by Dawn Eastman
“You’ll be in charge of the pirate crew,” Cecily continued.
“Crew?” Matt asked.
“Yes, the first- through third-grade students act as our pirates. You’ll just have to shepherd them through the parade and keep track of them all. I think we have forty-five kids signed up this year.”
“Forty-five?” Matt said. His voice rose into the terrified octave range. “Does the pirate leader get an assistant?”
Cecily laughed and patted his arm. “Of course. Two experienced teachers.” She waved her arm in the direction of the bleachers. The only two sitting there were Mrs. Peabody and Miss Simms.
Katie cast her own sympathetic glance at Matt, who was looking decidedly less thrilled with his assignment.
“You can both go report to our costume director and then help the float design team with whatever they’re up to.” Cecily waved her hand in dismissal and turned away. She strode toward Delores Munch, and the two women began comparing clipboards.
“Wow, you get to be the pumpkin,” said Debra. “I always wanted to do that. Until I realized that I’m claustrophobic. And I have to pee every couple of hours …”
Katie and Matt straggled in the direction Cecily had pointed and asked other parade team members about the costume director.
“I think he’s out in the hallway,” a teenager said, and pointed to a door.
They pushed open the door, but no one was there.
Katie looked up and down the hallway. They heard voices and followed them around the corner to an open doorway.
Two men stood by a pickup truck in the lot. Their tense faces made Katie think they were arguing, but she couldn’t hear what they said.
A tall man with short blond hair and the thick build of a weightlifter turned toward them as they came down the hallway. Katie thought he looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t place him.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“We’re looking for the costume director,” Matt said.
“You’ve found him,” he said. He put his hand out. “Nathan Nielsen, nice to meet you. Although costume director is a lofty title for what I do.”
They shook hands and introduced themselves. Nathan nodded at the other man and introduced him as Mike. Mike said hello and then strode across the parking lot and got into a minivan.
“Dr. LeClair. My wife, Alicia, speaks very highly of you,” Nathan said. “She brings our daughter to you for her checkups.”
They chatted for a moment about babies and sleep deprivation. Then Nathan got down to business. He also had a clipboard. He consulted it when they identified their assignments.
“The pumpkin costume is here.” He pointed to a large green tarp covering an unwieldy shape. “I have a rented storage place and I keep it there during the year. I was just unloading it to store it in the drama department at the end of the hall,” he said. “If you don’t mind helping, we can wrestle it inside together. The toughest part about being the pumpkin is that you can’t sit down, so you’ll have to be careful when the float is in motion. We’ve had more than one pumpkin fall over while riding the float, and then we have to stop the parade to get the pumpkin standing again. You can’t do anything from inside the costume.”
Katie sighed.
Nathan and Matt pulled the tarp to the edge of the truck bed and gently set it on the ground. The pumpkin was awkward but not heavy, and the two men carried it down the hall while Katie held the door open and then ran ahead to open the drama room door.
They set the tarp-covered costume on the ground.
“The pirate costume is right here.” Nathan pulled a hanger off the clothing rack that leaned against the wall. Black pants, a brown vest and long coat, and a white puffy shirt hung above dark-gray, tall, cuffed boots. With an earring and the tricornered hat Katie saw sitting on top of the rack, Matt would make a very convincing pirate. “You can embellish it if you want. Sometimes Nick wore a fake beard and braids like Captain Jack Sparrow. But don’t make it too scary. The little kids will be hopped up on sugar as it is, and you don’t want to give them even more reason to act crazy.”
With a flourish, Nathan pulled the tarp off the pumpkin. Katie had imagined a light wire ball with orange fabric over it. She’d figured her head would stick out the top and she’d have to wear a green hat and makeup.
The reality was worse. The costume was quite large, with green gloves hanging off the sides. There was a two-foot hole in the bottom and no hole at the top.
“Where does my head come out?” Katie asked.
“It doesn’t,” Nathan said. “When you’re inside, you can put your hands in the gloves—most people have a wingspan long enough to reach.” He broke off his explanation. “You don’t have short arms, do you?”
Katie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Good. It helps you keep your balance if you can get your hands into the gloves. Just gives another level of control.”
Katie nodded without understanding a thing he said.
“Anyway, there’s a strip of fabric that is thinner than the rest, and you can see out through that when you’re inside.”
“That’s good,” Katie said.
“You can’t walk very easily because there isn’t much space to take a full step. Fortunately, all you need to do is stay standing.”
Nathan had a walkie-talkie strapped to his belt, and it crackled to life.
“Team leaders, please come to the gymnasium.”
Katie recognized Munch’s voice, and her sympathy quickly switched from herself to Nathan.
“I’d better go,” Nathan said nervously. “I can help you try it on at the next meeting.” He headed back down the hall and broke into a slow jog as he approached the door to the gym.
Katie and Matt followed him to see what other unwelcome surprises awaited them among the float-building crew.
22
Across town in the police department, Carlson smiled politely and offered Gretchen Lowe more coffee. This would be her third cup, and short of pushing her out the door, he was unsure of how to get her to leave his office. They had been in school together, and when she had shown up at his house, Linda had sent her up to the station where Carlson was trying to take advantage of a quiet office to finish paperwork.
“It’s very kind of you, John,” she said. “But I think I’ve had enough.”
Carlson felt his shoulders relax. Perhaps she was getting tired of quizzing him on every aspect of his protection plan for Eugene. The trouble was, Eugene was an adult who was perfectly within his rights to leave town for the day without telling his mother where he was going. But since he had returned, Gretchen was on a mission to protect him from the “town bullies.” She seemed to think Eugene hadn’t aged a day in his decade in prison. She talked about him as if he had just graduated from high school. Although, as Gretchen had informed him, Eugene had never graduated. He’d been arrested, tried as an adult because he was already eighteen, and sent to prison during his senior year of high school. The GED earned in prison and the remote coursework he had done toward his bachelor’s degree “wasn’t the same” as watching him walk across the stage at Baxter High School.
Carlson stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for stopping by, Gretchen. I’ll do my best to find out who is bothering Eugene.”
She took his hand and shook it. Standing slowly and gathering her purse and jacket, she looked old. The years of her son’s imprisonment had not left her unscathed. Carlson walked her to the front door and held it open for her. She smiled weakly at him and headed up the street face-first into the wind.
Carlson walked back to his office, wondering what else could be done. Despite his assurances to Gretchen Lowe, he was worried about Eugene. Someone or several someones in town didn’t want him there. Carlson wished he had more manpower to protect Eugene, although the man himself had refused any help. He didn’t want a bunch of “cops following him around.” Carlson couldn’t blame him. It seemed all Eugene had wanted was to slip back i
nto his old life unnoticed and unmolested.
He sat at his desk and pulled Eugene’s file out of the stack. Who in town had been harassing him? And had Eugene known more than he said?
The file from the old investigation of Eugene had been unearthed from the basement archives. Carlson flipped it open again and found the spot where he had left off. He had moved past the complaints lodged by Alicia’s father, Franklin Stewart. He flipped to a page that listed everyone who had been interviewed after Heather Knox’s death. He hadn’t noticed the first time through that Heather’s two roommates had eventually married each other. Hope and Brad. He flipped to their interviews.
They both said they’d left the party early and went home. Brad said he’d had a lot to drink and gone straight to bed. Hope claimed the same. But Hope also said she’d seen Heather have a fight with an ex-boyfriend, and other witnesses put that fight at about eleven thirty. Was one of them lying, or were they just drunk kids who didn’t pay attention to the time?
23
Monday morning clinics were always hectic. Everyone who had gotten sick over the weekend, or who had put off coming in the week before, was suddenly at emergency status. Katie put her head down and focused on working her way through the list. She did not think about Taylor or her disappearance. Or about Eugene and his injuries. She avoided thoughts about being a pumpkin in the Halloween parade. And she denied the feeling that her adopted town of Baxter harbored violence and intrigue just under the surface.
At lunchtime, Katie escaped to her office and shut the door. She wanted a few minutes to decompress after the morning of listening and advising, cajoling and threatening. Her office phone buzzed. She ignored it.
A few minutes later, she heard Debra’s voice in the hall. “Have you seen Dr. LeClair?”
A rapid tap-tap-tap sounded at the door. Katie sighed.
“Come in, Debra.”
“Hi, Dr. LeClair,” Debra came into the small office looking just as frazzled as Katie felt. Her hair stuck up more than usual, and her mascara had settled into dark rings under her eyes. “I tried to call you on your phone, but I must have missed you.”
A pang of guilt hit Katie as she realized her momentary rebellion had forced Debra to wander the building looking for her.
“Sorry, Debra,” Katie said. “What do you need?”
Debra clasped her hands at her waist and seemed to steel herself. “I’m really sorry; I didn’t know what to do.”
Katie’s pulse bumped up a few beats. What could have Debra so flustered?
“What is it?”
Debra wrung her hands a bit more and took a deep breath. “Delores Munch is here to see you.”
Katie frowned. “I thought she was Emmett’s patient.”
Debra nodded. “She is. She’s not here as a patient. She says she has important information for you and she has to see you right away. I told her you had a full clinic. She’s been waiting out there for half an hour.”
“Okay. Put her in the conference room and I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, Dr. LeClair. I don’t like to get on her bad side so close to the Halloween festival. She can make your life miserable if she wants.”
Katie wondered if one of the tortures was being forced to wear the pumpkin suit.
“She doesn’t have her bullhorn, does she?”
Debra laughed. “I don’t think so, but her purse is big enough to hide it.”
Katie took a bite of a protein bar and a swig of cold coffee and walked down the hallway to the conference room. The thought occurred to her that the conference room had seen a lot of traffic lately.
She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. “Hello, Mrs. Munch. How can I help you?”
Delores Munch sat up taller in her chair and brushed imaginary lint from her skirt. “It’s how I can help you, not the other way around.”
“Oh?” Katie sat across the table from Mrs. Munch and assumed a polite smile.
“I heard you’ve been asking around about Eugene Lowe.”
Katie closed her eyes and nodded. She still wasn’t used to everyone knowing every move she made.
“Well, you won’t get any help from that Alicia Nielsen, née Stewart.” Delores punctuated this with a sharp nod.
Katie tamped down the irritation that when people knew exactly what she was up to, they had no trouble commenting on it. She clenched her jaw and tried to keep her voice even. “Why not? I thought they were friends.”
“Maybe a lifetime ago, but now she’s married to Nathan Nielsen. He’s not the kind of man to let his wife get involved with your kind of malarkey.”
Katie bristled at this but kept her face neutral. She had years of experience with hiding her reactions. “What kind of malarkey is that?”
“You must be trying to prove he was innocent all those years ago.” Mrs. Munch leaned forward. “You should leave the past in the past. I would have thought you learned that lesson last time.”
This was really going too far, but Katie sensed Mrs. Munch had something more to say, so she tolerated the rebuke. But she couldn’t resist a little pushback.
“Actually, I was trying to protect my patient from further harm. I’m not trying to prove anything.” And she wasn’t, yet. But what if Eugene was innocent? That would mean someone else had gotten away with killing Heather. It might have been an accident, but still. The other person had been walking around free, living his life, while Eugene was only now able to start putting his life back together. And maybe Taylor had discovered who that person was.
“Humph,” said Munch.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Katie didn’t want to encourage Delores, but she also knew she wouldn’t leave until she had delivered her message.
“Don’t trust Alicia. Even if Nathan hasn’t warned her off, she isn’t reliable or trustworthy.”
Katie raised her eyebrows and pushed away from the table. “Okay, thank you for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Delores scowled at her. “You don’t fool me. You’re just agreeing to get rid of me.” Here she pulled out a long bony finger to waggle at Katie. “You’ll be sorry.”
For a moment, Katie felt like Dorothy confronting the Wicked Witch. But Delores was right; she was just trying to get rid of her.
Delores stopped scowling and bent to her bag. “Here, I brought you these. You look like you could use them.” She pushed a bag of cookies into Katie’s hands. She could just make out the shapes of pumpkins among the blobs.
Katie forced a smile and thanked Delores for her cookie rejects.
24
Eugene had a plan at last. The fact that it involved Alicia and that she had no idea about this plan did not dampen his enthusiasm. He knew the cabin in the woods would be deserted. The people that owned it were away and not returning anytime soon. It would be the perfect place to hide.
He parked his truck behind the house, creaked open the door, and climbed out. The woods were silent, as if waiting to see what this new intruder would do. After a few minutes, he heard the birds begin their noises again and the small creatures rustle in the leaves. The sun dappled the yard and flickered with the breeze. Eugene felt himself relax.
His only concern was where to put the truck. If he was going to hide, he couldn’t have his truck sitting in the yard, or anywhere near the place. He was pleased to see his memory had been correct: there was an old outbuilding at the back of the property, more shed than garage, but he thought the truck would fit. He strode to the back of the yard and pulled on the double doors.
His breath caught in his throat as the door swung wide. There was already something there. A tarp covered it, but it was a small car. Eugene stepped forward and tugged. He felt that he knew what he would see before the fabric fell away, but it was still a shock. The little blue Fiat, with its round headlights and curved grille, that had been featured on all the missing posters seemed to smile at him from the gloom.
He remembered the girl
who drove it. She had been so lovely.
He had stood at the window, pink beads in his hand.
Watching her as she approached the house, he’d felt as though she looked familiar. He’d realized with a start that this girl looked like Alicia from ten years ago. It was like watching Alicia walk up his front steps the way she had done so many times before. If he had known the girl looked like this, he wouldn’t have avoided her calls. He’d thought she was just another reporter, or a curious true crime junkie.
As she got closer, he’d noticed she also resembled another girl from long ago. He’d shaken his head. He didn’t think about that. Ever.
The doorbell had rung and the cat had run up the stairs—a white streak, like a ghost. Before he could answer the door, his mother had been there. She was always there. He knew she was keeping watch over him, but he’d been too tired to care. How could he tell her it reminded him of prison? Always being watched. But how could he also tell her it was almost comforting, after so many years, to know he was being watched? Keeping him safe from himself.
He’d stepped toward the door as the girl entered and put out his hand to shake.
She’d clasped his hand in a firm grip. This girl had not been weak or frightened of him. He fought the prickle of tears at the back of his eyes and in his throat at the thought that a girl like that could shake his hand without fear. It was the same way he’d felt with Dr. LeClair. Accepted as a regular person, not a monster.
He had smiled and slipped the beads into his pocket.
But this car, grinning at him in the shadows of a falling-down shed on a deserted property, told a different kind of story. Someone else had been here. And whoever it was must know what had happened to Taylor Knox.
25
After Delores left, Katie stacked her charts with a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let them pile up all week. She texted Matt that she would meet him in thirty minutes, grabbed her bag, and went to the parking lot. It was a cool, crisp October day, and Katie was glad to be out of the office for the afternoon. The path through the woods that led to the hospital was covered in orange, red, and yellow leaves. Katie wished she could take a long walk along the pathways. But she had somewhere else to be. Matt had arranged a meeting with his “guy” who worked in the pathology department. Katie thought it was strange that Linda had only the summary page of Heather’s autopsy. Was that just an oversight? Was that all she had been able to obtain? Maybe it was routine practice for a court case, but Katie had been trained to examine the whole pathology report, not just the conclusions. Was there something there that would shed light on Eugene’s case? She hoped to find some answers in Heather’s full autopsy report.
