Cree said, “I know where I can find out if anything’s happening.”
Maddie agreed to take her The Chronicle. Right after that, they would go and see Velda.
The Chronicle was on River Street in the lower village, next to the train station. Phil Reimer had gone out on a story. No one had any idea when he’d be back.
Cree shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and headed once more into the dark day. “I really need to know what’s going on.”
“Maybe nothing is. These things can drag on, you know.”
“Sometimes there’s never an end.”
“Hey. Think positive.” Maddie looked up at the sky. A chilly wind blew across the Hudson, sending dry leaves skittering over the plaza. “Yesterday was so gorgeous and I had to waste it at the dentist.”
“Couldn’t you do fun things after the dentist?”
“Not when I had Macbeth.”
A tan car entered the parking lot. Cree ran over to it. “Mr. Reimer!”
“Phil,” he said. “What happened to your face?”
“I fell off my bike. Does it show that much? I wanted to ask if there’s anything new with the Hurlows.”
“Come inside. It’s cold out here. Reminds us winter’s on the way.”
He led them to his desk in a tiny cubicle and brought in an extra chair. The cubicle had burlap walls with scribbled notes tacked to them. More notes and papers littered the desk along with a computer, a coffee mug, and an empty Mountain Dew can.
When Cree presented her friend, Phil Reimer lit up with interest. “Might you be the young lady whose house was broken into last night?”
Maddie choked. “How did you know about that?”
He grinned. “If the police are involved, we know. Can I get you ladies some soda? Coffee?”
Maddie answered with a quick no thanks. “Mr. Reimer, is it going to be in the paper? About last night?”
“Phil. I’m Phil.” He took off the plaid jacket and loosened his tie. “Events like that usually make the paper. It’s news.”
“I don’t know what you got from the police,” she said, “but please don’t use my name. You could say ‘a house on Lake Road’ and you’re welcome to name Evan Steffers all you want. I hope you do. But I’d appreciate you keeping my family out of it.”
“As you wish, young lady.”
“Thank you. I have my reasons.”
Because of Ben, Cree thought. Even though he wasn’t the offender, someone might make an unfortunate connection. They had already proved themselves a bunch of single-minded idiots.
Once Reimer agreed, Maddie became sweet and cooperative, answering all his questions. She made sure to let him know that Lakeside had been no help when she complained about Evan. She referred to the headmaster by name and implied that he was a jerk, but she never actually said it.
“Our dogs were barking and snarling and I screamed. My family came running. My brother pinned Evan to the floor until the police got there.”
She took a deep breath and went on. “I have to put in a word for my brother. He has Asperger’s syndrome. It’s a form of autism.”
Now it made sense, that time at Velda’s house when Cree described her fictional cousin and Maddie gasped. Why hadn’t she caught on? There were so many signs, even Ben saying he couldn’t look at people’s eyes. She knew it meant something, but couldn’t remember what.
“He’s very smart,” Maddie said. “But he has problems dealing with people. He doesn’t pick up on things that come naturally to most of us. It makes for a lot of misunderstandings, and other people don’t ‘get’ him either. Just because he’s different, they feel uncomfortable and they aren’t sure why, so they assume the worst. They write him off as a bad person.”
Reimer handed her a tissue box. Maddie took one but didn’t cry.
“He had a rotten time when he was younger.” She crumpled the tissue. “Other kids bullied him and made fun of him. He hated going to school. He still has a scar from when they pushed him off his bike.”
“This Asperger’s.” Reimer must have known what it was. He wanted to hear it from her.
“It’s a neurological thing,” she said. “They’re just wired differently. There’s nothing wrong with his intelligence or his reflexes. He tackled that creep before my parents even figured out what was going on. He held him down, it must have been ten or fifteen minutes until the police got there.”
“Nineteen minutes,” Reimer said, “from the time your father called. It’s in the police report.”
Maddie gulped and continued. “Evan’s strong. Physically, I mean. He plays football. But Ben—” She waved a hand in front of her mouth. “Forget I said that. Please don’t use his name. He held onto Evan the whole time. I wasn’t doing too well myself, but Ben—I mean my brother—I think he sat on him. He kept him down and kept the dogs from tearing him to pieces.”
The way she said it, even without his name, the people at Lakeside would identify him and know he was a hero. And that Evan was not only a creep but a criminal.
Maddie said, “I don’t suppose you know where Evan is now. Is he in jail?”
“Uh, no,” Reimer admitted. “As of this morning he was released to his parents’ custody.”
She dropped her head into her hand. “I knew it.”
Cree tried to cheer her. “If he only got out this morning, he must have spent the night there.”
“What was left of it.” Maddie relaxed just a little.
Cree tried to get in a word of her own. “Phil, the reason I wanted to see you, is there anything new with the Hurlows? I figured you’d know and you’d tell me even if the police won’t talk.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I’m as frustrated as you. So far, nothing, and they’re out of leads. If they ever had any, which I’m not real sure they did.”
She had better look for another job. Or, more urgently, try looking for leads herself.
What made her think she could do better than the police? Even the FBI was involved, according to Grandma. Which meant they at least considered that he might have been kidnapped and taken across state lines.
“What about the older boy, Davy? Are they still working him over?” She made it sound as violent as possible.
“They aren’t saying,” was Reimer’s answer. “Not to me, anyway.”
“Are those so-called psychologists still hanging around?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Just possibly, she could have another try at Davy. Especially now that she had some idea of what direction to take.
By the time they left, the rain had started. The sky was so dark it looked like evening.
Cree waited until they were in the car, then let Maddie have it. “How come you never told me about Ben? You told Phil right off, but not me.”
“Do you mean the Asperger’s? I thought you knew.”
“How could I know unless somebody told me?”
“I’m sorry. You mean I never told you anything?”
“You said he was a geek and a few other things. I just figured he was a geek and a few other things.”
“Do you know anything about Asperger’s?”
“I’ve heard of it but I wouldn’t recognize it.”
“It’s not something you’d notice right off,” Maddie said. “And it’s not all one thing. There are some general characteristics but everybody’s different. They’re individuals. They’re just different from neurotypicals, is all.”
“Neurotypicals would be—people who don’t have Asperger’s?”
“You got it. They’re supposed to be neurologically typical, but that’s only because there are so many of them. If Aspies were in the majority, then they’d be typical and other people would be the oddballs.”
“Aspies is what you call people with Asperger’s?”
“It’s sort of a nickname, it’s not official.” Maddie turned her key.
Nothing happened. She tried again.
“Now what?” She had already worked
herself up about Asperger’s. This was too much. She slapped the dashboard. “I hate this thing!”
Then why did she have it? She could take the bus to school and save a bundle. Whether it was her own money or her parents’, Cree didn’t ask.
They listened to rain pounding on their roof. Beyond the railroad tracks, the river was gray and choppy, with whitecaps.
Maddie tried her key once more. Then several more times. “Keep that up and it’ll flood,” she muttered.
Cree said, “We could make a dash for my house. It’s just up those steps. Then you can call someone.” That was stupid. Maddie had a cell phone. “Or my grandma could take you home in her new orange car.”
“I’ll get a ticket if I leave it here.” Maddie kicked at the mat under her foot. “If I can just get it home, I’ll be okay.”
Cree thought a garage would make more sense. Unless Ben could fix it. Maybe he could.
“He seems so normal mostly,” she said. “Not like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. My grandma has it on DVD.”
Maddie sighed. At the car, not at Cree. “It’s a spectrum. People can be anywhere on it. Some are high-functioning, like Ben, and some don’t function well at all.” She took the key from the ignition and dropped it into a cup holder.
“Dustin Hoffman could talk,” she said. “There are some who can’t do that much. It’s a nerve thing. Ben was talking, using big words, even reading long before I was and he’s not that much older. Usually it’s girls who talk first. We’re supposed to be more verbal. With him around, I used to think I was hopelessly stupid.”
“If he’s so smart, how come he got, uh—”
“That’s just it. He’s brilliant with things like math and science and computers. But when it comes to getting along in the world, he’s clueless.”
Ben had said as much himself. What about his idealism? Was that part of it, or just Ben?
“It must be hard,” said Cree.
“It’s hard because other people make it hard. What am I going to do?” Maddie pounded the floor with her heel.
“If it’s part of autism, why is it called Asperger’s? What’s the difference?”
“It’s a spectrum. Asperger’s is only part of it and they’re getting away from that distinction. A lot of people think Einstein may have had Asperger’s. And Mozart and others. It just goes to show.”
Cree looked over at the long steps. It was raining too hard to give that route any appeal. Rain poured down the windshield, blurring everything. She thought of her poor bike that she had left outside. It wouldn’t dissolve, but it might rust.
Maddie tried her key again. Still it had no effect. She banged her head on the steering wheel.
“Maddie, it’s not the end of the world. Don’t you hate when people say that? Why is it called Asperger’s?”
Maddie flopped back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “This guy Asperger was a doctor in Austria back in the nineteen thirties. He worked with some oddball kids that he called ‘little professors’ because of the way they talked. That was during the Nazis. They had a habit of killing anybody they thought was defective.”
“And those kids were defective?”
“By Nazi standards, just because they were a little bit different. But Asperger noticed they had fantastic memories and a very narrow focus that made them see things and learn things other people missed.”
“You sound like a book,” said Cree.
“I read a lot of books for a paper I wrote at Lakeside. I’ll bet they never even read it. So anyhow, Asperger convinced the Nazis that people like that could be valuable and he saved their lives. Would you say this rain is letting up?” Maddie tried her key once more.
The engine caught. She let out a whoop. “I’ll never understand these things!”
Cree said, “Maybe you should go straight home. I can walk from here.”
“No, I’ll take you. I just won’t turn off the engine. If it starts okay in the morning, we can do Velda tomorrow.”
A few minutes later, as Maddie dropped her off at home, the rain started again. Cree hurried inside and sniffed. The house had an unfamiliar smell. A chocolaty, baking sort of smell. Nobody in the family did much baking.
Grandma was taking a sheet of brownies from the oven.
She straightened and looked defiant. “I’m being good to myself. You know Paul, my handsome driving instructor. He’s gay. I just found out.”
“Grandma, I thought you were—I didn’t think you were like that.”
“Hey, I’m not criticizing. And it’s not as if I have designs on him, I just like to look. I saw him in the store. With his boyfriend.” She tried to cut the brownies and decided to let them cool.
“So I went straight to the baking aisle and got some mix and nuts and chocolate chips. I got toffee chips, too, for another batch. Your mom is going to call the sugar police on me.”
“He said it was his boyfriend?”
“He said partner. You know what that means. And don’t bother telling me it’s none of my business. All I care is, it’s a waste of gorgeous manhood. That goes for the both of them. You should see the boyfriend.”
“Then they’re not wasted on each other,” said Cree. “Why don’t you join the Senior Club and meet people your own age?”
“Bunch of old woman,” Grandma muttered. She cut the brownies and offered one. Cree took it upstairs to her computer.
She logged on to Google and typed “Asberger Syndrome.” It corrected her spelling and listed several million results. She tried one of the first.
There was Ben explained. The aversion to loud noises and strong smells, which it referred to as “sensory overload.” The often-brilliant mind and intense focus on matters of special interest. And there was the awkwardness when it came to social interaction.
The authors talked about a problem in recognizing non-verbal cues, by which they meant facial expressions and body language.
How could a person not know what those meant? They pretty much explained themselves. Cree tried to imagine being autistic. There, she herself was clueless. What would it feel like? Aspies couldn’t explain because they had never been any other way. They had nothing with which to compare it. No doubt, they found it hard to imagine being neurotypical.
What if it was neurotypicals who were wired wrong? What if people were supposed to be honest, straightforward, and idealistic, like Ben, who longed for a perfect world? What if people with Asperger’s were actually more perfect beings, higher on the evolutionary scale? Maybe that was what neurotypicals couldn’t accept.
She read another article and noticed that the rain had stopped.
She noticed something else, too. It had been gnawing at her subconscious, and finally rose to the surface.
She turned off her computer and went downstairs. “Where’s Jasper?”
Grandma was at the sink, washing brownie pans “He’s not upstairs with you?”
Cree looked through the house, all the way to the cellar. Jasper never went down those steep stairs, but she had to be sure he hadn’t tried it and fallen.
“He’s not anywhere. He can’t have gotten out.”
“I don’t see how,” Grandma said. “Could be I forgot to lock the door when I went shopping but it was closed when I came back.”
“Closed and locked?”
Grandma, in her preoccupation with Paul, hadn’t noticed if it was locked.
They put on their raincoats and walked up and down the street, calling and whistling. They searched the pocket of woods, getting themselves soaked.
“We could ring doorbells,” Grandma said. “Except everybody knows him. If they found him, they’d call.”
They went down the long steps to the lower village, where Cree had just been. Jasper was no more likely to use those steps than the cellar ones, but they couldn’t write it off.
“What about an ad in the paper?” Grandma suggested.
“It’d be days before it comes out,” said Cree. “I’m going home and mak
e posters. I’ll put one on every tree and lamppost.”
“Seems to me there’s a law about putting things on utility poles.”
“I don’t care. This is Jasper we’re talking about.”
She was composing a poster, hoping it wouldn’t rain again and wash away her ink, when the telephone rang.
“Cree, I’m glad I got you,” Maddie said.
“Are you stuck somewhere? Do you need help?”
“No, I got home. Is by any chance your dog missing?”
“How did you know?”
“Ben found a dog out on Fremont and brought it home. It’s all wet and seems lost and it looks like yours. There’s no collar.”
“Jasper? On Fremont? How would Jasper get all the way there?”
“I don’t know, but it looks just like him. I’ve never seen any other Brussels Whatevers around here. When I say ‘Jasper,’ he turns around. There, he did it again.”
Cree went out to find Grandma, who was still working the block.
That time they made sure to lock up. As they backed out of the driveway, Cree noticed her bike against the front steps. It couldn’t get any wetter. She would dry it off as soon as they came back.
Grandma found the whole story hard to swallow. “It can’t be Jasper. Way over there, across the bridge? Jasper would never walk on that bridge. His little feet would go right through and it’s miles to get there.” She set her trip meter to prove Jasper couldn’t walk that far. “And why would he?”
“Maybe somebody dognapped him,” Cree said, “and he got away.”
“How would anybody get him? He was in the house.” Grandma forgot she wasn’t sure about locking the door.
She drove carefully over the bridge. “See? I told you he couldn’t walk on this. I never got a chance to put away my brownies. Your mom’s going to come home and find them all over. I’ll tell her it’s for a ladies’ tea.”
“So that’s why I’m such an easy liar. I get it from you. Was Jasper home when you came back from shopping?”
“Honey, my mind is blank on that point. This is some hill. I’d hate to see it in winter.”
Cree directed her to the Canfields’ house, where Jasper leaped into Grandma’s arms. She snuggled him, petted him, and asked, “How did you do it? I know you can’t have walked.”
Twenty Minutes Late Page 13
