The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

  “Geniuses usually are nuts.”

  “True.” He laughs.

  We pick up our tea and drink at a sedate pace, the time spent processing the experience with Virginia. His chair squeaks. A strand of my hair falls over my cheek, still damp from the shower. I tuck it behind my ear. His chair squeaks again.

  “Wayland, her obituary didn’t mention any relatives. Who came?”

  “No one. She sat with a pile of photos in her lap, staring at an empty casket. It was just her.”

  “Did she say why she was doing it?”

  “No. And I didn’t pry. Is she still at the lodge?”

  “Her car is. She walked out this morning and left me this note. I haven’t seen her since.” I take the slip of paper out of my pocket and slide it across his desk. He has a curious look when he reads it. “What do you think it means?”

  “Hard to tell. People her age often go through a stage of repentance when they know they’re close to death. She didn’t look sick, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t.”

  “Yeah, but why’d she give this to me?” I take the note back and stare at her words.

  “No one came to say goodbye, Salem. It’s possible she doesn’t have any family. There’re countless lonely people in this world. It’s the epidemic of our time, right along with the opioid crisis and mass shootings.” He takes a quick look over his office, stopping on a row of family photos on the bookshelf next to his desk. “After my dad died, my mom succumbed to loneliness. I’d ask her every morning if she was okay, and she always answered with the same quote. It’s etched in my mind forever.” He sits motionless, his eyes close. “ ‘When you have nobody you can make a cup of tea for, when nobody needs you, that’s when life is over.’ ” He opens his eyes. “Sad, isn’t it? And now that my mom is gone, they’re the first words I say to myself when I wake up each morning.”

  I look at my cup, circling the rim with my finger. I’ll remember that when I make tea for my guests. “Who said it?”

  “Audrey Hepburn. Her favorite actress.” He taps his lips in thought. The chair squeaks as he swivels. “You know, you might’ve reminded Virginia of someone she once knew.”

  “I did feel a connection to her … did you happen to see the photos in her lap?”

  “No, but”—he glances at his family photos once more—“she boasted that back in the day she dated every man in Tilford Lake. My dad was one of them. And old man Martin who owns the bar. She even had an affair with Joe Clayton the same year he was married. She was proud of her promiscuity.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “She grinned when reminiscing about them.”

  “Great, so we have a genius slut on our hands.”

  His body jiggles as he laughs. “Maybe so … she also mentioned her best friend was Gertrude Murphy.”

  “Gert?” The room instantly feels claustrophobic. My fingers tremble and the teacup almost slips from my hand. I pull my Sparrow Lodge sweater away from my chest so I can breathe, the logo separating from my heart. “Gert Murphy?”

  “They probably went to school together.”

  “M-maybe,” I stutter.

  “Virginia didn’t respond when I told her Gertrude had passed years ago. But I’m sure she already knew.”

  I smooth my sweater against my chest. The strong funeral home scent seeps deeper into my pores, enters my bloodstream, and clogs my veins. The smell will be harder to wash away this time.

  Something led Virginia here, and it wasn’t family. The note, I’m not sorry, she’s not asking for forgiveness. Like Wayland said, she’s proud. Arrogant even.

  “Thanks for the tea.” I stand. “I should go, it’s getting close to four.”

  “Got a big crew coming in tonight?” He pushes his chair back and waits for me to zip up my coat.

  “Not sure. The guests who had reservations left early or are MIA. Josselyn Arriaga is staying with me for the week, but she’s at work until five.”

  He puts his hand on my back and leads me to the front door. “Have you reported the situation to anyone at the station?”

  “I talked to Brad.”

  He sighs. “Was that your only choice?”

  “Yep. Too bad, right?”

  “It is. I heard Chief is on vacation. Let’s hope the screwball can handle being on his own for a few days.”

  “Logan’s working the opposite shift.”

  “He’s not much better.”

  I set my hands on the push bar of the steel entry door and duck my chin into my coat. “Brad said I should call him tomorrow if Virginia isn’t back. He’ll come check out her car and the area.”

  “Why is he waiting so long?”

  I shrug, scrunching my nose from the cold when I open the door. “He’s super busy eating meatloaf.”

  • • •

  It’s nice to have a plowed driveway when I return to the lodge. Big Boy’s Plowing & Towing is one of the more reliable services in Tilford Lake. The guys are out to do the job within hours of a substantial snowfall. But a job done quickly isn’t always one done well. They usually bury my maroon Jeep Cherokee—a beater that was my high school graduation gift—under a giant pile of snow. Today Virginia’s luxury car got the brunt of it, the model and make no longer identifiable under its coffin-ish shape.

  I park next to Joss’s Nova and step into the wet snow that clumps like mashed potatoes. Joss bangs her heels together on the porch, waiting for me to open the front door. She’s wearing Nate’s coat, which is ten sizes too big and down to her knees.

  “Where’d you go?” She asks, taking off her helmet and fluffing her hair with her fingers. Its fan-like appearance looks like the top of a palm tree. “Fuck, it’s cold. What the hell happened to spring? We got, like, a foot of snow today.”

  “I know. Where’s your key?” I open the door and let her inside.

  “I keep it on a separate chain from my car keys. It got left behind when I ran out this morning.” She holds out her arms. “Nate was gracious enough to lend me his coat.”

  “What about Jim’s coat?”

  “Too small. Damn, can I light a fire? It’s cold in here.”

  “Go ahead, less work for me.” The chime overhead chirps a short melody. I smile at the sound, kick off my boots, and hang the coats next to the door. “Frank Ennis fixed my electrical problems.”

  “Goody. Hope it wasn’t anything major.”

  “No. How come you’re not at work?” I check my cell. “It’s not even four.” Joss gives me her don’t nag me look. “Let me guess. You couldn’t last the whole day without sex.”

  She grins. “I’m playing hooky so I can see Jim. I worked half a day, then told Sheila I have monster cramps.”

  “Bet you got an earful from her.”

  “Two earfuls. She complained about hiring too many women at the plant. She said we take off for medical stuff too much. Then Sully Newman cut in and said he needed to leave because his hemorrhoids were driving him nuts. Hemorrhoids, Salem. He said that in front of me. I walked out arm and arm with him. If Sully gets to leave because of his ass, I sure as hell can leave because of my ovaries.”

  “Except you were lying.” Ollie hears us come in. He barks and scratches to get into the lobby. “Coming Olls!”

  “Sully could’ve been lying about his ass. He’s probably sitting on a hard stool down at the bar right now,” she says.

  I open the door behind the reception desk, and Ollie charges toward the front door to go outside. “Do your business and come right back,” I tell him. His roly-poly middle squeezes through the door before it’s completely open.

  After Joss gets the fire lit, she relaxes in the leather armchair with her feet on the hearth to dry her soggy socks. Ollie comes back inside and sits with us next to the fire. I tie a purple bandana around his neck, telling Joss about Virginia, my trip to see Wayland Casper, how nothing makes sense, how tired my mind is from trying to come up with answers to all the r
iddles, how I just want to sleep for days.

  “You can crash when our men leave,” she says.

  “Where are they?” I slouch in the chair, checking my phone. Still no return call from Nate.

  Joss checks hers. “I don’t know.”

  “Hey, did Nate bribe Brad?”

  “Who told you that?” She squirms.

  “No one. Brad said he couldn’t tell me why he let Jim off, but it sounded like that’s what happened.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? What’s oh?”

  She tries to bury an unwarranted smile behind her phone.

  “Joss?” I duck my head to look into her eyes, but she turns away. “What the hell did you do?”

  She sinks back, shaking her head in defense. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. You can’t lie to me. Did you bribe Brad?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a bribe.”

  “Then what?” I stand and stare down at her with my hands on my hips. “Fess up. How much did you give him?”

  “It’s not a bribe…”

  “Joss, how much?”

  “Okay … but it’s not a bribe. We have a date. I told him I’d go to dinner and then to the bar. It’s harmless.”

  “It’s not harmless!”

  “Salem, don’t get so upset.” She repositions her bra.

  “Does Jim know? Did you piss him off and that’s why he’s not here?” I stamp my foot before she can answer. “Dammit, Joss, a date with Brad?”

  “What can I say? I like the guy.”

  “I hope you mean Jim.”

  She puckers her lips and throws multiple kisses. “Love you, babe. Don’t be mad.”

  “Don’t distract me. I am mad.”

  “Mwah!”

  “Stop it.” I smile. “You’re awful.”

  “But you’re smiling.”

  “Because you’re so rotten!” I throw my hands in the air. “You’re grounded.”

  Her cheeks balloon when she tries to stifle a laugh.

  “When is this date anyway?”

  “Tonight.” She glances at her cell. “At six.”

  “Is that why you left work early? To be with Brad and not Jim?”

  “Nope.”

  “And somehow you think Jim’s not gonna find out? This will end in disaster.”

  “It won’t.”

  “There’ll be a fight and it better not happen here.”

  She stands and puts up a hand to stop. “I’m taking Jim with me.”

  “What?”

  “Brad needs people to hang with. Haven’t you noticed he’s spent the past few days calling attention to himself? He’s bugging us on purpose.”

  “Going out with him won’t fix that.”

  “It might. He’s downright miserable like the rest of us, that’s why he eats nonstop.” She raises her shirt and grabs a roll of fat. “It’s depression. What else are we gonna do in this wretched town besides eat and go to the bar?”

  “Brad’s looking for more than dinner, Joss. You know that. You shouldn’t play with people’s emotions.”

  “He’ll be happy about it.”

  “Does he know Jim’s going?”

  “He will.”

  “Neither of them knows what’s going on tonight?” The door opens and Jim walks in. “You’re in deep shit,” I whisper. “This will blow up in your face.”

  Her eyes expand to full moons, begging me to keep my mouth shut.

  “Hi, sweet gingerbread.” Jim tracks snow inside and sits on her lap, his black hair caked in a clumpy porridge of flakes. Joss brooms it off and slicks his hair to the side, then kisses him, hard, with tongue … lots of tongue.

  “Horny lovebirds,” I tease. The sight is enough for me to give them a moment alone. I feed Ollie and collect my granddad’s letters from my living room, then come back and sit across from them, flipping through the letters to find the ones I haven’t read.

  “You’re cold. Where’s your coat?” Joss rubs Jim’s arms.

  “Gave it to Nate. The sleeves are up to here on him.” He karate chops a point on his arm below the elbow before reaching under her shirt to play. She screams and swats him away.

  “Stop it. Your hands are freezing!”

  “Come on, warm me up.”

  “Where is he?” I cut in. “Where’s Nate?”

  “Are those, those letters?” Jim turns. “Your granddad fucked up my entire day. I can’t get Nate to come inside. He’ll have frostbite if he stays out there much longer,” he starts mumbling, “out there in a blizzard, no hat, dimwit just keeps digging and digging.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Nate. Your granddad. You know.” He looks at Joss with a warm smile, and they fall into another session of sideswiping tongues. I roll my eyes. Ollie comes out, and I swear he rolls his eyes, too.

  “Enough.” I pat Jim’s leg. “What about my granddad and Nate?”

  Joss’s feet point inwards as they kiss. After two more pats to break them apart, Jim finally pulls back. He waggles his eyebrows at Joss before answering me.

  “The letter Nate’s wound up tight about. We’ve been at the cabin all afternoon because of it.”

  “Which letter? Why didn’t he say anything to me?” I pull out the two letters I showed him last night, rereading each one, searching for what I could’ve missed.

  Jim stands and looks through the stack. He stinks of liquor and sweat, his hands red from the cold, beard spotted with green fuzz from his sweater. “Nate has a great poker face. I suspect he didn’t let on because he’s protecting you. Best private detective in upstate New York, if you ask me.”

  “He said we’d work together.” I continue reading. “What’s he digging for?” And then I find it. The part of the letter about Grady’s hobby, the bones, his Wunderkabinett …

  You need to show off your work, my friend. It does no good sitting in that root cellar of yours.

  “A root cellar,” Jim says.

  “I see,” I whisper. A chill enters the room.

  “Nate said he doesn’t remember any root cellar on the property.”

  It’s a chill like I’ve never felt before, creeping under my jeans and up my legs, warning me to not move from this spot.

  “He said he’s not coming in until he finds it.”

  Then a second biting chill outweighs the first. A chill that sneaks up my neck and invades my ear, howling, Go, Salem, go. You have to be there when he finds me.

  eighteen

  “Eli, wake up.” I nudge his shoulder. He lifts his head off the pillow, eye boogers and dried-up drool showing a good night’s sleep. “Hi.” His midnight hair sticks out at the sides. Together with his reddish-brown pajamas, he looks like a woolly bear caterpillar. “Woolly.” I pinch his cheeks and he giggles. “Get out of bed, woolly, woolly bear.” He kicks off the blanket and raises his arms to be picked up. I try to lift him under his arms, then around his rib cage, but he’s too heavy. “You’re four today, Eli. Too big.” I snap the blanket off the bed and spread it on the floor, twisting one end in my hand. “Ta-da! Magic carpet ride. Hop on.”

  He slides off the bed and sits cross-legged on the blanket, wraps the fabric over his legs, then points to the door. “Go, Salem, go!”

  “Happy birthday to you,” I sing, my parents joining in from the living room. “Happy birthday to you,” we sing. I drag him on the blanket down the hallway, through the doorway, and into the living room. His eyes sparkle when he sees the mountainous pile of presents on the coffee table. He’s unable to get to them fast enough, stumbling along the way.

  “I’m four.” He turns to Mom with four fingers held high. His baby teeth stand out to me now that I’ve lost my front ones. But Mom promised they’d grow back.

  Eli rips off the forest animal wrapping paper and squeals, “A dump truck. It’s yellow!” He pushes it across the room, bumping Boo’s tail.

  “Watch the cat, buddy,
” Dad says. Boo hisses and jumps onto the windowsill, then out the open window.

  Eli picks up the truck and looks at Dad. “Can I go play outside?”

  “Let’s open your other gifts first,” Mom says. She sets her camera on the windowsill and waves me over. With a short lick of her finger, she washes cinnamon toast crumbs off the corners of my mouth. Her saliva smells like coffee and maple syrup.

  “Did you eat pancakes this morning?” I ask.

  “Look up,” she says. She pulls my hair into a ponytail and winds it into a topknot.

  “Ow. Not so tight,” I complain.

  “I can never get it to stay.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But I care.” She sweeps the stray hairs behind my ears and playfully musses my bangs. “You’re so pretty.” I make a scrunchy face and she laughs. “Silly girl. Go get Connor for me. He’s out back. Tell him he’s missing all the fun.”

  “But if I go, then I’ll miss all the fun.”

  “Hurry.” She pats my bottom. “I want the three of you together for photos.”

  Eli walks up to Mom and hugs her leg, his head tilted way back to look at her face. “Mommy, I want cake for breakfast.”

  “After dinner, when Grandma and Granddad are here,” Mom tells him.

  “Now,” he cries.

  “Eli, look.” Dad brings him a gift. “Look at this big present. I wonder what this could be.”

  I run out of the room and open the two-ton wooden door between our private quarters and the lobby. The bronze bell on the reception desk dings as I enter the room, my eyes meeting a guest’s. “Hi.” I flash my toothless smile. “My dad will be right with you.” My flip-flops slap across the floor, through the escape hatch, and down the back steps. I hopscotch along the path of round patio stones to say hello to Annabelle, duck under her low-hanging belly, stamp on an ant-covered Popsicle stick, and throw myself onto the lowest playground swing with my trademark belly flop. “Connor!” I call out, arms dangling. “Come watch Eli open presents!” My hair falls free of the topknot and my ponytail hangs to the ground. I walk the swing forward and put my weight on the rubber seat, raise my legs and glide freely with the force of gravity, backward and forward, like Dad’s pendulum. My flip-flops fly off. My toes dig into the sand. “Connor?” I stop the swing and look around the yard. At a small distance, I see him under the tall pine that’s closest to the lodge. “What’re you doing?” I walk up to him.