Suspicious Origin

by MacDonald, Patricia

  There was silence inside the house for a moment and then she heard the lock on the front door turn, and the door opened a few inches. Zoe peered out at her aunt, her narrow face pale, her eyes wide.

  “Are you okay?” Britt asked.

  Zoe nodded.

  “The guy didn’t try to get into the house?” said Britt.

  “I haven’t seen him since I called you,” said Zoe.

  Perhaps, Britt thought wryly, it was scarier to be alone out here than Zoe had expected, and the mysterious man was only a figment of an overactive imagination. But Britt didn’t say that. I’m learning, she thought. “Okay,” she said. “That’s good that you haven’t seen him. Now, get your stuff and we’ll go. Are you done with the cat?”

  Zoe grimaced. “He ate and went outside again. He hasn’t come back in yet. Will you go and get him for me?”

  “He’s probably fine out there,” said Britt. “He’s an outdoor cat.”

  “But it’s cold. And he has no way to get back inside. What if it snows again?” Zoe cried. Tears stood in her eyes.

  “All right,” said Britt. “All right now. Don’t get upset. I’ll take a quick look around for him. You get your stuff together.”

  “Just be careful,” said Zoe.

  “I’ll be careful,” said Britt, grateful that her niece felt some concern for her. She went back down the steps and walked around the side of the house to the back. When she looked up at the house, she saw the little white triangle of Zoe’s face behind a window, watching her gravely. Britt waved, and continued out back.

  The farmhouse sat beside a field covered with brown grass and snow. At the end of the field, behind the house, masses of evergreens formed a natural fence, and beyond that, the terrain started to rise, toward the sloping hills. Britt trudged through the snow toward the trees. The wind was restless, rustling the branches. That’s probably what she saw, Britt thought. Why would anybody be standing out here in the cold in a copse of trees?

  But at the exact moment that she had that thought, a movement to her left caught her eye. Could be an animal, she thought. A deer. This looked like the kind of place you’d find a deer. Carefully, Britt walked into the grove. Her heart was thudding. There’s nobody here, she chided herself. She peered through the trees and then back toward the house. As her gaze scanned the area she felt a sudden anxiety. At first she didn’t know why. She couldn’t see anyone. And then she realized she was being watched. She whirled around and saw yellow eyes studying her from the crotch of a tree. “Kirby,” she said aloud. She wanted to laugh. The cat was huddled there, gray against the gray bark.

  “All right, you,” Britt said, walking over toward his perch in the tree. “It’s cold out here. You’ve got to get back in the house. Your friend, Zoe, is worried about you.” She picked the cat up, held him against her coat, and started to carry him back toward the house, smiling and shaking her head. The cat trembled and meowed in protest, but remained in her arms. Suddenly, as she retraced her steps through the grove of trees, she noticed something. Britt’s smile faded as she studied the surface of the snow Zoe was not imagining things. Someone had been here, hidden by these trees. In addition to the dainty tracings of bird claws, and the cat’s tiny pawprints, there were other prints, newly made. Someone wearing boots with deep treads had stood in these woods, and crushed their heavy imprint into the virgin snow Stood here in those boots and smoked a cigarette. Several cigarettes actually. A tiny plume of smoke still rose from one of the butts which had been tossed down into the snow at the smoker’s feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Britt gasped, and a chill ran through her, unrelated to the temperature. She looked around warily but the gloomy woods were quiet. Zoe had seen someone in these woods. Someone had made those bootprints. And smoked those cigarettes. Britt’s heart was hammering.

  Stop it, she thought. Just stop it. Just because someone was here doesn’t mean they had any wicked intentions. Alec had told her that lots of people went snowmobiling, and hunting and cross-country skiing in this area. Maybe it was one of those. A hunter. This was the land of place where people hunted. This area was surrounded by woods. Maybe he came walking through these trees and then realized how close he was to a house and retraced his steps. She walked slowly up to the footprints and forced herself to examine them.

  They seemed to be coming from the woods that curved around the Carmichaels’ property, and heading in the direction of Greta’s old house. All right, she thought. Don’t be a coward. Check it out. It’s probably nothing. A workman. Someone who got off track. Maybe even a cop, still searching the area after the fire at Greta’s. Britt glanced back at the house. Zoe was okay The doors were locked. Just find out, she thought.

  She took a deep breath, and forced herself to follow the prints. She felt relieved when she came to the edge of the wooded area, and saw that the bootprints led out into the field headed toward the road, out of sight of the house. Whoever it was had gone, walking toward the road which led to the highway. Britt didn’t want to cross the field. She knew there were swampy patches, thinly covered with ice, and the wet snow was already seeping through her leather boots. She looked as far as she could around the trees, but there was no sign of anyone.

  Britt turned, and walked back toward the porch at the back of the house, stamped off her boots on the porch steps, then crossed to the back door of the house and turned the doorknob. The door was locked. Zoe had followed her instructions. She knocked, calling out for Zoe in a loud voice.

  Warily, Zoe came to the door, pulled open the curtain and looked out at her.

  “It’s okay, Zoe. Let me in.”

  Zoe unlocked the door and opened it. Britt walked in, still holding the cat.

  “Kirby,” Zoe cried, burying her face in the cats fur against the front of Britt’s coat. Kirby tolerated the affection for a moment, and then leaped down from Britt’s arms. Zoe also backed away

  “You know, you were right,” Britt said. “There was someone back there.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

  “Well, there were some fresh bootprints out in those trees. And cigarette butts. Apparently the guy was smoking. One of the butts was still smoldering.”

  Zoe shuddered. “Why would somebody be standing around out there?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Maybe a hunter, I thought.”

  “You can’t hunt this close to people’s houses,” Zoe scoffed.

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Britt. “All I’m saying is that you did see someone. It wasn’t your imagination. And you were right to call me. Now, are you ready to go?”

  Zoe nodded, gathering up her coat and gloves and followed Britt out to the car. Zoe had to go back once to make sure all the doors were locked and then she got into the front seat and buckled her seat belt. “All right,” she said.

  “Are you sure you’ve got everything?” said Britt.

  Zoe shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Because you’re not coming back here. Not by yourself anyway.”

  “I have to,” Zoe protested. “Somebody has to feed Kirby.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be you. Not with some strange guy lurking around out here. Besides, the Carmichaels will be back later.”

  “I promised I’d feed him,” Zoe cried angrily.

  “I’ll come with you if they need you to feed him again,” said Britt. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Zoe nodded sullenly in agreement, but did not reply.

  Britt pulled out of the driveway, and turned out onto the road. She looked up and down the country road, banked by trees, but there was no sign of anyone. He’s long gone by now, she thought, although she realized she had not heard the sound of a car engine firing up from anywhere nearby. Who goes around here on foot? You never see anybody walking along these roads. And there was no way it was a bicyclist. You’d have to be young and fit to ride up and down these hills. This person in the woods was a smoker. It was doubtful that a smoke
r would have the wind to ride a bike around here. Maybe it’s somebody who lives nearby, she thought. Maybe he walked up one of these wooded driveways, set far apart, the houses screened from view. The thought that it might be a neighbor gave her the creeps. At the first large intersection, she turned again onto a wider road, and noticed an ancient Volkswagen van pulled over to the side of the road which was the access road to the interstate. The van’s blinker was flashing to indicate that it had just pulled over temporarily. “God, I didn’t think any of those vans were still running,” Britt said aloud. “That one probably just bit the dust.”

  “Actually, they’re picking up that hitchhiker,” said Zoe.

  Britt glanced over just in time to see a young man in an olive-drab, hooded parka limping up the ramp toward the open side door of the van.

  “Hardly anybody hitchhikes,” Zoe observed.

  Britt was about to agree when suddenly, as she watched the blond-haired hitchhiker climb into the van, she noticed the flash of orange chevrons on the sleeve of his coat. Britt gasped, recalling Alec telling Chief Stern about his whereabouts on the night of the fire. A hitchhiker. A limp. An olive-drab parka with orange reflector tape on the sleeves. “It couldn’t be,” she said aloud.

  ‘What’s the matter?” Zoe asked.

  The van roared into gear, and rumbled up the ramp. Britt slowed down to a stop and watched as the van signaled and then turned onto the highway.

  Zoe stared at her. “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Nothing,” said Britt.

  “Why did you stop?” Zoe asked.

  Britt stared after the van as it accelerated, and disappeared from view. “Nothing,” she said. “I thought I recognized…someone.…”

  “That hitchhiker?” Zoe asked.

  Britt did not reply.

  Zoe shrugged, uninterested in her aunt’s acquaintances. “Let’s stop at Kayley’s,” she said. “Can she come over?”

  Britt frowned. Should she have tried to stop that van, she wondered? No, that was silly. There were lots of people who wore army-style parkas. This was Vermont, in the winter. It could have been anybody.

  “Aunt Britt?” Zoe asked.

  “What?” Britt turned and looked at her niece.

  “Can I have Kayley over?” Zoe asked.

  “Sure,” Britt mumbled. “Why not. You need to show me where she lives.”

  “Okay,” said Zoe. She began to give directions in an authoritative tone, and Britt followed them automatically. All the while, a wave of guilt assailed her, which she tried her best to rationalize away.

  The police had gone looking for Dave, Alec’s ostensible alibi witness. They would have found him if he had been real. They had checked those tapes in the convenience store. There was no sign of him. The fact that this guy in the tape-decorated parka was hitchhiking, near Alec’s house, was just a coincidence. The fact that he had a limp…

  “Stop,” cried Zoe.

  Britt jammed on the brakes and the car skidded, and slid to one side of the road. Fortunately the street was deserted and they bumped harmlessly up against the sidewalk curb. “Dammit Zoe Britt cried. “What’s the matter?”

  “You were passing her house,” Zoe said meekly.

  “Well, don’t yell like that,” said Britt, trembling. “My God. We could have been killed.”

  “Sorry,” said Zoe. “I didn’t know you were going to do that.”

  “Well, think next time. Think before you shout out.” Britt took a deep breath, and tried to calm her racing heart.

  “I’m sorry,” Zoe repeated angrily.

  “All right,” said Britt, knowing she had been distracted, that she had not been paying attention. That it was partly her own fault. “Never mind. Which house?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Britt stopped in front of the neatly kept house that Zoe indicated. “You can go get her,” said Britt. “Tell her mother I said it was all right.”

  Zoe eagerly jumped out of the car and ran up to the door. The front light had been turned on against the gathering twilight. The sky threatened another snowfall. Britt sank down in the drivers seat and tried to reassure herself. Your imagination is just playing tricks on you, she thought. Just because you see a hitchhiker, it doesn’t mean he is the missing alibi witness. Remember, Alec was planning on leaving his wife. Alec has been arrested for setting the fire. There is no “Dave.”

  But no matter how she tried to reason it away, she kept seeing, in her minds eye, that pudgy, blond-haired guy in a parka, limping toward the door of the van.

  The passenger door opened, and Zoe sank down into the seat, a tearful expression on her pale face.

  “What’s the matter?” Britt asked.

  “She can’t come,” said Zoe.

  “Too much homework?” Britt asked sympathetically.

  Zoe shook her head.

  Britt peered at her. It was hard to read the child’s face in the gloom. “Why don’t you ask if she can come tomorrow?”

  “She can’t come tomorrow,” said Zoe. “She can’t come at all.”

  Instantly, Britt understood. She understood, and felt indignant for her niece. Zoe was being made to pay for the shame Alec had brought on their family. Britt thought of Mrs. Dietz, speaking at Greta’s funeral, saying how much she had admired Zoe’s mother. So this was the way she treated Greta’s bereaved child. Britt switched off the engine.

  “I’ll have a word with her mother,” said Britt.

  “No, it’s not her mother. It’s her dad,” Zoe protested.

  “Her dad, then,” said Britt.

  “No, don’t,” said Zoe.

  “Wait right here. I’ll be nice. Don’t worry.” Britt got out of the driver’s side and slammed the door. She strode up the walk to the front door of the Dietz house and knocked. It was opened by a moon-faced man with a graying crew cut wearing a plaid flannel shirt. Britt remembered seeing him at Greta’s funeral, and tried to remember his name. Her name was Joyce and his name…

  “Yes,” he said coldly.

  Britt could see past him into the house. Kayley was in the living room, sitting on the sofa, her face buried in her hands. Her mother was rubbing her helplessly on the back. She looked up at Britt with a guilty expression in her eyes and then looked away.

  “Mr. Dietz,” said Britt. “My name is Britt Andersen. We met at my sister’s funeral. I’m Zoe’s aunt.”

  The man stared at her impassively. “Yeah.”

  Norman, she thought. That was it. Norman Dietz. “Zoe just told me that there is some problem with Kayley coming over. I wanted to reassure you that I am taking care of Zoe and there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Your daughter will be perfectly safe with me.” Britt knew that this wasn’t the reason Zoe had been denied, but she also knew better than to be confrontational. “Zoe has had a lot to cope with, and she’s really suffering. I know having Kayley over would be a great comfort to her right now.”

  “I’m sorry about Zoe’s parents, but I don’t want my daughter involved in this,” he replied.

  You hypocrite, Britt thought, but she kept a pleasant smile on her face. “But all the girls want to do is play together. Do some homework…”

  “Look, your niece just told my daughter that her father didn’t do anything wrong. You and I both know that he did. I don’t want Kayley’s head filled with lies like that. I’ve brought my children up to respect the law. Now, I understand that none of this is Zoe’s fault, but, if she’s going to take that attitude, I see her as a bad influence on my daughter.”

  “A bad influence!” Britt exclaimed. “She’s just a child.”

  “She’s old enough to know right from wrong,” he insisted, his voice rising. “Her father is a criminal and she’s defending him. I don’t know how you can justify that.”

  Britt blushed, knowing that she herself found it hard to accept Zoe’s vehement belief in her father. But it wasn’t defiance that fueled Zoe’s belief. It was…trust. A history of trust. And love. “She can�
��t just… accept it,” Britt tried to explain.

  “Why not? Time she faced facts,” said Norman Dietz.

  Britt peered at the man’s stolid, bulldog expression. “Mr. Dietz, if you were arrested for a crime, would you expect your children to immediately believe you were guilty?”

  “I wouldn’t commit such a crime,” he said.

  “Dad, please let me go over,” Kayley pleaded from the living room.

  “Kayley, go to your room,” he snapped. He turned back to Britt, “You’re disturbing our household. Please, there’s nothing to discuss, Miss…”

  “Andersen,” said Britt, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ” I realize you have a right to decide about your own children, but I think you are being very cruel to a child, who has done nothing to deserve it. Except to be loyal to her father.”

  “That’s your opinion,” Norman Dietz said, and closed the door.

  Britt stared at the door that had been shut in her face. What a creep, she thought. She wanted to tell him to pick on somebody his own size. As she started back toward the car, the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Dietz came out, and rushed down the walk to Britt. “Wait a minute,” she said. She was wearing a thin blouse and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm. “I’m sorry to disappoint Zoe. I’ll try to talk to my husband. Just give him a little while to get used to the idea. It’s still such a shock.”

  “I don’t see why you have to punish Zoe for what her father did.”

  “I know,” said Joyce. “Let me just try to talk to him. You tell Zoe it will all work out.”

  Marriage, Britt thought. It turned you into somebody who had to compromise your values to please somebody else. Then she sighed, realizing that her affair with Donovan Smith fit that same definition. “I’ll tell Zoe. Maybe that will make her feel a little better.”

  Mrs. Dietz hurried back up the walk and slid inside the front door to the house.

  Britt got back into the car and Zoe looked at her hopefully. “Soon,” she said. “Kayley can come over. Her mom says it will be okay.”