“I just—”
“Taylor, I’m good. I promise.”
“If this business with this woman is anything important, call me, okay?”
“Of course. You worry about your meeting. I’m going to finish up shoveling. I plan to spend the rest of the day watching movies and baking chickens.”
She nodded but didn’t seem convinced. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“See you tonight.”
With a wink, she descended the stairs and was gone. A moment later the front door opened, then closed, and the house fell silent. Outside, the breeze had become a wind. The house shifted, settled. Joel went to the window and looked down at the driveway. Taylor pulled out, turned at the end of the street and drove from sight.
Joel returned to the bathroom and stared at the medicine cabinet a while. Eventually he opened it and rummaged around inside until he’d found the old pill holder he’d once depended on. Segregated into days of the week, each little box still held two pills. He hadn’t needed them on a regular basis for years, but he did take one now and then, and in some ways, just knowing they were there if he absolutely needed them often prevented him from taking them. But now that he had the container in his hands and could see the little pills through the thin blue plastic, he remembered why he’d needed them in the first place, and his heart began to race. That awful feeling of losing control surged through him. He returned the container to the cabinet, forcing it way into the back where he’d found it, then swung shut the door and headed out to finish his shoveling.
He’d been at it less than ten minutes when a small car pulled up in front of the house. A woman in a coat and a white knit hat with a pom-pom on top stepped out and slowly approached him.
Well, Joel thought, that didn’t take long. He dropped his shovel and moved down the walkway to meet her halfway. It wasn’t until he’d gotten closer that he realized just how young the woman looked. Billy had said early twenties, and he was likely right, but she had a baby face that could’ve belonged to a high school kid.
She crossed onto the stone walk leading to the front door. “Mr. Walker?”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” She smiled pleasantly, but it looked as if it took great effort for her to do so. “I’m Katelyn Burrows.”
“What can I do for you, Miss Burrows?”
“I went by the newspaper,” she explained. “I’d hoped to find you there.”
“Yes. I got a call that you’d stopped by looking for me.”
“Your boss said you were on vacation, but wasn’t very helpful beyond that.”
“He was trying to protect my privacy. He assumed, I’m guessing correctly, that you were able to find my address online anyway.”
“Amazing what you can do with a phone these days.”
“It certainly is. I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”
Her full cheeks were rose-red, her complexion flawless as a child’s and her hazel eyes slightly watery in the chilly air. A short woman, she was just over five feet and a bit chubby. Sprigs of dirty-blonde hair coiled out from beneath the knit hat on her head and looked like they needed a good brushing. “Not exactly, no.”
“Then again, what is it I can do for you?”
“I was hoping we could speak privately.”
“Far as I can tell, we’re alone.” Joel motioned to the street and the yard in a slow, sweeping motion. “Knock yourself out.”
“If you’re not comfortable inviting me in, maybe we could go somewhere and sit, have a cup of coffee or something. It’s awfully cold out and I’d like to—”
“Look, Miss Burrows, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t know who you are or what you want. Why don’t you start there and we’ll see where it leads?”
She blushed on top of her already red cheeks. “It’s Mrs., actually.”
“All right then. Mrs. Burrows.”
She held up her left hand so he could see her wedding band and diamond, the way newlyweds often did. “My maiden name’s Scott. You’re an old friend of my father’s. Lonnie Scott.”
“Lonnie? You—you’re Lonnie’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I—hello—I’m sorry, I—I wasn’t expecting this. I haven’t seen Lonnie in years. How is he?”
Brow knit, she swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “He’s dead.”
Chapter Three
Joel returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea to find Katelyn Burrows exactly where he’d left her, sitting on the couch in the living room with her purse in her lap. She was still wearing her coat and knit hat. He’d offered to take them for her but she declined, explaining she was perpetually cold. Odd, since the house was quite warm. He carefully placed the teacup on the coffee table between them, then sat in a comfortable chair across from the couch. “I hope green tea’s all right,” he said. “It’s all we have.”
“It’s fine, thank you.”
“My wife’s the tea drinker. I’ve always been more a coffee guy.”
“I don’t care for coffee, never developed a taste for it.” Katelyn raised the cup to her lips and took a delicate sip. She didn’t look the part, but spoke and carried herself in a very refined manner. Despite her young age, she struck Joel as an old soul, like someone plucked from an earlier, more formal time. “Oh, that’s delicious.”
Snow blowing about and riding the wind beyond the bay window caught Joel’s eye, mesmerizing him a moment.
“You have a lovely home,” Katelyn told him.
Her voice broke the spell and returned his attention to her. “Thank you.”
She looked to a nearby wall, which was covered in framed photographs showcasing Joel and Taylor throughout their lives together. In addition, there were several pictures of them in various stages of childhood, along with some older photographs of parents, grandparents and other relations. “And a beautiful wife. You both look so happy.”
“Thank you, I’m very fortunate. It’s a nice quiet life.”
“No children of your own?”
Joel shook his head. “No, never really thought I was cut out for parenthood.”
“That kind of honesty is refreshing.” She sipped more tea. “It seems so many people today have children out of some sense of duty or something. It shouldn’t be like that. I think people should only have children when they absolutely cannot live without them.”
“Agreed.”
“My husband and I hope to have one or two at some point, but not quite yet.”
“Katelyn,” Joel said, awkwardly clearing his throat, “can you tell me what happened to your father? Was he ill or…”
She looked down into her tea. “He was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Joel’s face twisted into a bleak grimace. “My God. What happened?”
Upset, it took her a moment to answer. “He was shot in the head. Executed in the street.”
“But why? By who?”
“No one seems to have any idea.”
“When did this happen?”
“Twelve days ago.”
Joel wondered why she hadn’t contacted him sooner, and why she hadn’t simply called him with the news rather than come all this way to tell him in person. He and Lonnie had been close friends years before, but they hadn’t even spoken to each other in nearly twenty-five years. There had to be more to this visit, but rather than ask her directly, he said, “Was it some sort of botched robbery or something?”
“He wasn’t robbed, so it doesn’t appear so. But the police have said one theory is that my father may have resisted and the perpetrator shot him, then panicked, and realizing what he’d done, fled without completing the robbery.”
“Could be.”
“Except that there were no signs of struggle or other injuries on the body. According to the autopsy, the o
nly injuries were from the gunshot wound to his…” She drew a deep breath. “To his temple, and the bruises and scrapes he sustained when his body collapsed to the pavement.”
“And the police don’t have any leads on who may have done this?”
“They rounded up several locals but came up empty. With the exception of the first few days, the police have been useless.”
“Surely they must have some—”
“Useless,” she said again, this time more adamantly.
Unsure of what else to do, Joel refrained from further comment.
“As you can tell, I don’t have a lot of faith in the local police.”
“I’m sure they’re doing their best,” he said.
“Yes…well…I apologize for just showing up like this and springing such horrible news on you, but I needed to talk with you.”
Somewhere within the fabric of normal, everyday sounds, in that strange and sad moment, Joel could’ve sworn he heard something inhuman say his name, its voice muffled, distorted and lingering at the very edge of his range of hearing. “There’s certainly no reason to apologize,” he said through a heavy sigh. “I’m just so sorry to hear about this. Your dad and I were good friends for many years when we were younger.”
“He mentioned you quite a bit.”
“That’s nice. I was always sorry we’d lost touch. Our lives went in different directions and we just sort of drifted apart.”
“These things happen.” She drank some more tea, then set the cup down on the coffee table. “At any rate, I hope you don’t think I’m here to disrupt your life, Mr. Walker, I—”
“Joel, please.”
“All right. I just want you to know that I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
“Well, that’s a plus.” He forced a smile and leaned back in an attempt to portray a more relaxed demeanor. “I’m a bit confused, though. Why exactly are you here? As I said, your dad and I were good friends, but that was many years ago.”
“He always referred to you as the smartest friend he’d ever had. He said of all his old buddies, you were the best man in the bunch.”
“I don’t know about that, but it was kind of him to say.”
“He thought very highly of you.”
An image of Lonnie flashed in his mind, a much younger and carefree version, he was sure, than the woman sitting across from him had known. “Your father was a good man.”
“He had…problems. Especially later in his life.”
“We all do of one sort or another.”
She smiled politely. “I read your book.”
“Really?” Though surprised, Joel did his best to appear nonchalant. “It’s been out of print for years.”
“My father had a copy, a paperback he’d saved. I found it with his things.” She retrieved her cup and saucer from the coffee table and had another sip of tea. “Disturbing subject matter but a compelling read. You were certainly willing to dig deeper than anyone else did into that case, regardless of how awful and evil it was.”
“I wrote that book twenty-five years ago. I was only a couple years out of college, a cub reporter for The Boston Globe, and the story sort of fell into my lap. In all honesty, at the time, no one thought it would amount to much. It was a bizarre, disturbing homicide, to say the least. They gave it to the new kid because everyone else was busy that day. That’s literally how I got it. I was the only one at my desk when it came in. The story turned into something no one thought it ever would, including me. But I haven’t been involved in that or anything similar in decades. It’s not who I am anymore. It’s not what I do. I walked away from all that years ago.”
“You didn’t exactly walk away, though, did you?” Her tone sounded almost confrontational. “I heard you suffered a nervous breakdown. Is that true?”
Unsure what to make of her or her question, he said, “And where did you hear that?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, considerably softening her tone. “That wasn’t very tactful, was it? I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. My father told me. He said he’d heard the story got to you and you eventually broke.”
“I’m truly sorry about Lonnie’s death, I really am. But what’s this all about?”
“The woman’s death you investigated in your book—”
“Cindy Mello,” he said. He hadn’t spoken her name in years, and doing so rattled him more than he’d suspected it might. “Her name was Cindy Mello.”
“Although her murder remains officially unsolved to this day, you did everything you could to get to the truth. In fact, you’re the only one who did.”
“That’s not entirely true. The police—”
“Were like everyone else. Terrified. Maybe on some level even complicit.”
“If you’re asking me to investigate Lonnie’s death, I don’t do that anymore.”
“I want to know the truth about my father’s murder.”
“Of course you do, but…” He ran a hand through his hair as horrible images and bloody flashes ripped through his mind, unlocked and set free from places he thought he’d never have to deal with again in the light of day. He forced the memories away and bit his lip. “Katelyn, listen, here’s all I can tell you. A long time ago, I covered the murder you read about in my book, okay? The circumstances surrounding her murder—the entire topic—exploded back then in the 1980s. I was at the right place at the right time, and my articles picked up steam and took off. All of a sudden I was doing national TV interviews and the whole thing became bigger than anyone could’ve imagined. I decided to cash in—I admit it—and I wrote a book. It became a bestseller and I made the talk show circuit at the time. Tabloid TV was in its infancy back then but already huge. During my investigation I found things no one else had seen, or, more importantly, wanted to see. I went into areas I never should’ve gone, because once you’ve been there you can’t get back out, you can never wash yourself clean, do you understand? Some things happened and I walked away. I had a hard time for a while, yes, and I got out of the game altogether for a few years. I moved up here, took a nice little job at a nice little newspaper. I’m not an investigative journalist anymore, haven’t been in years. I write about school committee meetings and public park ordinances now. Let me tell you, riveting stuff. My life’s quiet and uneventful, and that’s exactly the way I want it.”
Katelyn Burrows looked back at the bay window and street beyond as if she expected to see someone coming. “I just want the truth. I have a right to it.”
“Yes, you do, but I’m not the one to get it for you.”
“My father was brutally executed in broad daylight on a street corner in Fall River. And no one is doing anything about it. There were news reports at first, and the police assured us they’d get to the bottom of it, but it’s simply gone away. Everything has stopped, and—”
“Sometimes it seems that way with police investigations, but they’re actually doing quite a bit of work behind the scenes.”
“That’s not the case here.”
“How can you be sure?”
“There’s something bigger at play, like there was with the case in your book.”
“What happened to Cindy was a tragedy, a horrible crime, but—”
“A crime against man,” she said evenly. “Against God.”
Joel changed positions, unable to remain comfortable. “There were bad people involved, evil people who—”
“There was a bigger conspiracy than the police wanted to admit. They still won’t admit it all these years later. But you got it right, didn’t you?”
“I’d like to think I did, yes.”
“Once the Devil takes you, he doesn’t give you back. Isn’t that what you wrote in your book?”
“There’s no such thing as the Devil.”
“You didn’t seem so sure back then.”
Joel loo
ked away.
“Your book was a lie then?”
“I got swept up in the hype and hysteria of the times,” he explained, “made some mistakes and made some connections where there probably weren’t any.”
“Everyone knows the satanic scare business from the eighties was mostly nonsense. But there was some truth in there too, wasn’t there?” she pressed. “You know better than most that it wasn’t all hysteria, don’t you?”
He offered a vague nod. It was all he was willing to give her.
“Ms. Mello was sacrificed as part of a satanic ritual.”
“She may have been, yes.”
“And it involved a cult that may have stretched as far as—”
“I’m familiar with the case,” he said, immediately regretting his tone.
“My point is that what you uncovered in your book wasn’t hysteria or hype,” she continued, unfazed. “It was fact. Fact people didn’t want to see—especially the authorities—and you made the case, put the pieces together when no one else was willing to stick their necks out to find the truth.”
“It was a long time ago. And trust me, it wasn’t quite that noble.”
“My parents were never married,” she said abruptly. “And for a variety of reasons I won’t get into here, I wasn’t at all close to my mother.” She took another swallow of tea. “My father raised me and took care of me on his own. He never made a lot of money or had a fancy job. He worked security most of his life, he was a mall cop. He sometimes drank a little more than he should’ve, and he smoked these awful cigars, but—” Katelyn nearly laughed, but caught herself before it escaped her. Her eyes glistened. “He worked his entire life, sacrificed for me and went without so I’d want for nothing. And I never once heard my father complain. I worked hard, studied and got scholarships so I could go to college. I’m a schoolteacher now. Well, I will be soon as I have my certification.”
“That’s great,” Joel said, hoping it sounded as sincere as he’d intended. “Congratulations, I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful teacher. Your father would be very proud.”
“Thank you. I’d like to think so, because if it weren’t for my father, I’d be nothing. He was a good and decent man, and he didn’t deserve to die like some thug in the street.”
Orphans of Wonderland Page 2
