by Merry Jones
Tony pressed himself against the wall, looking unusually haggard. He needed sleep and a shave.
“Tony—have you seen my daughter? A little six-year-old? She was up in the lounge and someone said you were up there making a phone call. . . .” I braced myself to get yelled at. But Tony didn’t yell.
“Sorry, what?” His eyes darted around, jumpy and unfocused. “Weren’t you just upstairs in the lounge?” The question seemed to alarm him. “Why? Who wants to know?”
Lord, what was the matter with the man? “Did you see a little girl up there? Lying on the sofa?”
Tony’s eyes darted from me to Coach Everett and back. “No. Nobody was there. I didn’t see anybody.”
“Are you sure?”
“Nobody was there.” He was too loud. Too adamant.
Coach Everett glared at him. Tony shifted his weight, edgy. Secretive. Like a kid in the principal’s office. What was going on? Obviously, I’d interrupted something private, maybe even embarrassing.
“Okay, well.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “If you see her, send her back to the lounge, okay?” I backed into the boat bays; Coach Everett stepped outside onto the dock. Tony seemed to shrink, almost cringing as Coach put his arm on his shoulder and escorted him to the water’s edge.
TWENTY-NINE
THE BOAT BAYS WERE LONG AND SILENT, THE SLEEK SHELLS CUPping each other in the dimming light, casting indifferent shadows over concrete floors. Oh, God. Where was Molly? Don’t panic, I told myself. She’s here, somewhere. But my heart was racing, adrenaline pumping as I headed back to the stairs. Maybe she’d returned to the lounge. Maybe she’d wandered into the kitchen, looking for a snack. Or outside on a balcony. Wherever she was, I’d find her. There was nothing to worry about. Molly was fine. “Tch tch tch.”
There it was again. That hissing sound. I stopped a few feet from the stairs, listening, wondering if my mind was slipping, imagining whispers. Wanting to hear Molly’s.
“Psst . . .”
No. It wasn’t my imagination. It was a definite hiss. Where was it coming from? I peered into the corners, saw only shadows.
“Mom?” The whisper was faint, but it came from above. Damn. The boat racks. She’d climbed them again.
“Molly?” I looked up. Molly was perched on a rack some fifteen feet above my head.
“Shh!” she warned.
“Molly Hayes, come down from there right now. You promised you wouldn’t climb—” “Mom. Hushh.”
Footsteps stampeded down the stairs. “Zoe—have you found her? Lisa’s a mess. She’s crying.” Susan leaned over the railing to see me. Craning her neck, she followed my gaze. “Oh, Christ,” she said.
“Right this second, Molly.” I was furious that she’d disobeyed, worried that she might get hurt. What had possessed her to go up there again? “Come down this second.”
“Zoe, wait. I’ll get a ladder—”
“No.” Molly’s voice sounded small and far away. “I don’t need one.”
“Be careful,” I cautioned. I couldn’t reach her, but I raised my arms anyway, ready to catch her if she fell. “Hold on tight.”
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s easy.” She scampered down quickly, monkeylike, and as soon as I could, I grabbed on to her.
Susan hovered. “What was she doing up there?”
“What were you doing up there?” I echoed, furious. As angry with her as I’d ever been. “You promised me that you wouldn’t climb—”
“Don’t be mad, Mom.” Her eyes were wide and fearful, and I felt a pang, realizing that her fear was not of falling, but of me. Of my fury or, maybe worse, my disappointment.
“Why did you go up there?” I made myself calm down. “What happened?”
“What happened?” Susan stood beside me; now she was the echo.
“I got scared.” Her small shoulders shrugged.
“Scared?” Susan and I chimed, a duet. “Of what?”
Molly stared blankly at the wall, maybe trying to form an answer. As we waited, Coach Everett stormed in from the dock, shoved past us and stomped up the stairs. Oh dear, I thought. We’d better go up, too; if Tony came in and saw Molly in the boat bays, he’d put me on probation, maybe even take away my Hum-berton membership.
Sure enough, when Tony came in he started toward us, eyeing Molly, who glommed on to me like an extra appendage. Susan took a step forward, ready to meet Tony head-on. I held on to Molly, trying to reassure her while bracing myself for battle. But there was no battle. Not even a skirmish. Tony didn’t yell or scold. He didn’t say a word. As he approached, his eyes flitted from Molly to me, on to Susan, back to Molly.
“So, you found her.” His head seemed to twitch as he spoke.
“Yes—” I began.
But without waiting for a reply, without even chastising us, Tony walked on and started up the stairs.
Molly tightened her grasp on me, staring after him. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “That man,” she whispered. “Tony? Is that who scared you?”
She squirmed, loosening her grip on my arm. “Can we go home now, Mom?”
“You don’t have to be afraid of Tony,” I assured her. “I told you. He’s just the house manager. He’s not used to kids, that’s all.” And he’d banned them from the boat bays, where we were standing.
Clutching my arm, Molly watched the empty stairs that Tony had just climbed and refused to move.
“Mom,” she asked. “What’s a gordo?”
THIRTY
“A WHAT?” SUSAN ASKED. “A gordo.”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Where did you hear that?”
“From him. I heard him on the phone. He was mad that a gordo was coming.”
“Maybe it’s some kind of boat. Or maybe a launch.”
“I don’t know.” Susan smirked. “Sounds like something from a grade-B horror flick. Some creature like Godzilla. ‘Beware of the Gordo.’“ She mimicked a monster, her hands like claws, making Molly giggle.
Molly continued to play Gordo monster as we went upstairs and found Lisa, reassured her that Molly was fine and that she’d done nothing wrong, gathered up Molly’s stuff and, finally, walked Susan and Lisa to their car. All the way to their parking spot, Susan cursed out Coach Everett. He was unbearably rude. He was pathological. A pathetic has-been. A sociopath. A sadist. I only half listened, didn’t bother to comment. I was too tired. Every one of my muscles ached from tension and exercise. The bruises on my arms and face hurt. And Molly’s disappearance, even if brief, had shaken me. I wanted to go home and lock the doors, tuck her safely in bed and fall into mine.
Finally, Susan and Lisa drove off and Molly and I walked on in silence.
“It’s not real, is it Mom?”
“What’s not?”
“The Gordo.”
“Of course not. It’s pretend. Susan just made it up.”
She held my hand tighter. “But that man was scared of it.”
“You mean Tony?”
Of course she meant Tony. “I don’t like him. He said the F word.” “Really?”
“On the phone.” She mimicked Tony, lowering her voice, contorting her face. “ ‘No, no. Everything’s fine here. There’s no need for the Gordo. That’d just make it worse. No, no Gordo.’ Then he said the F word.”
Molly’s impersonation was disturbingly good, but I had no idea what the conversation she’d overheard was about. “What else did Tony say? Did you hear?”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t remember. I got scared.”
“Is that why you hid in the boat racks?”
She nodded. “They’re not dangerous, Mom. It’s easy—”
“Molly, don’t ever go up there again.”
She pouted. “Are you mad?”
“You need to stay out of the boat bays, Molly. And you need to keep your promises.” “I didn’t promise.”
“But you agreed to stay upstairs. It’s the same as a promise.” “I didn’t pinky-swear.”
“But I have to be able
to count on what you say without pinky swears or promises. Just your word should be enough.”
She thought about that. “Are you real mad?”
I was tired and aching. I was irritable and upset. But was I mad? At Molly? “No, not real mad.”
She skipped, giggling with relief.
“For your information, Mom, I don’t need a baby-sitter. Lisa didn’t even stay with me. She was in the juice bar the whole time, flirting with some guys.”
Lisa flirting? Probably with the very same guys Susan and I had been salivating over. My God, I was old. Hadn’t it been just weeks ago that I’d been playing with Lisa’s little piggies, making her giggle about the one that ran-ran-ran all the way home? Now, Susan moaned that Lisa was a thirteen-year-old with a D cup. An actual teenager. It was hard to grasp, but Lisa was old enough to want to flirt. No wonder she’d had no idea where to find Molly; her attentions had been elsewhere. On men. The idea rattled me.
Walking along the river, I held Molly’s hand, trying to memorize the feel of her small, somewhat sticky fingers; in a blink, she’d be a teenager too, and the hand she’d want to hold wouldn’t be mine. Damn, I was having one of those unpredictable sappy maternal moments. Time seemed to stop; the chaos of daily life screeched to a halt, letting me look at Molly and see not just a cherry-stained T-shirt or a scraped knee, but an actual person. How fleeting her childhood was, and how precious. Her curls bounced as she walked, and not for the first time I thought about how different we looked. The child was fair and dimpled, the mother olive and lean. A police siren wailed suddenly, ending the moment as abruptly as it had begun, leaving me reassuring myself that, even though Molly was adopted, I was still her mother. But was I? As much as Susan was Lisa’s? As much as if I’d given birth to her? Not wanting to enter that spiral, I looked out onto the river. Shells were coming in, one after the other, silently sliding through the water, silhouettes in the setting sun.
“Why does Tony have to give the coach money?”
“What?” It took a minute to figure out what Molly was talking about. “He does?”
“Coach Everett said, ‘I just want my money.’ “
“Really? Are you sure?” Had Tony borrowed from him?
“Yes, Mom. I heard him from the racks.”
“What else did he say?”
She shrugged. “Just stuff.”
Great, I thought. Try to get details from a six-year-old.
“Why does Tony have to give him money?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Molls. Maybe he borrowed it and has to give it back.” But if Coach Everett was hassling him for money, no wonder Tony looked haggard.
“But what about the Gordo?” Molly asked again.
“I really have no idea. What did Tony say about it?”
“I told you. He doesn’t want it to come here.”
We’d parked in a small shaded lot beside the river, about a quarter mile from the boathouse just below the Museum of Art. The area was speckled with sculpture gardens and trimmed hedges, benches and bike paths. Earlier, the paths had been crowded with joggers and skaters; now, after sunset, they were empty. People had gone home. We were alone, or almost; a woman was sitting alone on a shadowy bench close to the parking lot. As we approached it, I recognized her short brown hair, her mannish slacks.
Oh, excellent, I thought. The day was getting better and better. What was Agent Ellis doing here? Was she still following us? Didn’t she have anything better to do? Was she going to question me about the nineteen dead women right in front of Molly? I slowed, looking for a detour, hoping to avoid the encounter.
Molly pulled on my arm. “Come on, Mom.” Her voice was loud, grating. Certainly loud and grating enough to attract Agent Ellis’s attention. “Where are you going? The car’s over there.”
“Shh,” I whispered. But Molly wouldn’t.
“Why are you walking so slow?” She was almost shouting. If Agent Ellis hadn’t noticed us until then, she would certainly now.
Well, so what. Maybe the best thing would be to face her head-on. I’d go over and ask what she was doing there. I had no reason to hide; the woman was out of line stalking me, and I had every right to tell her so. With Molly by my side, I marched right up to her.
Molly kept asking questions. “Where are we going, Mom? Who’s that lady? Do you know her?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, standing right beside the bench, I addressed Agent Ellis. “Nice evening, isn’t it?”
Agent Ellis didn’t answer. She didn’t even move. She continued to stare into the street at passing traffic. Still gripping Molly’s hand, I walked closer to Agent Ellis. She remained perfectly still, her eyes open and unblinking, her arms limp at her side.
“Mom, I think that lady’s dead.”
Oh my God, I thought—Molly. I had to take her away from there. But I also had to make sure that Darlene Ellis was beyond saving.
“Close your eyes, Molly,” I said. “What?”
“Go ahead, close them.”
“Mom. Think it through. If you’re afraid I’ll see a dead person, I’ve already seen her.”
She was right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. “Okay, just don’t stare at her. Stand right here.” “What are you going to do?” “Just stand here and don’t move.”
She stood there. And I went up to FBI Agent Darlene Ellis and put my hand on hers. Her skin was cool, but not very. I lifted her wrist to feel for a pulse, and she slumped over sideways. That’s when I saw, in the fading light, the blood soaking her neck. And the three parallel curvy lines cut like waves into her cheek.
THIRTY-ONE
FOR THE SECOND TIME THAT WEEK, LIGHTS FLASHED AND SIRENS blared on Kelly Drive. And for the second time that week, I sat along the river unable to stop trembling. Molly watched, enthralled, as police cordoned off the area and fought off the media. While I gave my statement to one officer, another chatted with Molly to distract her from the grisly scene. When Nick arrived, though, she ran over to him, ignoring me when I called her to come back.
“Nick . . . guess what,” she shouted. “Guess who found her! It was us—me and Mom. Mom’s finding dead people everywhere.”
The gaggle of reporters overheard her, and apparently figuring out who “Mom” was, dashed my way, hoping to grab the story of the woman who, so far this week, had found a total of twenty bodies at the normally tranquil Schuylkill River. I locked the car door and hunkered down, opening it only after some officers had cleared the area and Nick had personally escorted Molly back to the car.
“Can we go?” I greeted him. “I want to take Molly home.” I was desperate to get out of there.
“You all right?” He held the door for Molly as she climbed back into the car, then came around to the driver’s side to talk. When I opened the door, he took both my hands.
“You’re shaking.”
“Nick.” I kept my voice low. “The dead woman—it’s Agent Ellis. The one from the deli—” “I know.”
“You know? Oh, God. Was it the cartel? Did they kill her because she got too close? Did she find out who they are?”
Sighing, Nick released my hands. “Zoe, slow down. I just got here. Let me find out what’s going on before the FBI shows up and takes over. Did you give anyone a statement?”
“A statement? Nothing formal. I talked to that cop—”
“That’s fine.” He glanced around, eyeing the scene, then his eyes returned to me. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll take care of everything. Are you okay to drive?”
I nodded yes, I was.
“Then go home. Put Molly to bed. We’ll talk later.”
I started the engine; Nick closed the door and waved as we drove off. Molly stared out the window at the lights until they faded from view. She seemed thoughtful, and I wondered how she’d been affected by finding a murder victim, how badly she’d been traumatized.
“Molls,” I said. “Don’t worry. There are some bad people in the world, but Nick’s there, and he’ll catch whoever did that
. We’re fine now. Everything will be okay.”
She nodded quietly. Then, still pensive, she added, “Mom, do you think we’ll be in the newspaper? Or maybe on TV? That would be so cool—Nicholas would see me. And Emily . . .”
She went on listing friends who might see her face on the six-o’clock news, fantasizing about the glories of fame, and gradually, wondering at the ability of a six-year-old to take life—whatever it brought—in stride, I tuned her out, hearing her voice only as bizarrely cheerful background music for an otherwise horrible day.
THIRTY-TWO
BY THE TIME WE GOT HOME, MOLLY HAD FALLEN ASLEEP. SHE snored softly, her body completely relaxed. I pulled into the parking spot behind our brownstone and, without waking her, gently undid her seat belt and lifted her out of the car, surprised as always that a person as powerful and energetic as Molly could weigh so little. She was still, in many ways, a baby. Her skin was soft and pale, almost transparent; her bones slight. I tucked her into bed, brushing a golden curl off her face, once again struck by our differences. As a child, I’d been big for my age, awkward, gangly, never agile and athletic like Molly. I’d been shy, cautious, obedient, eager to please; Molly was self-assured, outspoken, even boisterous. She made friends easily but was confident enough, even at six, to stand up for herself, no matter what others thought. In many ways she was a mystery to me, and I could rarely predict or even understand her reactions. At the boathouse she’d been so afraid of Tony that she’d hidden in the racks, but she hadn’t even flinched at finding a corpse in the park. I watched her sleep, wondering for the millionth time who she was, feeling amazed again that she called me Mom, hoping I’d be worthy of the name. I kissed her forehead, listening to her steady, trusting breath.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered. “I’ll take care of you, and you’ll be all right. We both will. I promise.”
And then, feeling like a liar, I went downstairs.
The house was too quiet. Still gleaming cleanly, unnaturally, still smelling of disinfectant. Still disturbed. I wandered from room to room, agitated, not able to focus on any one issue, mind bouncing from one jarring event to another. Agent Ellis had been killed. Nineteen women were dead. My house had been broken into, and Susan had been carjacked. Coach Everett and Tony were involved in something shady, and Molly had seen and heard too much. And then there was Nick. Nick knew more than he was telling me. Nick kept secrets.
