Legacy of Masks

by Sallie Bissell

  “Kayla!” her father yelled. “Get in here!”

  He sounded as if she’d done something awful, but then, he always sounded like that these days. Though mostly she knew that it had nothing to do with her, a small part of her wondered if her father wasn’t most furious that his pretty blond daughter had been killed, and his chunky, brown-haired one had been left alive.

  She ran inside, Darby close on her heels. Her heart rose as she saw that for the first time in weeks, both her parents sat at the kitchen table. Her mother, still in her pink nightgown, was watching her father dish something up from the stove.

  “Sit down,” he said. “Eat.”

  She sat down in her usual place, across from the now empty chair that had once been Bethany’s. Darby lay down on the floor at her feet. Her father passed a plate to her mother, then one to her—two bright red hot dogs on a bed of slimy-looking sauerkraut. She could tell by the way he slapped the plates on the table that he was well into his first six-pack, and she noticed with dread that the day’s paper lay open beside his plate. Maybe, she thought, if she started talking about something else, she could distract him from his usual tirade about how if they’d only let him in Standingdeer’s cell for just three minutes he could save the taxpayers a lot of trouble and energy.

  “Did you know there’s a softball practice tonight?” She made her voice small, so as not to attract the wrong kind of attention.

  Neither of her parents responded.

  “We’re playing the McDougal Dolls on Thursday.”

  Her father chewed a mouthful of sauerkraut; her mother just stared at her plate.

  “Coach Keener said he might let me pitch.”

  Her words fell on a room so quiet, she could hear Darby panting under the table. Still, she refused to give up.

  “Are you coming tonight, too, Dad?”

  He made a noise—something between a grunt and a question. She took it as a yes.

  “Mom, why don’t you come with us? You could sit in the stands and watch and maybe we could get ice cream later . . .”

  Her father’s fist came down on the table so hard, the hot dogs on her plate jumped. “For Christ’s sake, Kayla! Shut up! Nobody’s going to take you for ice cream after softball practice. We’ve got things to do here!”

  Kayla turned to her mother, who had not blinked an eye since she sat down. “We do?”

  “Yes we do!” her father stormed. “We’ve got to read the paper. The trial starts tomorrow!”

  “So?”

  “So?” He lowered his head and glared at her. “Don’t you want to be ready? Don’t you want to see that little bastard pay for what he did?”

  “But what if he didn’t do it?” The words flew out of her mouth like birds scattering into the sky, gone before she could stop them. For an instant her eyes locked with her father’s, then the left side of her face exploded in pain and she felt herself falling. When she opened her eyes again, her head was ringing like a buzzer and she was nose to nose with Darby, on the floor.

  “What do you mean if he didn’t do it? Who the fuck’s side are you on, you little shit?”

  She watched her father’s mud-encrusted boot kick back his chair while her mother began to wail loud, gulping sobs that sounded like some animal. Pulling Darby close, Kayla began to scoot along the floor toward the door. If she could just get to the garage, she could grab her glove and ride to the ball field on her bike. Forget about them being a family or eating ice cream, ever again. All she wanted to do was get out of this house with her head still attached to her shoulders.

  “Where are you going?” her father bellowed. “Get back in here, young lady! I’m not done with you!”

  “Yes, you are!” she screamed as she flung herself out the door, her cheek stinging where he’d struck it, as if stung by a hundred bees. “Ridge is innocent! He didn’t kill Bethany and I’m going to prove it!”

  20

  Two subdivisions away, another Keener Kat was getting ready for softball practice.

  “Avis?” Her mother was calling from the foot of the stairs, but her voice sounded as if she stood out in the front yard. “Are you getting ready to go?”

  As much as Avis Martin longed to return to her balcony and the refuge of her Nero Wolfe novel, she finished tying her sneakers and opened her door. “Yes, Mama,” she called loudly, her own voice dying in the carpeted, soundproofed hall. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Well, hurry up. Coach Keener will be here soon.”

  “Lucky me,” she muttered, going into her bathroom and plunking down on the toilet. Leaning forward, she felt the stubble on her legs. Until three days ago, she hadn’t shaved her legs—her hair was short, and blond to the point of invisibility. But last Monday, at a softball game, she’d looked down the bench to find three girls pointing at her legs and snickering. When Coach Keener had subbed her in, she’d heard Regina Drake say, “Go, Apegirl!” The whole bench roared. Though she’d pulled her cap down low and trotted out to the field pretending she hadn’t heard, inside she wanted to die. Later, after she got home, she stole one of her mother’s disposable razors. She’d turned her shower on hot and soaped up mightily, but the little razor was slippery in her hand. She thought she’d gotten all the hair but the next day, at practice, she looked down to see that she had long scratches running up both legs, and she’d missed at least three patches of hair. Though Regina Drake hadn’t called her Apegirl again, everyone had looked as if they might burst with laughter, and at practice yesterday, someone had left a jar of Nair in her glove while she’d been in the bathroom.

  “Stupid geeks,” she whispered. Back in Greenville, they wouldn’t have treated her like this. Back in Greenville, she had friends.

  She brushed her teeth, swiped extra deodorant under her arms, then headed downstairs. Her footsteps were soundless on the thickly carpeted hall, and as she hurried she wondered if this was the way the Cherokee witch had sneaked in to kill Kayla Daws’ sister—sneaking up stairs so cushy with carpeting that nobody heard him coming. She’d heard on the bench that he was about to rape and kill Kayla, too, when the dog finally woke up and scared him away.

  She walked into the den. Her mother sat on the couch snapping beans while her sister napped beside her.

  “Hey, Scooter.” Her mother smiled, greeting her with the nickname they’d called her since she was a baby. She didn’t much like it, but it was better than Apegirl. “You ready to go?”

  “I guess.” She slumped down on the floor at her mother’s feet, dreading the coming afternoon, wondering if Regina Drake was going to leave another little personal grooming aid in her glove. What would it be this time? Mouthwash? Deodorant? Tampax? Oh, God, please not that. If Coach Keener saw her with a box of tampons in her glove, she would die, right there, on the spot.

  Her mother stopped her bean-snapping. “What’s the matter, Avis? You look like such a crosspatch.”

  Without warning, the tears Avis had been fighting all afternoon began to flow. “They don’t like me, Mama,” she sobbed, humiliated to be crying to her mother. “I try to fit in, but they all think I’m weird.”

  “Oh honey, sometimes it just takes a while to make new friends.” Darlene Martin put her beans aside and sat down on the floor beside her daughter. “We moved around a lot when I was little, and I remember how hard it was. Every time you drive off to practice with Coach Keener, I think how proud I am of you.”

  “Oh, Mama!” The idea of her mother being proud of her for riding with Coach Keener made Avis cry even harder. “I don’t want to play softball anymore. Please just let me stay home till school starts. I’ll just read and baby-sit Chrissy.”

  “Avis, that doesn’t sound like much of a summer.” Her mother stroked her hair. “Let’s try and think what we can do to make this better.”

  Avis wept, wishing she were anywhere else on the planet. She was eleven, old enough to manage her own social affairs, yet here she sat, bawling like a baby in front of her mother. Small wonder no one o
n the team liked her. She didn’t even like herself.

  “Scooter?” She heard her mother’s voice somewhere over her head. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Oh, God, thought Avis ungenerously. Now she’s going to embarrass me even more. “What?” she asked, cringing as she waited for the answer.

  “We’ve got the house looking pretty good these days. Why don’t you invite some of your teammates to spend the night?”

  “Because they all hate me.”

  “They don’t all hate you, Avis,” her mother insisted. “They don’t even know you. You had lots of friends in Greenville.”

  “The kids were nicer in Greenville.” She looked up at her mother. “These girls are all snobs. None of them would come over here and they’d laugh at me for inviting them.”

  “Well, they certainly won’t come if you don’t ask. Why don’t you ask just one, if you don’t want to invite a bunch?”

  “I don’t know who I’d ask,” said Avis miserably. “None of them like me.”

  Her mother gently rubbed her back. “What about that little Daws girl?”

  “The one whose sister got killed? Oh, Mama. She’d never want to come and spend the night with me.”

  “I bet she would. She’s had an awful summer. She might love to get away from things for a while.”

  Avis had to admit that Kayla Daws might possibly find spending the night with her preferable to sleeping in the house where her sister was murdered, but still. Kayla Daws? She was one of the most popular girls on the team. Kayla probably wouldn’t be caught dead even talking to her. “I don’t think so, Mama. Anyway, I wouldn’t know what to say to somebody whose sister’s just been killed.”

  “All you have to say is how sorry you are, Avis. Come on. Be brave. Act like some of those detectives you’re always reading about. Ask Kayla tonight, at practice. Any time she wants to come is fine with me.”

  Avis doubted that Kayla Daws would do anything but look at her as if she were crazy, but she knew she had to do something. If she started seventh grade with no friends at all, she would be a social outcast for the rest of the year. Not even the geeks would sit with her at lunch.

  “Won’t you give it a try, honey? Just for me?”

  “I don’t know, Mama,” Avis said, drying her eyes as she heard Coach Keener honking from the driveway. “I’ll see how things go.”

  Half an hour later, after a long detour along a woodsy road where Coach Keener felt her arm muscle and then told her about all these fabulous trips to Disney World he took his special girls on, they arrived at the ball field. As if aware of her mother’s suggestions on how to make friends, Coach Keener paired her with Kayla Daws, and told them to warm each other up by playing catch. Avis knew immediately that something was wrong with Kayla. One whole side of her face was red and swollen, and she held her head like it ached, tilting it to one side. Avis decided to say nothing and concentrate hard on throwing straight and accurately. Kayla, though, had difficulty with her pitches.

  “Are you okay?” Avis asked after the normally athletic girl flubbed two easy catches.

  Kayla shrugged off her errors. “Just a little tired.”

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” Avis ventured as Kayla stooped to pick up a low one.

  “I know,” the other girl replied coldly. “I got your card.”

  “No, really. I am sorry.” Avis didn’t know what else to say; no one in her acquaintance had ever died before.

  “I know.” Kayla’s tone softened. “Thanks.”

  The ball went back and forth. Though its slap-pop rhythm was the only sound breaking the silence between them, it was, at least, a comfortable silence. Avis didn’t get the feeling that Kayla was merely biding her time, waiting for the moment when she could join back up with Jeannette and Lauren. Buoyed by her small success, Avis began to wonder if she dared risk an invitation. Back in Greenville, she knew the lingo: Hey, wanna come spend the night with me? Here, they talked differently. Slumber parties were sleepovers, and when one wretched girl who played right field messed up and asked Jeanette Peacock to “spend the night,” the whole team had called her “Lesbo” for days afterward. Lord, Avis thought. That would be the end of me here; if everyone started thinking I was queer, I might as well go home and spend the rest of my life reading on the balcony. She continued to stew about the proper phrasing of her invitation until she saw that Coach Keener was about to whistle them into the dugout. Then, all at once, she blurted the words out.

  “Would you like to come over to my house tonight after the game? For a sleepover?” Heart hammering, she braced herself for Kayla’s fake smile and flimsy excuse, but instead she just blinked at her, as if Avis were speaking Swahili.

  “Me and who else?” Kayla finally asked.

  Avis shrugged. “Just you. My mom said it was okay.”

  For a horrible moment Kayla’s eyes teared up. Avis held her breath, terrified that the team would blame her for making the poor beleaguered girl cry, but Kayla blinked back her tears and gave the barest of smiles. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like to.”

  They played on the same scrimmage team; then, after practice, the rest of the Keener Kats watched, stunned, as Kayla got into the Martins’ car. The Martins stopped by Kayla’s house to let her get her pajamas, and now she stood, overnight bag in hand, in the middle of Avis’s fancy new bedroom. Avis could hardly believe her good luck. For once, her mother had been right.

  “Is this a test house?” Kayla surveyed the room, noting Avis’s mystery-filled bookcases.

  “Yes.” Avis waited for the girl to sneer, but instead, Kayla give three little hops on the balls of her feet.

  “Ours is, too. You can always tell by the carpeting. It’s really thick and bouncy.”

  “This is made from recycled Coke bottles,” said Avis. “It kind of freaks me out. You can’t ever hear anybody coming until they’re right there, standing in the middle of your room.”

  “I know what you mean.” Kayla set her blue overnight bag down in the middle of the floor. “But at least you can play music as loud as you want.”

  Avis took that as a cue to get some music going, so she went over and turned on the small CD player beside her bed. Ringo Starr’s voice soon filled the room, singing about how he got by with a little help from his friends. Inwardly Avis groaned, thinking that Kayla would surely find her hopeless, playing such old music, but again the girl surprised her.

  “Ooh, that’s a good one.” She sang along with Ringo, smiling. “I love the Beatles.”

  “Me, too,” said Avis.

  Soundlessly, Avis’s mother appeared in the doorway with a tray of warm cookies. “You girls doing okay?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kayla answered politely, but Avis noticed that when her mother put the cookies down on her bed, Kayla teared up, just as abruptly as she had at ball practice.

  “There’s more downstairs, when you want them. Pizza and Coke, too.” She winked at Avis as she closed their door. “Dad and I are going to bed. You can watch TV in the den, if you want.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” said Avis, humbled. Frozen pizza and real Coca-Cola had not been on their grocery list in months. Her mother must have gone to the store and splurged while they were at practice.

  They sat on the floor, eating their cookies and listening to the Beatles. Kayla graciously admired Avis’s two puny softball trophies, then began rummaging through her books.

  “You sure do read a lot of mysteries,” she said, leafing through Josephine Tey’s Daughter of Time.

  “My third grade teacher gave me a Nancy Drew book. I read all of them, then the Hardy Boys. Then I moved on to Agatha Christie and Edgar Allan Poe.” She grabbed her throat and bugged out her eyes. “Murder most foul!”

  Instantly, she realized her faux pas. Crimson-faced, she dropped her hands and stammered, “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s okay.” Kayla said as she stared at the last cookie on the plate. “Don’t worry about it
.” For what seemed like hours, neither of them spoke. Avis was desperate to think of something to mop up the awkward silence with, when Kayla turned and looked at the sliding door in the corner of the room.

  “What’s out there?” she asked.

  “My balcony.” Avis jumped up, so eager to remove her foot from her mouth that she turned the cookie plate over. “Come see.”

  Avis slid the door open, and the two stepped out into a cool night thunderous with crickets.

  “Wow!” said Kayla. “This is awesome! Our house doesn’t have one of these.”

  “Coach Keener said it was a new design,” Avis explained. “Hey, would you like to sleep out here tonight? We could bring up two sleeping bags from the basement.”

  Kayla gazed at the wide expanse of empty backyard and the dark leafy pines that whispered beyond it. “No,” she said, stepping back into Avis’s bedroom. “I don’t want to.”

  “It’s okay,” Avis reassured her. “Nothing’s out there but a bunch of pine trees.”

  “No.” Kayla rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “Some-thing bad’s out there. Whoever killed my sister’s out there.”

  Avis followed Kayla back inside, stunned by what the girl had just said. “I thought they caught the man who killed your sister. He’s a Cherokee witch.”

  “They put her boyfriend in jail,” replied Kayla bitterly. “But he’s not a witch. And he’s not the one who killed her.”

  “How do you know?” Avis’s pulse quickened. She felt like Josephine Tey had picked her up and plunked her down in the middle of her own mystery.

  “Because I just know. Ridge Standingdeer loved Bethany. He would never have done anything to her.”

  “So who do you think did it?”