The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

  I love you,

  Connor

  PS – I might be back for Halloween. Can I be Harry Potter? Nate said I look like him. I need glasses. I can make the wand and Mom can make the cape. FEED FRED!

  My lip quivers as I wipe a tear. “That kid,” I whisper. “He was so witty and bright. And I remember Fred the frog. My dad accidentally killed him with the lawnmower. We buried pieces of the poor guy next to Annabelle the hippo.”

  “He talked about you a lot. Hard to tell from that letter, but he loved you.”

  “I can tell, and I always knew. I wish my mom could’ve read this.” I set it on the coffee table then place Eli’s key on top. I was wrong. These two items belong together.

  I finger through the rest of the stash, finding three orange beaver teeth, a Pokémon card, and a short stack of baseball cards. The ragged edges stink of mold. I remember the cards were in this condition when Connor had them as a kid. All of his store-bought toys were well worn—treated as invaluable material objects—but whatever he picked up in the forest was prized.

  “He didn’t talk much about sports,” Nate says.

  “No, he wasn’t a big baseball fan. My dad bought him a couple of packs to try to get him interested in something besides scouting. He kept only a few because he thought most of the men on the cards looked at him funny.”

  “That sounds like Connor.”

  I set three cardinal feathers next to the turtle shell and take out three rocks crammed with trilobite fossils. In our old bedroom closet, buried under piles of boots and sneakers, are three shoeboxes that Connor once kept under his bunk. They contain what he called nature’s pickings. Leaves, bark, rocks, bird nests, an owl skull, and a few unidentifiable tiny bones, likely from mice or other rodents that he’d pretend were spider monkeys. There’s also a four-leaf clover sandwiched between wax paper. I promised him I’d never to touch it. Still haven’t. We learned early on to respect people’s property, a necessity because of the business we were in.

  But the groups of three in the stash … in the past I hadn’t noticed he collected a specific number.

  “It’s a coincidence, right?” I ask Nate.

  “What?”

  “That there were three keys in the box, and Connor collected in threes.”

  He tugs on his ear and looks at the floor. “I don’t know.”

  “But you noticed?”

  “I noticed. Not when I was a kid, but when I sifted through this stuff again.”

  “But it was Grady, right? Tell me he put the keys in here and not Connor.”

  “I don’t know.”

  My shoulders droop like tomato plants in a heat wave. Grady could’ve caught on to the number of objects Connor collected. If we did, he did, too. He could’ve made the extra keys to make it look like Connor put them in the box. Or he had them made to represent Connor and me to go along with Eli’s. The three keys together like they once were. But why? And I won’t even try to think of reasons why Connor would’ve done it, because he didn’t.

  “Dammit.”

  “You okay, babe?” Joss looks out from the kitchen.

  “No, I’m frustrated.”

  I pick up a small magnifying glass—one of the last items in the box—and twirl it between my thumb and forefinger. Three beaver teeth, three feathers, three rocks, and three keys, plus three boxes in the closet. Despite the peculiarity of the collection, Connor wasn’t a loner or deranged. He wasn’t a psychopath. He had plenty of close friends. Only once did I ever hear a negative comment about him from two boys who came over and said he was boring. Go figure. We didn’t have a TV or video games, and my parents preferred books to movies, homemade meals to fast food, a land line to cell phones, and staying active to living like sloths. They said we’d thank them later for living in a wonderland.

  I use the magnifier to study the items, moving back and forth over each one. No markings, nothing unusual. There’s no hint or trace of any meaning. Nothing. I lean in and look closer. “Do you think the lodge is a wonderland?” I ask Nate.

  “Depends.”

  I sit up and look at him through the magnifier. My eye must be triple its size. “Depends on what?”

  “On what your needs are.”

  “I don’t have many needs.”

  “That’s too bad.” His hand rests on my leg. “Being with people is one of the secrets to happiness. At the very least, you need that.”

  “You mean sex.”

  “Ah. Yeah, that would be nice. Sure.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “You will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You should!” Joss calls out.

  I shake with silent laughter.

  “You know, I used to burn ants with that magnifier.” He tactfully changes the subject.

  “Ugh.” I set it down. “That’s so typical for a boy.”

  He shows off a wide grin, his fingers raking through his hair.

  “This also belongs to you.” I put the Pokémon card in front of him.

  “Yep. Porn and Pokémon were my top priorities when I was a kid. Is it that obvious?”

  I nod. “You look good in that hoodie, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” He pats the logo over his chest. “I’ll pay for it.”

  “You overpaid for the rooms, so it’s not so much the money as the principle.” I twirl the magnifier again. “I hate dishonest men.”

  He listens with a straight expression, gently sliding his fingers up and down my leg. An apology? Another come-on?

  Or both.

  I’d love to touch him back, hold his hand again, kiss him. I can’t remember the last time…

  “You blush easily,” he says. “Thinking about anything in particular?”

  “Nope. And I don’t blush.”

  “Right. Just like me. We must’ve caught a bug when we were outside.”

  The hell with it, I should kiss him. There haven’t been any hot guys in Tilford Lake since forever. Why be shy? Nerves, I suppose. I’d probably do something nerdy, like lean in and knock his teeth, or worse, “he’ll back away from my kiss and I’ll feel like an ass.”

  “Try it.”

  I look up. “What?”

  “Huh?” He acts innocent.

  Please tell me I did NOT say that aloud. I couldn’t have. Dummy. I did! My face is on fire. I did. I said it!

  “I wasn’t talking about you.” I try to cover.

  “Sure.”

  After clearly embarrassing myself, all I can think to do is plunge back into the stash.

  The final item is a water-stained, tri-fold flyer. On the front is an ink drawing of the lodge, the heart and sparrow logo at the top rising high like the sun. The inside has a coupon for ten percent off our weekend rate, and a hand-drawn map of the property. I’ve seen flyers similar to this one with the same tagline at the top: Come one, come all, to find the greatest treasure of them all! The description under it is also like the ones I’ve seen:

  It may be below or may be above. You might need a shovel or to sift with a glove. Riches and gems, good fortune and loot, have a good look around, I promise I won’t shoot! If you find the hidden booty, or even just moss, bring it into the lodge where I can admire my loss. I swear you can keep it, all that you find, everything but my wife’s delicious cheese rind. Gosh darn it, that’s mine!

  I giggle. “This is priceless. Granddad Felix had me in stitches up until the day he died. He was so much fun.”

  “I can tell. I laughed the first time I read it, too. Grady tried to convince me the flyer was new, but it looked like it was from the sixties.” He points to the vintage drawings and handwritten text. “Whoever made it didn’t use a computer. It’s all done by hand.”

  “He made these when I was eight or nine. Not in the sixties. It was an attempt to help us out following a bad year of business. Families were afraid to stay here with their kids after Eli went missing. This fake treasure hunt was
his big idea.” I wave the flyer in the air.

  Nate looks about and tips his head toward the hallway. “You all lived here, even your grandparents?”

  “No, they passed the lodge down to my dad after Connor was born. They lived in a small mobile home out by the lake, but still got a share of the income from the business. Financially, it was a tough time. We had to take care of this property and theirs. But we survived.”

  “Ollie!” Joss squeals from the kitchen.

  “That’s your fault for giving him beef jerky,” Jim says.

  “Salem, Ollie barfed on the floor. Should I clean it up?”

  “No, Joss. Leave it so we can step in it.”

  Nate laughs and leans back on his elbows.

  “Fine. Go ’head and hang out with your new boyfriend and ignore poor little Ollie. I’ll take care of him,” she says.

  “Ollie would be fine if you didn’t feed him jerky. Olls, come here.” He waddles in with his head hanging low. “You’re fine, don’t be sad. It’s not your fault people keep feeding you junk.” He offers an apology by placing his head in my lap. “Good boy.” I scratch his favorite spot behind his ear. “Next time she feeds you garbage, vomit on her foot.”

  Joss doesn’t respond. I glance over my shoulder and groan at the sight of Jim’s hand under her shirt. It won’t be long now.

  Nate looks up. A floorboard creaks above us. I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling.

  “The bogeyman,” he jokes.

  “The bogeyman would be better than mice. Rodents are hard to get rid of.”

  A second board creaks on the other side of the room.

  “Sounds like the mice in Tilford Lake weigh as much as a human. Should I run up and check?”

  “No, that’s okay. Someone is in the room over mine.” I point toward the back. “Above my parents’ old room at the end of the hall, the sound must be traveling from there.”

  A third creak.

  Nate looks up again. “Nope, for sure that’s above us.”

  “Impossible, that room is locked and I’m the only one with a key.”

  “As far as you know you are.” He looks at Eli’s key, and I think of the other two that I didn’t know about.

  “True, anything’s possible.” I get up to have a look, but the front door chime distracts me, still unlocked from when Joss came in. This time, for sure, it sang.

  “Joss, watch Ollie for me.”

  “No problem.”

  I walk to the lobby and catch Brad sniffing the air like a dog.

  “Cooking something?” He licks his lips, hoping for an invitation.

  “Pizza rolls.”

  “Splendid.”

  “Did you call the detectives? Are they coming?”

  “Chief told me to come see what you’ve got first.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why, Salem. We go through this shit with you every year. Like that time you found a little sneaker on the property and swore it was Eli’s, but it was only this big.” He makes a two-inch space between his thumb and finger.

  “It was bigger than that.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t. We found a doll later that day sticking out of the sand in the playground out back. Remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” I exhale loudly in protest.

  “Ollie dug it up, buried for years. But your memory of Eli and the doll got jumbled.”

  “I said I remember.”

  “Okay, so show me this key.”

  I march to my bedroom, muttering schmuck under my breath. My memories of Eli aren’t as vivid as the ones I have of Connor. I was so young when it happened, but that doesn’t mean people shouldn’t take me seriously. “Tilford Lake cops are totally inept.”

  “I can hear you,” Brad calls down the hall.

  “Is there a problem?” Nate says to him.

  I picture Brad putting a hand on his holster, widening his stance to look intimidating, all five feet, six inches of him.

  “Harlow,” he says.

  “Brenner.” Nate’s voice overpowers the lobby.

  I forgot Eli’s key is in the living room and not the bedroom. Or more likely, I didn’t forget and walked past it on purpose. I stare for a long time at the two nickel-plated keys on my dresser, harking back to what Joss said about never seeing Eli’s key again once it leaves the lodge. I wanted the detectives to have it. I planned to file a report with them, not Brad. And knowing Tilford Lake cops, there’s a good chance they’ll lose it.

  “Nice weather,” Brad says.

  “Perfect weather,” Nate responds.

  I make fists as I stride back to the lobby. I’ll do the detective work, not Bradley Brenner.

  “You got it?” he asks.

  “What are you gonna do with it?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Salem.”

  “Ease up.” Nate steps forward in my defense.

  Jim comes out and leans alongside the desk, crossing his arms and legs. He doesn’t speak, but the expression on his face would unnerve a king cobra.

  “Hey, she called me, all right?” Brad turns to me. “Thought you were afraid of these guys.”

  “I changed my mind. Here, take it.” I give him one of the newer keys.

  “What’s this?”

  “The key I told you about. That’s it.”

  He looks at the one Eli’s wearing in the photomural above the door. “Stop fucking with me, okay? It’s insulting. This isn’t that key. And it doesn’t fit the description of the one we have on file.”

  “Then I guess it’s like the sneaker I found.”

  “Fuck this. Chief was right not to call the guys from the city.” He tosses the key on the floor and plods to the door. “I’m not coming back if you call again. Not till you get some professional help, Salem. I’m serious.”

  “You can’t say that to me. I’m part of this community just like everyone else. It’s your job to—”

  “Look, I’ve got a Slurpee bandit at the 7-Eleven, he’s been stealing for weeks, and someone keeps dressing Mrs. Thompson’s garden gnomes in thongs. There’re more important things than…”

  He drops the argument, and I can tell by how fast he turns away that he regrets what he was about to say. But it’s too late.

  “More important things than what? My brother?”

  “Than your wild imagination.”

  “Whatever. Good luck with the thongs.” I hold the door open and lock it once he’s outside.

  Jim nods to Nate, a signal that he has his back. He gives us a quick wave before heading back to the kitchen.

  Nate steps closer to the door to study the photomural, shoulders back, chest out, stroking his chin. A minute passes before he picks the spare key off the floor and flips it in the air, catching it with the same hand.

  “I made the right decision,” he says.

  “For what?”

  “The key. You.” He bites his bottom lip for a few seconds. “I found your mom’s obituary when I researched your family. It listed you and her parents as the only surviving relatives.”

  “Yeah, her mom and dad live in Florida. They’re too old to travel, and I’m too busy. I never get to see them … and I have an aunt who lives in Colorado, but she and my mom weren’t close. I don’t know her or my cousins. It’s just me here.”

  “That was my impression.” He raises a closed hand. “I had a key in my possession that was meaningful, and I knew I had to bring it to you, not the cops. It didn’t feel right to make that decision for you. It was your choice what to do with it.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He flips the key in the air before placing it in my hand. “So how come you gave Brad one of these? Why’d you change your mind and keep Eli’s?”

  A flash of color on the mantel diverts my attention. Three purple crocuses lay next to a vase filled with red dogwood branches. With my hands clasped behind my back, and feeling Nat
e’s eyes on me, I walk over to sniff the crocuses. Their scent is warm and faint, a little sweet, like hay. I gather them up, take another whiff, and look to the balcony for any sign of life. Virginia, she must’ve put them here.

  “Salem, what about the key?”

  The answer that finally comes is based more on intuition and emotions than facts.

  “Because”—I turn to Nate—“a corner of my heart tells me not to let go of what’s already lost. Eli’s key belongs here with me.”

  nine

  Guests have settled in for the night. I check my cell. Ten-thirty. It’s quiet now. Jim and Joss promised to be back from Martin’s Bar by eleven, and Nate regrettably disappeared on foot two hours ago. No need to guess where. Brave guy to walk the forest alone, wouldn’t catch me out there this late without an army of friends.

  I look out my living room window, ice pellets tapping the glass, the yard curtained by a black night. Nate could be checking me out from four feet away and I wouldn’t know it. I’d like to think he’s not a creeper. Although, I did leave the door to my private quarters wide open as an invitation for him to wander in, hoping that he is. Is that absurd? Should I care if it is? With those blue eyes, his charming dimple, rumbling voice, fit body, and wow, and the size of his feet, I’m okay if he decides to slink in here. Nothing’s wrong with getting a little lost in him. Yesterday wasn’t a terrific start, but he made up for it today. And even at ten, Connor was a good judge of character. He liked Nate. Nate gets bonus points for that.

  I turn to see if he’s standing behind me, but the room is dark and empty.

  Ollie is asleep at the foot of my bed, full of cute, musical snores that I can hear all the way into this room. I’ll join him after Joss and Jim get in, after Nate comes back, and after I stop thinking about the metal box on the coffee table.

  Rummaging through the contents of the three shoeboxes in the closet didn’t provide any new clues to Connor’s rationale for collecting in threes. It’s baffling. I take out my cell and Google search “collecting in threes” and “the number three in nature.” The Power of Three, The Spiritual Meaning Behind Three, Christianity this and science that sites pop up, the use of three in art and architecture, and loads of astrology sites. I browse a few of them, mindful that Connor wouldn’t have known any of this at that age.