Helens-of-Troy (11 page)

“What your mother is trying to say is
we’re more like...”

“Ghostbusters,” Helen again
interrupted. She could see Helena hang her head in
desperation.

“Come on, you guys,” Ellie pleaded.
“Halloween's over and it’s a little early for April Fool’s
day.”

“That's not the word I'd use, Helen.
They're not always dead. We're more like...”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer?” Ellie
suggested.

“Why yes!” Helena said excitedly. “I
like that analogy. She had such a sense of style. Not to mention
she could kick-ass kill anything that got in her way. I loved that
show. And that Angel fellow! He was certainly worth a hickey or
two.”

Ellie looked at her mother and her
grandmother hoping one of them would burst out laughing. Neither
did. “I think when I hit my head I gave myself a concussion. With
any luck, in another few moments I may even forget your names. What
is with you two?”

“We're see'ers,” Helena continued. “We
dream things. We feel things. We know things. From time to time we
get called upon to handle things other people can’t.”

“Right...let me get this straight...”
Ellie’s voice did not sound convinced, “…a rational adult, and a
woman known to the world as my mom, are sitting here telling me
that I'm living in some episode of Sabrina the Teenaged
Witch?”

Before Helena could answer, the back
door opened and Chief Cohen came walking into the kitchen. He took
off his hat and nodded to the women. For a man his age, he still
had quite the head of hair.

Helena smiled.

It was the kind of smile that men
noticed.

Helen noticed it too. “Don’t you knock?
We’re in the middle of an important family conversation here,” she
said with exasperation.

The Chief bit his tongue. “Nice to see
you again, Helen. I’m sorry we had to meet under those
circumstances last night. I hope you and your daughter’s stay in
Troy is a happy one. I can appreciate it didn’t get off to a great
start.” He turned to Helena. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could I
see you outside for a moment? Alone?” He motioned for her to follow
him to the back stoop.

Helena stood up and went towards the
door. “Of course, Roy. Is something wrong? I didn't tell you the
wrong pocket or anything? Mr. Wagner was a little vague. At least
he wasn’t as hard to remove as Mrs. Harbinger, thank God. She
wrecked my shovel.” Her voice trailed off as she followed him
outside.

“Roy?” Helen noted, jabbing Ellie in
the ribs. “Did you hear that? Your grandmother is on a first name
basis with the police force. That’s probably not a good
sign.”

Ellie took a handful of dry cereal from
the box on the table and began munching slowly. “Well, maybe it’s
not the whole police force. Maybe it’s good that she knows them.
Did you notice Nan didn’t lock her doors last night before we all
went to bed? Is it just a small town thing? Or is she losing
it?”

“I did notice. In fact, I locked it.
But about ten minutes later I walked by and it was unlocked
again.”

“What did she mean about Mrs.
Harbinger? Who's she? And why did Nan need a shovel?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to
know. And neither do you.”

“
I’m thinking I do,” Ellie
said in defiance.

Helen moved to the side of the window,
to get a better look at her mother and Chief Cohen outside. She
shook her head in disbelief. “You may be right, Ellie. Your
grandmother is on her back steps, talking to a policeman, in her
negligee. And apparently she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong
with that. She is losing it.”

Outside, Chief Cohen held up a photo
for Helena to examine.

“I need your help, Helena. A young girl
has gone missing. You might know her, she's Dr. Quinlan’s little
girl, Brooke. She was supposed to go over to her friend Annie
Robinson’s to go trick or treating and then stay overnight. Or so
the Quinlan’s thought. They watched her walk across the street to
Annie’s like she had a hundred times before. But what happened next
no one knows. She never made it inside the Robinson’s home. Never
rang the doorbell. Annie's parents thought there had just been a
change in plans and didn't think much about it. They took their
daughter out alone. They said they remembered seeing Brooke run by
your house, but assumed her parents were waiting for her around the
corner. It was this morning before it all got pieced together. Dr.
Quinlan took this photo just before Brooke left the house. She was
all dressed up for trick or treating.”

The girl in the picture was about six
years of age, dressed in a blue checkered dress, carrying a toy dog
in a cloth-lined basket. Roy Cohen studied Helena’s reaction as she
looked at it. He could see the color draining from her face. “What
is it, Helena? Do you remember seeing her?”

“Oh my goodness, Roy. No. She didn’t
come to my door. I'm sure I’d remember her. It’s just such a shock.
I do know the little girl. Her family must be beside themselves
with worry.”

“We’re going door to door asking people
if they know anything of her whereabouts. Give me a call if you
hear anything. There are some off-duty officers coming in from the
city to help. If Brooke hasn’t returned home by this afternoon,
we’ll need to expand the search tomorrow morning. I know I can
count on you to help.”

“Of course, Roy.”

Chief Cohen turned and headed across
the grass to knock on the Lachey’s back door. Helena watched him,
taking a moment to gather her thoughts. This was all too much of a
coincidencethe little girl, the dream. But there was nothing
concrete she could tell him about.

She started to open the door, and then
stopped, turning towards the backyard. “You are no longer welcome
in my home,” she whispered.

The leaves in her yard blew into a mini
cyclone in response.

“If you want a temper tantrum, I’ll
give you a temper tantrum,” she promised the leaf pile. She glanced
quickly towards the Lachey home. “I hope Stan didn’t see that,” she
thought. “What the hell am I going to tell the girls?”

“Nan, who's Mrs. Harbinger?” Ellie
asked as soon as Helena entered the kitchen.

“Ellie dear, you look tired, why don’t
you go lie down,” Helena said, her voice taking an unusually stern
tone.

“I'm not really tired, Nan. I just woke
up, remember? I'm going to go put on my make-up and go for a
walk.”

“There's some melatonin in the
bathroom, why don't you take some? Oh hell, just take a sleeping
pill. A growing girl needs her beauty sleep.”

“Mother! Are you trying to drug my
daughter? What is with you?” Helen demanded. “She said she’s not
tired.”

Helena sat down. There was really no
easy way to break the news to them. “A little girl from town has
gone missing. Her name is Brooke Quinlan, she’s six. Roy,I mean
Chief Cohenhowed me a picture her parents had taken of her. She
was dressed in her Halloween costume, Dorothy from The Wizard of
Oz.”

“Oh my God,” Helen cried, putting her
hand over her mouth.

Ellie could barely contain the shivers
running up her spine. “That is just too creepy.”

“Ellie, do you remember anything else
from your dream? It's important,” Helena begged.

“Ellie. Go upstairs and take the
sleeping pill like your Nan says. Maybe you’ll start dreaming
again.” As much as Helen wanted this to mean absolutely nothing,
she couldn’t shake the churning feeling in her stomach.

“Have you both lost it?” Ellie
questioned. “It's a co-incidence, that's all. Quit looking at me
like that.” Feeling uncomfortable, she reached for a piece of fruit
on the counter. “Don’t bother with breakfast for me. I’m going to
eat this when I’m out. I can’t digest properly when I’m stressed,"
she said as she walked out of the room. The last thing she felt
like doing was remembering that dream.

Helen lowered her voice. “What are we
going to do?”

“Let’s hope it is just all a big
coincidence. And if it’s not, let’s hope to hell that Ellie tires
out early tonight and that the mysterious cowboy makes another
appearance. This is going to be a long day’s journey into
night.”

CHAPTER SIX

Ellie sat on the front porch, her knees
pulled up inside her ski jacket, trying to keep her body warm. Nan
had said the boys would be there by five. It was now a quarter
after, and they hadn’t shown up yet. Maybe Nan got it wrong. Maybe
they didn’t want her to go to the game with them. Maybe it was all
a big joke.

She looked down at her feet. Earlier
she had polished the left toe cap of her heavy black boot with a
black magic marker she found in a kitchen drawer, and she was quite
pleased with her handiwork until she looked at the other foot and
realized she should have done the same to it. In retrospect, it
would have been easier to leave it alone, but her boots were
looking rather worn and she didn’t want to appear like someone who
couldn’t afford new ones, even if it were true.

“If we stay here,” she told herself,
“I’m going to have to get a part-time job to pay for some new
clothes.”

She was thanking her lucky stars she
had remembered to pack her black skinny jeans. They had been
getting a little tight so she almost left them behind, but she
thought she looked hot in them, and thankfully she managed she
squeeze herself in one more time.

“I hope Tom likes them,” she said. “I
hope Tom likes me.”

Tom was the reason it had taken her ten
minutes to pick out a top. The choice between sexy or warm was not
normally a brain drainer, but it was freezing out today. She
eventually caved into the weather and threw on her favorite bulky
black sweater. Picking out earrings to go with the outfit had not
been any easier. Not if you have as many holes in your ears as she
did. She finally settled on two silver hoops. The other holes would
just have to be naked tonight.

The day had gone by slowly, as she had
spent most of it alone on the front porch, imaging how the evening
would unfold. Ryan would be conveniently playing ball on the field
and she would have Tom all alone in the bleachers. As alone as you
could be at a high school football game. The other girls would be
staring at her of course, but with looks of envy rather than looks
of “who the hell are you?” It would be chilly, and Tom would put
his arms around her. Then after the game they would ditch Ryan and
go somewhere. Just the two of them. They’d share a passionate kiss
under the moonlight, and there might even be a thundercloud when it
happened because the world would be so damn jealous.

“No sign of them yet?” Helena asked,
peeking through the door.

Ellie shook her head.

“Hang in there. It’s not like Ryan to
be late,” she comforted. “You mother and I will be walking over to
the game a bit later, if they don’t come by. Not that they won’t,”
she added quickly.

“You and Mom are coming?” she asked,
trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. They had not been a
part of her perfect date scenario.

“She doesn’t know it yet, but yes,” she
said. “Don’t worry, we’ll sit down in front with the rest of the
parents. You won’t even know we’re there. It’ll do Helen some good
to get out of the house. It will do us all good.” She watched as
her granddaughter’s face turned pensive. “What’s wrong, Ellie? Is
it something I can help you with? I’m sorry about this
morning.”

“That’s okay, it’s not you. Or Mom. I’m
just feeling a little lost, that’s all.”

“Lost as in I’m fifteen? Or lost as in
I’m someplace new?”

“Can you read my mind?”

Helena laughed. “No. My talents lie in
another direction."

“I was kidding, Nan."

If only she knew, Helena thought.
“You’ll never be fifteen again, Ellie. Don’t be too hard on
yourself. They’ll show up.”

“Maybe Ryan didn’t really mean it,”
Ellie said glumly. “Why would they want to be nice to me? They hate
me. They call me “Goth-Chic.”

“Goth-Chic?” Helena smiled. “It could
be worse. Your mother’s nickname when she was your age was Pumpkin
Butt.”

The unmistakable sound of Ryan’s car
coming around the corner interrupted their conversation.

“See, there you go,” Helena said, “that
noise you hear is your finely tuned limousine approaching.
Apparently Ryan never made it to class on time.”

“They’re coming?” Ellie squealed, as
all the insecurities that were weighing heavy on her mind suddenly
vanished.

“I’ll leave you alone to enjoy the
moment,” Helena said, heading back inside. “Have fun. We’ll see you
later, Goth-Chic.”

Ellie forced a weak smile. Maybe the
nickname wasn’t so bad.

“Black Chic!” Ryan yelled through the
open window, as the Toyota squealed up to the curb. “Hurry up. Tom
took too long trying to be perfect. We’re going to be late if we
don’t move it.”

“Excuse me?” Ellie
questioned.

“Try again, Lachey,” Tom said from the
backseat. “He hasn’t thought that nickname through, Ellie. I’ll
explain it to him later.”