by Sharon Sala
Within seconds, the expression on the old woman’s face went from surprise to shock. “No! I can’t believe that. This is awful…just awful. I always wondered what happened when you and she disappeared.” She paused, then asked, “What about your father?”
“I don’t really remember him…only bits and pieces of things that I think are about him.”
“Why did you come back?”
“To get answers,” Holly said.
Ida’s eyes filled with tears. “What can I do? How can I help you?”
“I’m not sure,” Holly said. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember anything about my father? When my mother and I suddenly disappeared, what kind of explanation did he give?”
“He filed a missing persons report on the both of you. Said he went to work one morning, and when he came back you were both gone. We all felt terrible for him. I suppose the police worked the case, but nothing ever came of it that I heard. After about a year, he moved away. I have no idea where he’s at or if he’s still alive.”
Holly nodded, although she was surprised to learn about the missing persons reports. Harold Mackey was either an innocent man or the biggest faker of all time. She kept wondering what kind of guts it would take to be the serial killer an entire city was searching for and still go to the police to claim his family had gone missing. She wondered if he’d thought it was funny, almost a taunt. As if to say, I’m right under your noses, and you still don’t know a thing.
“I don’t suppose you remember the last time you saw my mother?”
“No, not really,” Ida said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Holly said. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Of course,” Ida said. Then she gasped and slapped her legs. “Oh, wait! My goodness. You said you don’t remember much about your life here. My house used to be the place to come for Fourth of July cookouts and block parties and New Year’s Eve celebrations. I have several pictures of you and your family taken here at different times. Just give me a minute to go get the albums.”
Holly felt a little bit sick as Ida Pacino hurried out of the room. She was excited and at the same time afraid—afraid of her own reaction. Would she see something that triggered her memory? If she did, would it leave her afraid of what was to come?
Ida soon came back carrying a handful of albums, then sat down beside Holly.
“These are the ones from the years you lived here, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to go through them all to find the photos I remember.”
“That’s okay,” Holly said. “I’m not on a schedule, and I really appreciate your kindness.”
Ida impulsively cupped Holly’s chin.
“It’s not kindness. Twila and I were more than friends. We were family. I’m just sorry you don’t remember.”
Touched by the gesture, Holly managed a smile as Ida opened the first book and began scanning the pages. It took a few moments, but she quickly found the first picture of what would become many.
“Here’s one! That’s you and one of my nieces eating watermelon at one of the picnic tables. It must have been a Fourth of July party, because there are flags on the tables.”
Holly could only stare at the photo with a measure of disbelief. There was no denying it was her, but she had no memory of the occasion.
Ida pulled it out of the album and set it on the couch beside her as she turned the page. There were two more pictures, obviously taken at the same party. Ida pulled them, as well. About halfway through, she stopped again, but this time her expression saddened.
“This one is of you and Twila. Look how happy you two were. I just can’t believe your mother disappeared without a word like that. It’s not like her at all.”
Holly knew the old woman was still talking, but the words were fading into the background as she focused on the face of the woman in the picture. Her pulse quickened; her vision blurred. She could almost remember her mother’s smiling face bending over her as she was being tucked into bed. How could she have forgotten someone as important as her own mother?
Ida pulled that photo and added it to the small pile, then leafed through the rest of that album without finding any more.
“Here’s another album,” Ida said. “Let’s see what we can find in here, okay?”
Holly nodded.
Ida paused as she glanced up. “Are you all right, dear? I didn’t think about how emotional this would be for you.”
“I’m fine,” Holly said. “Please, could we continue?”
“Absolutely.”
Within thirty minutes Ida had pulled more than a dozen pictures. And then she opened the last album and began flipping through pages.
“Oh, good. Here’s one of you and your daddy.”
Holly didn’t want to look, and yet she had to.
Four
The moment Holly’s gaze locked onto that face, her mind went blank. The man in the photo was the same one she’d seen in her nightmares: the man at the foot of the stairs, the one who’d warned her not to tell. But tell what? What had she witnessed that had been so horrifying that it had made her forget the first five years of her life? Did it have something to do with the murders? She didn’t know how much time had elapsed before she realized Ida was still talking.
“He was a real hardworking man, but a difficult man to live with, I suppose,” Ida said. “Twila wasn’t the kind of woman to quit when the going got tough, though. I can’t say what kind of trouble lay between your mother and father, but I’m sorry for what happened to you. It makes me sad. What must you have thought, being abandoned like that?”
“I honestly can’t say what I thought, because until the death just a little while ago of the man who’d raised me, I didn’t know I’d ever lived here. Once I got here, some things seemed familiar, but I can’t say I actually remember anything.”
Ida gave Holly a quick hug.
“Bless your heart, honey. Bless your heart.” Then she gathered up the photos she’d taken out of the albums and laid them in Holly’s lap. “I want you to have these. Maybe if you look at them some more it will help you to remember.”
Holly couldn’t imagine willingly looking at the photo of her father again, but the police might want it. She took the photos and put them into her shoulder bag.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, and very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” Ida said, as she walked Holly to the door. “I would love it if you stayed in touch. Just a card or letter now and then to let me know what’s happening in your life would be wonderful.”
“Sure,” Holly said, as she stepped out onto the porch.
“So where do you go from here? Maybe your old school?” Ida asked.
The idea was intriguing. “Do you know where I went to school?”
“Of course! It was at St. Margaret of Scotland. Catholic school, of course. I remember how excited you were to start kindergarten. I think Twila had enrolled you in their preschool at one time, but Harold made her take you out.”
Holly frowned. “Really? Do you remember why?”
“I never knew, but I remember Twila was upset with him, and then, like everything else, as soon as he got his way he was fine. Anyway, everyone in this neighborhood goes to St. Margaret. It’s in the old Shaw neighborhood.”
Holly pulled the map from her purse. “Can you show me?”
Ida quickly scanned the map, circled the address with a pen Holly handed her, then gave it back.
“There you go, honey. Happy hunting.”
Holly shuddered. “Yes, hunting for my past,” she muttered, and suddenly looked over her shoulder, as if she expected her father to be standing in the yard.
As it turned out, St. Margaret of Scotland school was easy to find. Holly drove past it slowly, then circled the block and came back around again before pulling into the visitors’ parking lot. She didn’t know how much good this would be in helping he
r find the answers to her past, but she was willing to try anything.
The scent that greeted her as she entered the building was familiar, but not in a way that brought back memories, only in the fact that all school buildings smelled alike. It was a combination of books and chalkboards, plus the bodies of hundreds of children and whatever the cooks were making for lunch.
A middle-aged woman looked up as Holly entered the office. She smiled politely as she gave Holly a once-over.
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
Holly leaned across the counter. “I need some information. When I was five, I began kindergarten at this school. I think I was here for a year before I left. Would it be possible to get a copy of my records? I go by Holly Slade now, but I was enrolled here as Harriet Mackey, daughter of Harold and Twila Mackey. This is the address where I lived.”
She slid a piece of paper toward the receptionist.
The receptionist frowned and looked back up at Holly. “You do know we can’t give out school records to anyone who walks in without proof of ID?” She looked back at the piece of paper and asked, “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty years.”
“Oh, my, I’m not sure where those records would even be kept. Sorry.”
Holly sighed. It had been worth a shot. “I understand. I don’t suppose there’s anyone still here who was teaching back then? Someone who might remember me?”
The receptionist frowned. “Actually, there is. Only she’s no longer a teacher. She’s the principal now. Her name is Mrs. Baronne.”
“Do you think I might be able to speak with her?” Holly asked.
The receptionist picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she nodded.
“Mrs. Baronne has a few minutes before she has to leave for a meeting. She said she’d be happy to speak with you. Her office is down that hallway, first door on your right.”
“Thank you so much,” Holly said, and hurried down the hall.
She knocked twice, and then the door opened abruptly. The woman standing in the doorway was tall and stately, with short gray hair and soft brown eyes.
“I’m Mrs. Baronne,” she said, and shook Holly’s hand. “Come in, please…have a seat.”
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me,” Holly said.
“Certainly,” Mrs. Baronne said, as she resumed her seat at her desk. “Now, tell me a bit about this search you’re on.”
Holly told her story, leaving out all the ugly details and mentioning only that she was here for a short while and hoping to reconnect with her past. It wasn’t until she mentioned the name Harriet Mackey that she saw the principal’s expression change from polite attention to shock.
“You’re Harriet Mackey?”
“Yes, ma’am, only I have no real memory of the first five years of my life. As I said, I’ve lived as Holly Slade for the past twenty years. Trust me, this has been quite a revelation for me to handle.”
“I definitely remember the name. You were in Miss Peach’s kindergarten class. It was only a few days before the end of the school year when you and your mother disappeared. The police questioned all the teachers and staff. We were shocked by the entire situation.”
Holly’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? Did you ever talk to my father?”
“Not personally, but I remember reading in the paper that he’d filed a missing persons report on the two of you. Oh, my, oh, my! This is such a shock! What happened? Where did you two go?”
Again Holly had to be careful about what she said and how she said it.
“That’s part of the mystery I’m trying to solve,” Holly said. “My mother sent me away with her friends, and in a few days she was planning to come and get me, so we could start a new life somewhere else, only she never showed up. To this day, we don’t what happened.”
The principal gasped. “How awful for you!”
Holly shrugged. “I guess, but I don’t remember the incident…or her.”
“Not at all?”
“No, ma’am, not at all. By any chance would it be possible for me to get a copy of my school records? I realize I was only here for a year, but I thought there might be some information there that would help me figure out where to search next.”
“Have you been to the police? Do they know that you’re in town?”
“No, ma’am, but I plan to speak to them in the next day or so.”
“You definitely should. They might even have some information about your mother, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know.”
Convinced that she’d covered all her bases, Mrs. Baronne turned to the task at hand. “Do you have some ID?”
Holly nodded, and fished out her driver’s license.
“It’s protocol when it comes to giving out records,” the principal said, as she quickly made a copy and handed it back to Holly. “Where are you staying while you’re in town?”
“At the Jameson, near the Arch.”
The older woman made a note of the address. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she told Holly the older records were stored off-site.
“I’ve put in a request for a copy of your file to be couriered to you at the hotel. This is such a tragic story. I hope there’s some information in it that helps.”
“Thank you so much,” Holly said.
“We also have group photos of our students that are taken every year. I’m not sure how far back they go, but there are a large number of them hanging in the lobby of the main hall. Let’s go see if we can find your year.”
“That would be great!”
Holly followed Mrs. Baronne back out to the lobby.
“They begin here,” the principal said, pointing to the far wall. She began scanning the pictures as they passed, counting back twenty years, and then stopped midway down the long hallway. “This would be the kindergarten class from twenty years ago.”
Holly moved closer, scanning the tiny faces. Suddenly she gasped, then pointed. “That’s me! I can’t believe it! I have no memory of any of this, and yet there I am.”
The principal eyed the photo, then Holly. “You’re sure this is you?”
Holly nodded as she began digging through her purse. “A neighbor from back in the day just gave me some old photos of myself. I’ll show you.”
She pulled out a couple of the snapshots Ida Pacino had given her and handed them to the principal.
“That’s certainly the same child,” Mrs. Baronne said, and then handed them back to Holly. “Do you remember any of the other children?”
Holly hesitated briefly, then pointed to the little girl sitting to her left. “She looks familiar, but I can’t remember her name.”
Mrs. Baronne took down the picture, then popped the back off the frame and took out the photo. “We always write the names on the back. Let’s see…Harriet Mackey, Harriet Mackey…ah! Here it is! You were right, that little girl is Harriet Mackey, and the girl next to her is Billie Jo Peoples.”
“Billie Jo,” Holly repeated, trying out the name on her tongue. She couldn’t say she remembered, but it felt good to be putting some of the pieces of her past together.
Just as the principal was replacing the photo, her cell phone rang. She glanced at caller ID, then at Holly.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take this call, then leave for my meeting. I hope I’ve been able to help you.”
“You’ve been great,” Holly said.
Holly shook the woman’s hand, then left, buoyed up by the unexpected success.
Still reluctant to go to the police with nothing but her vague story, and without a specific place to go to next, she decided to go back to the hotel. At least there she could get warm, eat some lunch and wait for her school records to show up.
It was almost one o’clock and raining again by the time Holly got back to the hotel. Her stomach was growling, and her feet were wet and cold. Soup seemed like a good idea. She went back to the f
amiliar hotel restaurant, and was thankful for the warmth and comfort as she was being seated.
After ordering, she tried to call Maria, but it went to voice mail. Then she tried Savannah and got the same result. She felt the need to touch base with her sisters, to hear what was going on with them and find out if they were having difficulties, too, but it wasn’t happening.
Disappointed, she dropped the phone back into her purse and picked at the bread the waiter left at her table. She thought about calling Bud. He would most certainly answer, but she hated to talk to him in this frame of mind. He would instantly know that she was feeling down, and she didn’t want to have to explain herself. Not yet. Not until she had some answers.
It was late afternoon at the Triple S. The snow was beginning to melt, but not fast enough for Bud. He’d been counting cattle all afternoon, trying to ascertain if there were any more missing. They’d already lost two spring calves, along with a cow trying unsuccessfully to give birth, to the freezing temperatures since the snowfall. That was four head of Triple S cattle lost in less than two days. Damn weather. It had only added to his growing concerns. Earlier in the day he’d slipped on ice and caught himself with his bad hand. It was still throbbing inside his glove, but he’d refused to take the bandage off and check the damage. He didn’t have time to baby himself. There were too many fires to put out at the Triple S.
Andrew’s death had stirred up a mess from which the Slade family might never recover.
And then there was Holly… He’d always heard that absence made the heart grow fonder. He wondered if there was a saying for absence and unrequited love, because he ached for Holly like he never had before.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly five. Sunset would be here before he was ready if he didn’t get a move on. He still had to feed the livestock penned up in the corrals near the barn before he could call it a day. The thought of a roaring fire and a bowl of hot stew sounded good, so he put the truck in gear and headed for home.
