Searching for Yesterday

by Valerie Sherrard

  “Shelby, what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Well, not exactly, but I had a pretty good idea.

  “Betts has been acting oddly the last few days, and this isn’t the first time she’s lied about where she was going. This morning she looked, well, I can’t quite explain it, but different somehow.”

  I thought about pretending I had a beep, but the thought of lying to Betts’s mother bothered me too much. Besides, she could just call back later, or, even worse, come over.

  “Shelby?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you know anything about what’s going on with Betts, I’d sure appreciate hearing what it is.”

  Every rule of friendship told me that the only option I had was to keep my mouth shut, deny that I knew anything, try to cover for Betts, and hope for the best. A stabbing pain hit me in the stomach as I tried to sort out what to say and how to say it.

  “Shelby, please.” Mrs. Thompson’s voice was desperate. “I need your help, and if my daughter is involved ... in something ... then she needs your help too, whether she thinks so or not.”

  Her words shot straight into my heart. What she’d said was absolutely true. Betts was putting herself in danger and the only way I could really be a friend to her was to help get her out of it — even if she hated me for it.

  “You remember your old neighbours, the Manchesters?” I said, the words coming out before I’d even stopped to think about what I was going to say.

  “Of course. What about them?”

  “Well, Mr. Manchester recently moved back to Little River, and Betts is, uh, kind of hanging around with his son, Edgar.”

  “Edgar? But, he must be nearly ten years older than Betts!”

  “I know. I already told Betts I didn’t think it was a good thing, but she’s got a crush on him or whatever, and she doesn’t see the harm.”

  “Do you have any idea where she might have gone with him?”

  “I really don’t. Betts and I had a fight about it the other day when I was at your place. I haven’t talked to her since.”

  “Does this boy ... this man have a car?”

  “He has the use of a car; I don’t know if it’s his.”

  “Have you seen it, Shelby? I mean, do you know anything about it — what kind of car it is, size, colour, anything?”

  “No, but they stopped for gas a few days ago when my boyfriend Greg was working. I could ask him what he knows about it.”

  “Is Greg at home right now?”

  “No, he’s working. At Broderick’s Gas Bar.”

  “Do you think he’d tell me if I called him?”

  “Yes, he’ll talk to you,” I said, wondering if he’d mention that Edgar had been drinking. “Tell him I said you should call him.”

  “I will. And, Shelby? Thank you. Really.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I put the phone down and waited for the sense that I’d done the right thing to hit me. It didn’t. I wanted Betts to be safe, but I also wanted our friendship to be okay. It didn’t look like both were going to be possible.

  Greg called me about ten minutes later — the first chance he had after speaking with Mrs. Thompson.

  “There was nothing else you could have done,” he said, after hearing about my conversation with Mrs. Thompson. “So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “Betts is never going to speak to me again, Greg.”

  “Nah, she’ll get over it.”

  “A guy might get over it,” I said. “Girls hold grudges forever.”

  “Not when they’ve been friends as long as you and Betts have.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. I hoped he was, but I really didn’t believe it. I knew what Betts was like when she got dug in about something and you’ve never seen anyone so stubborn! She hasn’t spoken to Kirsti Joe since grade five, and all Kirsti did was give a CD to Catlin Jones after she told Betts she could have it.

  “I have to go, Shelby. There’s a customer pulling in,” Greg said, breaking into my thoughts. “But anyway, try not to let it bother you too much. Whatever happens, you did the right thing.”

  I went back to my book, but it was hard to concentrate, and after the second time I’d reread the page I was on, I laid it aside and went to the kitchen to make a snack. Mom was there, doing a sudoku puzzle at the table. She glanced up at me and then sat her pen down and turned her full attention my way.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  I wasn’t at all surprised that she realized I was upset. That’s something she’s always been able to tell, even when I try to hide it. But this wasn’t the sort of problem you want to talk about with your mom. After all, if things smoothed over, I wouldn’t want my mother to think badly of Betts.

  “Betts and I are sort of fighting,” I said, trying to sound offhand. Not so long ago I’d have said something rude or whiny about it not being her business, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that my parents worry about me. There was no need for her to fret over this.

  “Is that what her mom called about?” Mom asked. The expression on her face told me she found the idea pretty bizarre, which it was.

  “Oh, no,” I said quickly. “Mrs. Thompson wouldn’t do anything that weird. She was just, uh, looking for Betts. She thought she might be here.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure everything will work itself out.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I said. I opened the fridge for the second time and peered inside.

  “You must get that habit from your father,” Mom said. “I don’t think there’s anything new there since you checked two minutes ago.”

  “At least she’s not telling you about the “lovely’ baby carrots,” Dad said from the doorway. “A while ago she tried to convince me they were just as sweet as candy.”

  I looked at Mom with an eyebrow lifted. “Now that’s just pathetic.”

  “They’re really very good,” Mom said.

  “I asked if we had any caramels, and that’s what she offered me,” Dad lamented. “Carrots.”

  “That’s criminal,” I commiserated.

  “It’s like the time she made those burgers out of some kind of wood and tried to make me eat them.” Dad shook his head sadly and lobbed an accusing look at Mom.

  “They were textured vegetable protein,” Mom said. “Not wood.”

  “Your mother seems to have some kind of strange vegetable obsession,” Dad told me. “Watch this. Let’s order a nice pizza, Darlene.”

  “Stop trying to drag Shelby into your never-ending quest to raise your cholesterol, Randall. And you can have pizza if you want, as long as it’s vegetarian, with no cheese.”

  “Never mind.” Dad went to the cupboard and rummaged around until he found some microwave popcorn. “I’m sure this will be delicious,” he muttered, tearing off the cellophane wrap. “Just like a carrot is at least as good as a caramel.”

  “Poor guy,” I said. “You should try to distract yourself from Mom’s torture. Let’s go rent a movie.” I didn’t know about him, but I needed something to take my mind off thoughts of how furious Betts was going to be when she found out I’d told her mother about Edgar. Or Kruel, or whatever she wanted to call him.

  My folks agreed that a movie was a good idea and Dad took me to pick one out, which meant finding polite ways of saying “no” to some of the so-called classics he suggested. (To give you an example, my dad thinks old martial arts movies where the words and mouth movements don’t line up are classics.) We finally agreed on a comedy and headed home.

  I’d expected Dad to make a quick detour for a fast-food snack of some sort on the way, but he just drove straight home. Maybe Mom’s lectures are finally starting to kick in.

  The show wasn’t great. There were some funny scenes all right, but they were almost all ones we’d seen in the previews. Mom nodded off before it was half over and Dad was gone not long afterward. They were both startled awake when Ernie came racing in wearing an expression that can only be d
escribed as a wild grin. He made three frantic circles around the room and knocked over Dad’s popcorn bowl, sending the un-popped kernels clattering across the floor.

  “There’s something wrong with that cat,” Dad mumbled as he and Mom got drowsily to their feet and ambled off. “Do you know anyone else who has a cat that does strange things like ours?”

  Ernie had disappeared, but he soon stuck his head out from under a chair where he’d apparently hidden after the crash. He looked around, spied me, and came ambling over, springing up onto my lap in an effortless leap. He curled up and began to purr contentedly. I gave him a stern look and asked him who was going to clean up his mess, but he didn’t seem terribly concerned about it.

  The movie had ended, Ernie had abandoned me, and I’d been drowsily watching an episode of Law & Order when the phone rang. I jumped up and ran to grab it before it could disturb my mom and dad.

  “Hello?”

  “That was real nice.” It was Betts, her voice choked with anger. “You satisfied now?”

  “Betts, I ...”

  “I can’t believe you actually did that to me! But don’t worry — you won’t get the chance to do it again.”

  “Your mom was ...”

  “Don’t waste your breath. The only reason I’m calling is to make sure you understand that our friendship is over.”

  This time, I made no attempt to speak.

  “And just wait until school is back in and I tell everyone what a rat you turned out to be.”

  The click that came after her last remark told me she’d hung up, but I stood there holding the phone until the dial tone started to hum in my ear.

  I tried to tell myself that it would be all right and that the important thing was that Betts wouldn’t be putting herself at risk anymore.

  But all I could do was stand there, alone in the dark, and feel the tears running down my face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I love my job!”

  Even though I was feeling pretty gloomy about the whole mess with Betts, Annie’s announcement brought a smile to my face. She was bouncing with excitement, her eyes lit up and her cheeks pink and glowing. I hadn’t seen her look that happy since the time when she was going out with Todd Saunders.

  “That’s great,” I said. “How long were you there?”

  “We were finished working just after eight, but we were talking, so we didn’t leave until almost nine. Kayla is really nice!”

  “It’s great that you like the boss and the job,” I said. I’d had a couple of jobs and I knew what a difference it made if you liked the people you were working with.

  “She even said I have a gift for doing arrangements!”

  “That’s fantastic. Really.” I smiled at her enthusiasm.

  “This is the best thing that’s happened to me in such a long time,” Annie added. “I was starting to think my life was just going to be one disappointment after another. It’s like Pearl told me once: you never know when things will turn around, but it’s almost always when you least expect it.”

  “So, do you have your schedule yet?” I asked.

  “Two afternoons a week — after school until whatever time we get everything done, and every Saturday. Unless I need time off for something. Kayla said I just have to let her know ahead of time and she can work it out.”

  “Sounds just about perfect.”

  “It’s great!” More smiles, which faded suddenly. I could almost see the thought of the task ahead of us pushing aside her happiness and excitement. I knew I was right when she said, “Anyway, I guess we should get started.”

  “So, the last time we met we decided that what we really need to do is find some proof,” I said. “We’ve had a couple of days to think about it. Any ideas?”

  “Oh, I had lots of ideas,” Annie said glumly. “But it didn’t take long to find flaws in every one of them.”

  “Yeah, that happens to me all the time,” I said. “I start out thinking, “that’s it! I’ve got it!’ for about six seconds and then I start seeing all the ways it won’t work.”

  Annie nodded and sighed. I realized she thought I meant I hadn’t been able to come up with an idea for this particular situation, which wasn’t true.

  “I did come up with something that might work this time, though,” I said.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no guarantees, but I think we might have a shot if we’re careful and really do it right.”

  “That’s awesome, Shelby!” She jumped up and for a second I thought she was going to hug me, but instead she clasped her hands together. “I knew you could do it!”

  “Now, don’t get too excited yet. It’s just an idea and might not even work. In fact, there’s one thing I need to know first, and it could make the whole thing worthless.”

  “What?” she asked. “What do you need to know?”

  “Do you know what date it was that your mother, uh, left? Not the exact date, but the month.”

  “Sure. It was February, because we had a Valentine’s party at school the next week. I remember that because my mom was going to take me shopping for Valentine cards that weekend, but she was gone, so when the party day came I had none to give out. I felt like such a loser.”

  “What a shame,” I said. “And I bet no one even noticed.”

  “They probably wouldn’t have,” Annie said, “if it hadn’t been for Melissa Plourden. She must have gone home and checked them over, because the next day she came in and demanded that I give her back her Valentine. She said since I hadn’t given her one, she didn’t want to give me one after all. And then she asked good and loud if anyone else had gotten a Valentine from me and that if they hadn’t, they should get theirs back, too.”

  “Melissa has always been kind of horrid,” I said, trying in vain to recall the incident Annie was talking about. It struck me that it stayed with Annie because it was about her, while it was doubtful if anyone else had so much as given it another thought. And yet, she probably thought it was something everyone remembered clearly — the time Annie Berkley hadn’t given out Valentines.

  “Did anyone else ask for theirs back?” I asked after a few seconds had passed without Annie speaking. Her head was sort of bowed and I was afraid she was crying, but when she lifted her chin I saw that she was angry.

  “Ms. Turner put an end to it before that could happen,” she said. “But I wondered why she’d let Melissa go on and on about it in the first place. Anyway, I got us off track there. Sorry! You wanted to know when my mother left and, like I said, it was in February. But what does that have to do with catching Lenny?”

  I hesitated, trying without success to think of some way to soften what I was about to say. “If Lenny killed your mother in the winter, then he couldn’t have buried her.”

  Annie’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her face was very pale.

  “Do you want to do this some other time?” I asked her.

  “No,” she shook her head. “No, definitely not. It’s just hard to hear ... hard to think about. But I want to move forward with this. If Lenny ... killed my mother, I want him to pay for it, and as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. Like I said, he couldn’t have buried her if it was winter — the ground would have been too frozen.”

  “And?”

  “He had to hide her body somewhere — somewhere that it hasn’t been discovered all this time. But somewhere that’s accessible without digging.”

  “Right.”

  “And, since Lenny never came back to Little River until this summer, then it’s ... uh, she’s still where he put her. But like I said, it’s got to be somewhere that could be discovered without digging, which means it’s possible someone could have come upon it by accident at some point in time.”

  “But no one did,” Annie said. “Or it would have been in the papers.”

  “No one did,” I agreed. “But what if someone had? What if someone had even seen Lenny hide it all those years ago, and had stayed qui
et about it, waiting for the day when Lenny would be back?”

  “I don’t follow. Who do you think ...”

  “No, no,” I cut in. “That didn’t happen, but it could have happened. I mean, it’s not impossible.”

  “You’ve lost me completely,” Annie admitted.

  “Sorry, I got ahead of myself.” I sat down and passed Annie a letter I’d drafted earlier that morning. “I remembered hearing something once about how it can be effective to use a criminal’s own tactics against them, and I got thinking that just might work in this case.”

  “You mean murder?” Annie leaned away from me.

  “Well, that’s the crime,” I said, almost laughing at the expression on her face. “But I’m talking about the way Lenny went about convincing everyone that your mother was running off to the city with him. He did it with a series of lies ... and notes. We can use his own methods against him.”

  I pointed to the sheet of paper. On it were these words:

  You thought you got away with it, but I know what you did all those years ago. I saw you hide her. And then you took off, but I knew you’d be back. I was patient. Now here you are. So, it’s time you and I made a little deal. I want the deed to your house and ten thousand dollars, or I go to the authorities and tell them where they can find her. I’ll be in touch next week with full instructions.

  P.S. I heard the kid is snooping around lately. Maybe she’d be interested in making some kind of deal if you aren’t.

  Annie’s eyes drifted down to the page. She read through it slowly, her lips moving with the words. Then she laid it on the table and looked over at me.

  “So we send this and Lenny believes someone is blackmailing him. What’s that going to do?”

  “I think he’s going to reason it all through, just like he did eight years ago when he was figuring out how to get away with what he did in the first place. He’s going to think about it, and the most logical conclusion he can reach is that if he moves the body, then even if the blackmailer goes to the police, they won’t be able to do anything because there’ll be no evidence for them to use against him. It’ll be Lenny’s word against the blackmailer’s.”