Larkspur Cove (21 page)

I grabbed the next smaller-sized measuring cup and set it by her foot. “Here, you fill that one, all right? We’re going to need it next, and I’ll fill the smallest one. It takes at least three sizes to make a castle tower. Have you ever made a tower before?”

She didn’t reply but filled the half-cup measure while I filled the smallest one. When all three were stuffed and compacted, she sat back on her heels, watching with anticipation.

“Now, we need a small stick. An itty-bitty one about as long as . . . Oh, let me see. . . . How long are your fingers?”

She spread her fingers in the dirt, and I pretended to survey them with much thought.“Well, yes, those are the perfect-sized fingers. We’ll need a stick about as long as your little pinkie finger, and then a leaf from that big, tall grass – the grass with the red edges on the leaves. Red, like your boots. We need the red grass to make a flag for the castle. Do you know where the flag goes on the castle?”

Again, no reply, but she held her hand in the air, her fingers splayed. Slowly, she folded each and pointed her index finger.

“Oh, no, not that one.” Carefully, I touched her hand, taking the pinkie between my fingers, extending it and shaking it gently. “This one. This is your little pinkie finger. Can you find a stick this long?”

Brushing her hands on her dress, Birdie stood up, her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth as she studied her finger and surveyed the yard. A moment later, she clumped off in her oversized boots. To my complete horror, she went around the corner toward the corral of vicious dogs. A gaggle of puppies scampered to the fence when they saw her, and a brown-and-white half-grown dog cavorted back and forth along the wire, yapping and wiggling as if it wanted to come out and play. Birdie stuck a hand through the fence and let the dog lick her palm, and my heart climbed into my throat. A moment later, the man-eater I’d seen in the back of the truck came around the corner, stopped a few feet from the fence, planted its feet and growled. I realized it wasn’t growling at Birdie, it was growling at me – protecting her. Stepping back around the corner, I waited until she returned with a stick and a stalk of tall grass. The grass wasn’t red, but as we squatted in the dirt again, she held it against her boot, as if she were realizing the difference.

While I prepared to build our castle, I took my keys from my pocket, handed them to her, and asked if she could show me the blue one. The question appeared to confuse her completely, and after looking at the keys, she set them gently in the dirt by my feet. Apparently, she didn’t know her colors, which most likely meant that she hadn’t been to preschool or Head Start. She was about kindergarten age, probably not old enough for first grade.

As we continued building our tower, first dumping out the largest cup, then building upward by carefully adding blocks from the smaller two, I noted that Birdie did know how to play cooperatively. She could remember and follow more than one instruction given in sequence, and she did seem to experience delight as we carefully poked our field-grass flag into the top of the tower. Sitting back on her heels, she looked at me and smiled. Her teeth were brown and rotten around the edges – a condition known in the Medicaid world as
bottle mouth
, because it typically came from baby bottles of sugary, corrosive drinks, used to keep babies quiet or put them to sleep.

Her eyes were beautiful – a deep, clear blue with impossibly thick lashes fanning outward.

I heard Len and Mart coming out of the barn as we sat admiring our tower. Mart was carrying a cage in one hand and a feather in the other. “Len, it doesn’t matter if you let it go once it got healed up. Keeping a bald eagle in captivity is illegal. Only people with a certain license can do that. You understand? If you find something hurt – a wild animal – you’ve got to bring it to me, or send me a message to come get it. We both know this feather came off an eagle, not a wild turkey. There’s a big fine for that. A bad ticket. Understand? You understand what I’m saying? I’m trying to help you here, all right? Now, go ahead and get me that raccoon kit, and I’ll take him with me.”

Birdie stood up as Len started into the house. Dashing up the steps in her clumpy boots, she caught Len at the door and grabbed the hem of his shirt, her gaze turning upward, pleading. He leaned down, and she whispered something in his ear. Laying a hand gently on her hair, he shook his head, and they disappeared into the house.

A forest bird never wants a cage.

– Henrik Ibsen

(Left by a backpacker who stayed
overnight on the dock)

Chapter 14

Mart McClendon

The little girl was upset that I was taking her pet away, and she hung on the screen door, her cheeks wet and red as Len carried the coon kit out by the scruff of its neck. Birdie didn’t argue or yell or whine. She just watched with big tears rolling down her cheeks, like she’d learned not to raise a fuss. The raccoon was making more noise than she was, chattering and growling with all four paws stiff in the air as Len stuffed it in the cage, smacked the door shut, and shoved the cage at me.

Between Len looking at me like I just stole his best dog, and Birdie turning on the waterworks, I felt like a heel. But a wild-caught coon and a little girl don’t belong in the same house. We’d had a couple of confirmed rabies cases in the county this year.

Birdie sank down to her knees behind the screen door, her eyes as big and blue as robin’s eggs. One thing was for sure – she didn’t want me for a friend anymore. Right now, Len didn’t want me there, either. Birdie’s crying had him stirred up, and he was antsy for us to leave. Even the dogs in the backyard were growling, and the whole situation had the feel of a powder keg, about to blow.

Andrea took a step toward the house, like she was going to head inside and try to comfort Birdie. I caught her hand before she could pass by. “Well, we’re gonna leave you alone now, like I promised, Len. I want to thank you for doing everything I asked you to. I’m sure you’ll be headed out on the lake as soon as I’m gone. You can’t have Birdie near the water without a life vest on her. Not at all, you understand? Not even if she’s around shore while you’re working. A little child can drown quicker than you can let out a sneeze.”

Len lifted his chin, shifting a wad of tobacco in his lip. “Sss-she sw-swimmed ugg-good.”

I pointed a finger at him to make sure I was getting my point across.“It’s against the law to have a child on a boat without a proper life vest on. I’ve got a couple kids’ vests some campers left behind in the state park. I’ll set one there by your boat, and I want you to make sure she has it on and it’s buckled up tight. And don’t be letting her out in the yard with those dogs, either. I know they’re friendly to you, but you can’t ever tell when a dog might get upset or confused and jump on a child. I’ve seen some kids get pretty torn up by dogs that aren’t used to having kids around.”

Len seemed mighty confused now. He moved a step toward the yard, like he thought I was about to take his dogs away, too. Behind the screen, the little girl sniffled, her fingertips drawing wet trails in the grime-covered mesh. She looked like the most miserable little person in the world. I made up my mind that, after I’d delivered the coon to my volunteer wildlife rehabilitator, I’d take a picture, so I could come back and show her he was safe in a new place. Maybe when I got a chance, I’d stop by the souvenir shop at the state park and pick up a toy raccoon or a teddy bear – something a little girl could play with that wouldn’t bite. When Birdie’s mama, whoever she really was, had dropped her off, she hadn’t left playthings or supplies of any kind, as far as I could tell.

In the cage, the little coon was going crazy, sticking his paws through the wire, fishing in air, trying to grab on to something to keep me from taking him anywhere. He chattered out a high-pitched distress sound, crying for his mama, and every dog, puppy, mule, milk cow, and loose rooster on the place started making noise. I had to yell to be heard. “Some people might want to come back here and talk to Birdie.” As soon as the words were out, I knew I should’ve kept that piece of information for later. Bad timing.

Len went stiff as a rail fence, and his eyes turned hard and gray. “Unnn-nope. Unnn-no. Unnn-no. I ugg-got no trrr-red-pass.” He pointed to an old
No Trespassing
sign that had long since turned to rust. How in the world was I supposed to make Len understand the law, as it applied to child welfare?
Listen, Len, there are people who are
like . . . game wardens for kids. They come onto your place to look in after
little girls, the same way I look after animals. They’re not here to hurt anybody.
. . .
That whole speech would probably go over about as well as moonshine at a tent preaching, considering that I was taking off with his pet raccoon right now. “Well, I’ll let you know.”

Len chopped a hand in the air, like he might decide to really get difficult. When I left, I’d have to watch my back. Right now he was pretty emotional, and so were the dogs and the little girl. “Unnn . . . unnn-no! No-buddy! Birdie’s umm-mama say unn-no no-buddy.”

Andrea laid a hand on my shoulder, stepped forward and smiled at Len. “Thanks for letting me meet Birdie.” Her voice was soft and calm, the tone a mother uses when she’s quieting a baby. “We had fun building a little castle over there in the dirt.” She pointed, and Len sidestepped to see around the corner of the porch. “Would it be all right if I came back to play with her again? I don’t get to play with any little girls. I only have a boy. He’s a big boy, though. Fourteen.” She held up a hand, like she was measuring Dustin’s height against hers.

Len answered with a slow nod. “I ugg-guess . . . ugg-guess ohh-kay.” Looking befuddled, he turned around and headed for the house. When he got to the porch, Birdie ran out the door and clung to his pants leg. He laid a hand protectively on her shoulder, and she leaned her head against his hip.

I turned around and started for Andrea’s car, the raccoon kit running circles in the cage.

“Do you think it’s okay to leave her here?” Andrea muttered under her breath. “Is she safe?”

“Look over your shoulder and smile and wave,” I told her under my breath. “The best thing we can do right now is keep it friendly. If Len wants to disappear off into the woods with that little girl again, he sure could. For that matter, we don’t know where Birdie’s mama is, or whether Len could send Birdie back wherever she came from. I’m just going on a hunch here, but I’ve got a feeling that little girl was worse off before she got here. That dress and those boots she’s wearing – Len bought for her. That’s why they’re too big.

“When I first found him this morning, we sat down at the lakeshore and talked for a long while until he’d calmed down. Then we talked some more up here, after we made phone calls about the medical clinic visit and such. It isn’t easy, getting the full story out of Len. I asked him what shape Birdie was in when she got here, and near as I can gather, she was barefoot in a nightgown. Her mother showed up without anything, toting a kid with a fever and an earache, and driving a car that was on its last legs. Once she got what she needed – gas, money, and car repairs – she left Birdie here. You gotta wonder what kind of situation causes a mother to do that to a little child.”

“Or what kind of mother,” Andrea added, emotion making her voice catch. She hesitated, like she was thinking of going back to Len’s cabin. I pressed a hand against the small of her back and moved her toward her vehicle. We needed to head out before Len got any more shook up.

When we made it to the car, I opened the door for her. “Just circle around right here and drive on out, okay? It’s not like you’ll ruin the lawn. I’ll meet you at that picnic grounds you were talking about earlier – the one just down from Eagle Eye Bridge. Len doesn’t need to see us standing here talking about him, okay? If he thinks we’re planning something . . . well, that might not be so good. Just smile at me and say good-bye like everything’s fine, and I’ll catch up with you at the park.”

She checked her watch, then nodded. “All right. I’ll see you there.”

I could feel a steady gaze watching me from the cabin. “What’s Len doing back there?” I didn’t turn around – just let Andrea sneak a glance.

“He’s looking at us. He’s holding on to that little girl like he thinks we might try to snatch her.” Andrea’s eyes were round and unsure, a pulse fluttering under the smooth skin at the base of her neck.“Are you going to be all right when I leave? What if he changes his mind about the raccoon?”

“I’ll be all right,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d left a place carrying someone’s contraband and keeping one eye over my shoulder.

Catching a breath, she nodded. “Okay, well . . . good-bye, then.” She pasted on a tense smile that I guessed was meant to convince Len everything was fine. Even Len could probably see through the act.

“Good thing you’re not trying out for the theater,” I said. “He has it in his mind that you’re my
lady friend
, remember? Act like you like me. You could give me a hug. It’ll make this look more convincing.”

Her eyes met mine, and for just a heartbeat, I forgot I had a coon kit in a cage hanging from one arm.

“Are you serious?”

“Sometimes, you know, in the line of duty, we’ve got to make sacrifices.” I shrugged, like it was a tough thing to ask, but for the sake of the job, I was willing to do it.

Andrea’s pretty brown eyes rolled a half circle. Stretching onto her toes, she pinched the brim of my hat between two fingers, pulled it to one side a little, and kissed me on the cheek. “There. That good enough?” She slipped her arms around my shoulders and smacked me so hard on the back that Len probably heard it.