In Search of the Rose Notes (14 page)

The drawing on the next page was all done in silver. It was a forest path made up of tall, leafy trees that arched inward, forming a sort of sylvan tunnel. Two rows of trees with a narrow path between them, blanketed with delicate oval leaves. The branches closed in on one another at the top; the roots swirled downward and nearly met one another in the middle. The trees went on and on, getting smaller and smaller as the path twisted slightly, disappearing into infinity.

I remembered now how beautiful I’d thought this drawing was. It was one of my many second-favorites after the line of statues on Easter Island. It had apparently been created to illustrate what an out-of-body experience felt like. I had to admit it was pretty, but I couldn’t remember what exactly I’d found so captivating about it as a kid.

I closed the book, feeling unsettled. This thing with Charlotte and the dreams and the
Looking Glass
—I couldn’t avoid it again tonight. She’d apparently been trying to get my attention that first night, and I was going to have to give in and ask her about it.

Detective Tracy Vaughan was older than she’d sounded on the phone. As I followed her gray, helmetlike bob down the corridor, I mused that this was the first time I’d ever actually been in the Waverly police station. I glanced into each of the offices we passed, hoping to catch sight of the chief slurping on a cappuccino so I could report it back to Charlotte.

Detective Vaughan led me into a surprisingly cheerful room—painted sky blue, with a long table, lots of windows, and a soda machine. A uniformed male officer was sitting there waiting for us. As I sat in the chair Detective Vaughan pulled out for me, I studied the other officer. There was something familiar about the longish quality to his face, the crooked nose, the deep-set eyes.

“Since this is a joint investigation, Officer Borello will be joining us while we talk.”

“All right,” I said.

That name was familiar.
Officer Borello.
He certainly wasn’t the officer who’d chatted with my mom and me all those years ago. That officer had been round in body and face, with a thick gray mustache. And if I recalled correctly, he had been older than this guy was now.

“Thanks for coming in for us, Ms. Reed,” he said, putting out his hand.

As I shook his hand, I remembered. Officer Borello. Of course. How could I have forgotten? He’d been the Waverly youth officer. He would come to school once a year and tell us about Saying No. He’d tell us about PCP/angel dust and quaaludes, about people who jump out of windows when they’re tripping. I remember thinking that “angel dust” sounded so pretty.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Didn’t you used to be the youth officer? Did you visit the schools a lot?”

A craggy little smile came across his face. “Yes. But I haven’t been the youth officer for six—no, seven years.”

“I remember how you’d come in to teach us about stranger danger. And then, right in the middle of this speech you were giving about strangers, this pretty lady would come in and tell us she’d just lost her puppy and could we come help her look for it?”

Officer Borello chewed the side of his lip for a moment before responding, as if considering whether he should engage in this conversation. I felt like a fool. Being in the presence of two police officers had made me nervous. My attempt to cover it up with casual friendliness was apparently falling flat.

“That was my wife,” he said.

“I liked her,” I mumbled. “She was surprisingly convincing, under the circumstances.”

Detective Vaughan cleared her throat.

“So…” she said, touching her lips with her fingertips. “Let’s get to the matter of Ms. Banks, if you don’t mind? We don’t want to take too much of your time.”

“All right,” I said, unsure if the burning sensation in my cheeks was producing a visible red.

“So we have the statement from you and your mother from 1990,” Officer Vaughan continued. “We just wanted to touch base and go over it with you. Why don’t you go ahead and tell us what you remember about the day Ms. Banks disappeared.”

“Sure,” I said. “I never saw anything unusual. She walked me home from my friend Charlotte’s—”

“From the Hemsworth residence?” Detective Vaughan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Well, it was still light out, but just barely. I remember that. Rose walked me home, since it was on her way home, too. She did it all the time. We chatted most of the way. We didn’t see anyone else walking. She dropped me there in front of my house and kept walking up the street.”

“Any cars that you noticed?”

“It’s hard for me to remember. I think there were probably a couple. There usually were, since it was the end of the workday. But I don’t remember any specific cars from that day, unfortunately.”

“Did you go straight inside after she dropped you?” Detective Vaughan wanted to know.

“No.” I glanced at Officer Borello, who looked bored. “I played outside for a little while, which I often did in those days.”

“And did you see or hear anything unusual after Rose walked up the hill?”

“No.”

“And it was your understanding she was going straight home?”

“I think so. Yeah.”

After a few similar questions, Detective Vaughan turned to Officer Borello and asked if he had any other questions. He shook his head.

“I’m going to take this from a different angle, then, Ms. Reed,” Detective Vaughan said. “What did you think when you heard she’d been found?”

“Well… I was shocked.”

“I mean, did it make you reconsider anything you’d seen? Any of her relationships you knew of?”

“I didn’t know a great deal about her relationships. Since I was only eleven.”

Officer Borello nodded sleepily. Detective Vaughan put her hand out, gesturing for me to continue. “Did you ever meet her boyfriend?”

“Only once. They did have a little fight, but it didn’t seem like anything serious.”

“Uh-huh. And her family?”

“They were nice. Her dad was a real sweet man. Her mom maybe a little stricter, but…” I had the distinct feeling I was just going through the motions here. “But… um, nothing more than mother–teenage daughter stuff, from the little I saw.”

Officer Vaughan nodded vaguely. “And how was her relationship with the Hemsworths?”

I hesitated, unsure which Hemsworth I should speak about first.

“Well, she and Paul had some of the same friends. She was a little more popular than he was, but they seemed to respect each other. They knew each other since they were little. They were nice to each other, I think.”

Detective Vaughan seemed to be waiting for me to say something more.

“Charlotte was a little bratty. But Rose was pretty casual about that. And she was paid to deal with her, so, you know, that wasn’t a real problem… .”

I trailed off, feeling I’d betrayed Charlotte by speaking ill of her in the police station, where she’d already been unfairly maligned during her
Valley Voice
days.

Both officers looked at me as if they expected something more. I shrugged.

“Just typical baby-sitting kind of stuff,” I said, if only to fill the silence.

“Well, we really do appreciate you coming in and talking to us,” Detective Vaughan said, glancing at Officer Borello. “I hope this isn’t too difficult for you.”

“It’s not difficult. I’m just sorry I don’t have more to tell you.”

“Well, it’s good to touch base with you. Will you be at that same cell number if we need to reach you again?”

“Yeah.”

“And how long will you be in town?” Officer Borello asked. “You’re visiting family, you said?”

“No. A friend.”

“Oh. Where are you staying? Not the Maplewoo, I hope.”

The Maplewood Motel was Waverly’s only motel, on Route 5 on the way out of town. Everyone made fun of its icky mint green siding and its outdoor sign with the oft-missing acrylic letters. People were always stealing the
d.
Though they mocked it, I think the Waverly High kids were the ones who kept it open. It was a popular spot for losing one’s virginity.

“No,” I said. “I’m staying with my friend on Fox Hill. Charlotte Hemsworth, actually.”

Detective Vaughan looked startled and glanced at Officer Borello. “Oh,” she chirped.

“An
old
friend, then,” Officer Borello said with a knowing nod.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You girls are still friends?” Detective Vaughan said. “You’re staying with the Hemsworths?”

“Yeah. Well, just Charlotte. Her mom is away. And Mr. Hemsworth—he doesn’t live—”

“Yes, I know,” Officer Vaughan said. “They’re divorced.”

“Have a good one,” Officer Borello said as Detective Vaughan led me out of the room.

She thanked me in the front lobby and let me go.

Mysterious Lands and Peoples:

November 1990

There had been no mention of the black books for a week. A Nintendo system had recently come into the Hemsworth home on account of Charlotte’s birthday. Charlotte was now spending hours each afternoon entering and exiting the endless, layered worlds of Super Mario Brothers—leaving the realms of prophecy and untapped psychic energies suddenly abandoned. Rose and I took an occasional, casual turn at the game, missing all the secret troves of coins and dying early. I couldn’t get into it knowing how strongly my mother objected to my playing video games. I don’t know what Rose’s problem was.

On this particular night, Paul had a soccer game and Mr. Hemsworth got home a little late. It was nearly dark by the time Rose and I left the Hemsworths’. As we stepped out of Charlotte’s driveway and onto the sidewalk, Rose brought up the Nintendo.

“I don’t like it very much,” she said. “That song it plays is really annoying. That’s why I’ve been bringing my Walkman. So I can listen to something else while I’m not playing. So it won’t drive me crazy.”

“I don’t mind the song,” I admitted. “But I’m really not supposed to play video games.”

“I wonder if this is the end of the Mysteries of the Unknown. I was wondering when Charlotte was gonna lay off that. Maybe she’s finally outgrown it.”

“Maybe,” I said, proud to be talking to Rose like this—as if we were both older than Charlotte. As if we both knew better.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m going to miss it. I mean, if Super Mario Brothers is the only other choice.”

“I’m not going to miss those books,” I declared. “The only thing I liked about them was the Druids. Well, the Druids and Easter Island.”

“My favorite was the aliens,” Rose confessed. “Why the Druids for you?”

“Well, lots of reasons,” I said, although none were actually coming to mind. “Umm. Maybe one thing is that they were
real.
Like, Charlotte spends all this time talking about psychic powers, and they might not even be real.”

“Well, sure. The Druids were real. The magic that people think they had, though…
that
might not have been real. And we’ll probably never find out if it was.”

“They had to have some kind of special power to move those stones,” I pointed out.

“I’m not going to say there was no magic involved. But all they needed to move them was a hell of a lot of people.”

I shrugged. “And I liked the doughnut stone. I want to go there someday. And walk through it. And see what happens. See if I felt different.”

“The doughnut stone?” Rose stopped walking for a moment. The wind blew her dirty-blond hair across her face, and she didn’t bother to push it away. “Oh, yeah. I remember what you mean. I was just thinking about that the other day, actually. That was interesting. The big rock with a hole in it? That heals the kids?”

I nodded.

“So you really believe it could heal people. You think that was real?”

I shrugged again. “Maybe. I think it had to have some kind of power. Otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered to put that hole in that rock. That was probably a lot of work. You wouldn’t do that for nothing.”

“Well, I guess I’d like to see it sometime,” Rose admitted. “Whether it works or not.”

“We should put it on the map,” I said. “Charlotte’s map. I haven’t told Charlotte to add that yet.”

“You don’t need to put it on Charlotte’s little map to remember you want to see it. Maybe someday you’ll just go see it on your own.”

This statement seemed a sort of betrayal. It sounded as if Rose definitely had something against Charlotte’s trip.

“Charlotte and I have planned this trip for a while,” I said defensively. “There’s a lot of stuff on the map we
both
want to see.”

“But if Charlotte’s already losing interest because of Nintendo, how likely is it she’ll want to do the trip when you guys are eighteen?”

“Well, do
you
still want to do the trip?” I asked.

“You know, it was really nice of you girls to include me. But I don’t know if I’ll be around then.”

“Where will you be?”

“Not here, I hope.”

“What will you be doing?”

“Well, that I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Charlotte already wants to be a marine biologist.”

“Right.” Rose rolled her eyes. “Good for Charlotte. She can study all the great white sharks you guys see on your way to the Bermuda Triangle. Make sure you take a good sturdy boat.”

I was quiet again as we walked toward my house. I felt stung by her revelation that she wouldn’t be taking the around-the-world investigative trip with us. Of course, it made perfect sense, now that I really thought about it. She’d be much older than us, and she couldn’t wait around.

But it still hurt—the way the last week of school hurts, when you look at your lovely teacher writing on the board and realize that you’re never in your life going to see her every day or every week or maybe ever again. That she’ll forget your name in a few months and it will be like you’d never even met. You spend a day or two considering writing her letters over the summer—letters so sweet and charming that she won’t be able to resist writing you back, and you’ll stay friends once you’ve grown up, and she’ll come to your wedding and maybe meet you for lunch when you’re twenty-five and sophisticated.