?” I asked.

  “Holly’s phone.”

  Holly sat up. “I’m trying to go to sleep.”

  So far out of the parenting groove was I, that an eight-year-old with her own phone stunned me. “Does she text you, Holly? Or does she talk to you?”

  Holly just glared at me.

  “She puts words on the screen,” Noelle said.

  “Holly, has your mom texted you in the last few days?” Holly stared blankly at me.

  I waited, but an answer had been too much to expect. “If you do hear from her, will you let me know?”

  She lay back down and presented her back once more.

  Holly hadn’t denied having a phone, or receiving texts. During my search I hadn’t gotten as far as their bedroom, so of course I hadn’t found it. On the other hand, my suspicious little niece probably took the phone with her everywhere and hid it inside a pocket of her backpack while she was at school. The same school that had required two forms so I could pick them up in the afternoons probably did not encourage cell phones on desks.

  I tucked in Noelle and turned off the overhead light. The reassuring fairy night-light came on. I wondered how long it would take the girls to fall asleep, and how soundly they would sleep once they did. Because with the help of the little fairy beaming light into their room, I was going to find Holly’s phone and see what was on it.

  * * *

  By ten o’clock I was still waiting for Holly to fall asleep so I could check her backpack. The little girl’s morning exhaustion might not be a mystery. If tonight was any example, once she was in bed my niece was routinely lying awake for hours. I wondered if she was worried about all the changes in her young life. There had been months in my own when every time I closed my eyes, I sank immediately into nightmares.

  As I waited, I worked on the files I’d brought with me, gathering a list of questions for a call to Sophie about the cold cases they referenced. Of course the more important question was what we should do next about tracking my sister. If Sophie had found anything important, she would have called, but it was time to coordinate our strategies.

  By now I was working from Wendy’s bedroom to keep better track of Holly’s tossing and turning. I reached for my cell phone and realized I’d left it on the kitchen counter. Since Wendy has a landline extension right beside the bed, I lifted the receiver and heard a series of beeps. I gave up my landline years ago, but I knew what that meant. Wendy had voice mail. And didn’t I wish I could log in and listen?

  I punched in Sophie’s number and waited. She spoke the moment she picked up. “I was just getting ready to call you.”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “I made a note of your sister’s telephone number from the web.”

  “Why?”

  “To get a record of calls she made before she left.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” I didn’t bother to slap my forehead. I’d be black-and-blue if I slapped myself every time Sophie thought of some stone I’d left unturned.

  “Don’t get excited. Dead end. I could check the carrier’s website or call and ask for a list, but I’d have to have her password. Have you checked the town house phone menu to see if there’s a record of recent calls?”

  “Another thing I didn’t think about.”

  “Do it after we hang up, so you don’t disconnect me. Does it look like an old model?”

  I held the phone away, and then put it back to my ear. “It looks familiar. Like maybe I grew up with it. My mother refuses to throw out anything that’s still working. That’s why she and Dad are so rich. She probably brought it over when Wendy moved in.”

  “Earlier models were bare bones basic. Check, but you’re probably out of luck, unless you found a record of your sister’s passwords somewhere. Did you?”

  “Nothing at all in her paperwork. She probably keeps everything important on her laptop or phone.”

  “What about phone bills?”

  “I did a heavy-duty search. She gets statements from the electric company, but I didn’t come across phone bills.”

  “She probably pays basic bills online.”

  “And we’d need a password to get them.” I told her about the voice mail messages waiting to be picked up.

  “You know she can access them remotely and probably will the minute she thinks of it?”

  “From wherever she is.”

  “So it would be good to get those messages before they disappear. As soon as they come in, but—”

  “I’d need a password,” I finished for her.

  “Usually you dial your home number with area code and put in anywhere from a four-to a six-digit code. You could try her birth date, the girls’ birth dates, the year she was born.”

  “What fun that will be.”

  “I live for those moments.”

  Most of the research I’d done in my career had been for cases that had gone down before the technology explosion. No one carried phones in those days or used voice mail, and before the mid-1980s, answering machines weren’t even in use. I knew this particular tidbit because I’d just looked into a cold case that hinged on a degraded tape in one of the first analog models. But most of the time, Sophie researched and I interrogated.

  I went to the heart of the discussion. “Where are we on Wendy? Since her phone calls seem to be a dead end.” I reconsidered, got up and closed the bedroom door and told her about Holly’s phone.

  “Let me know what you find. I’m sending links to two cases in California for you to look over. But honestly? Neither one is the least bit promising. Coverage on the first indicates the cops are already close to solving it. So if your sister is involved, law enforcement will either be calling in the next few hours, or she’ll be on the next flight home.”

  I clutched the phone to my ear. “The second?”

  “It looks like something to do with the Russians. Maybe espionage?”

  “I can’t see Wendy in a trench coat.”

  “The possibility stayed with me because her husband commands a nuclear sub. He might have secrets they want.”

  I pondered but dismissed it. “Bryce wouldn’t share secrets with Wendy or anybody else. He’s Commander Straight Arrow. And Wendy told me once that he doesn’t bring paperwork home, that he does all his work in the office to keep everything confidential.”

  “Did that bother her?”

  “Au contraire. She sounded delighted. The sub stuff doesn’t interest her. She likes the officers’ spouses’ club and climbing the social ladder. She likes the prestige, but that’s it. Sub talk bores her.”

  “Okay, but even if this doesn’t pan out, and I doubt it wil
l, her husband’s job is an angle to keep in mind. So that’s where I am. The mostly solved murder was in LA, but the second was out in the boondocks.”

  “They have boondocks in California?”

  “Boondocks are universal. So what do we do next?”

  If Wendy had been involved in a murder in either Arizona or California, wouldn’t we know by now? The body either hadn’t yet been found—an image I didn’t want in my head—or she’d lied to me and possibly to our parents about her destination, or at least the tail end of the trip.

  I gave in to the inevitable. “I guess we open this up a state at a time. It would help if I could get Wendy’s travel schedule from someone at Gracey Group. But that’s too suspicious now that she’s been delayed.”

  “I’ll keep nosing around.”

  We talked about the cold cases I’d looked into since arriving in Seabank. We did our usual give and take on questions, and hung up with three possible cases to concentrate on for the next week, with hopes of making a decision soon.

  As soon as I disconnected, I checked the phone for a call log, but thanks to my mother’s frugality, there wasn’t one. Then I opened my computer, and when Sophie’s links to the two murders came through, I looked them over. But she was right. They weren’t promising.

  On a whim I called my favorite technology wonk, a young man in his final year of high school, who would rather answer questions than eat or breathe. He’d been a big help on Out in the Cold’s first season, and he’d promised to help us next time in return for having his name in the credits again. Sophie and I specialized in getting first-class advice at bargain basement prices.

  Ten minutes later I hung up after a lecture I only partially understood. My question had been whether Wendy’s cell phone call to me could still be traced. Just knowing where she’d been when she made it would be a starting point. Now I knew that the authorities could get a reasonable approximation on the location of the call using cell phone towers, but unfortunately I could not. Of course if there really had been a murder, the authorities already knew where it had happened, so I certainly wasn’t going to give them proof my sister had been anywhere in the vicinity.