Up in Smoke (12 page)

Retracing his steps, he went back along the hallway and through the family room into the kitchen. Window broken from the inside. Looked like a large object had been thrown through it. Nothing identified the object. Cabinets and counter tops in 1950s style apple green ceramic tile. Thumps at the front door had him backing up against the wall in the family room as he eased his gun from the shoulder holster.

The door slammed open, a clunky black shoe kicked a backpack inside.

“Put your hands over your head!” he said.

“Aaaaahh—!”

“Hands on your head!”

Hands flew up and fingers laced over dark spiked hair colored lime green.

“Keep your hands over your head and turn around slowly!”

She did as told. Kid, dressed like a hooker. Five five, brown and brown. Red leather skirt barely covering her butt, tight white halter thing, bare mid-section. Scuffed black shoes with thick soles. Fingernails painted black, embedded with glittery stones.

“Who're you?” he asked.

“This isn't going to be like one of those rape things, is it?”

“Name?”

“Moonbeam.”

“First or last?”

“Melody.”

“First or last.”

“Moonbeam Melody,” she snapped.

“Got any identification?”

She grabbed at the backpack.

“Slowly!”

“Stop yelling at me! You're making me nervous!” She unzipped the backpack, rummaged around inside and brought out a purple wallet. When he held out a hand, she reluctantly dropped it in his palm.

He glanced through the wallet, noted her name was Arlene Harlow, and handed it back.

“What are you doing here?” She jammed the wallet inside the backpack and hugged it to her chest.

“Cop.” He showed her his ID.

“You creep! You scared the shit out of me! I got mugged in the library last week! Where were you then!”

He put his ID back in his pocket. “What happened?”

She hesitated and he could see her busy little mind making up a lie. “Now's your chance,” he said. “Carpe diem.”

“Carpe your own diem. Some sleaze stole my backpack.”

“Yeah? And what's that?” He touched the toe of his boot to the backpack on the floor.

“I found it in the parking lot.”

“Yeah? If I see him I'll shoot him. What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” She flounced to the living room, threw herself in an easy chair and crossed her arms. “Don't you have anything better to do than break into people's houses and scare them the fuck to death?”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Eighteen,” she snapped.

“Try again.”

“Why?” She eyed him darkly.

“Bus pass is for a minor.”

“Sixteen.”

He waited. Two beats went by. “Fourteen,” she admitted sullenly.

“Fourteen,” he repeated. “Going to a Halloween party?”

“No.”

“Then why you dressed like that?”

She rolled onto one hip and tugged on the end of the skimpy skirt. “Don't you know anything? This is fashionable.”

“For a hooker, maybe. That what you're trying to look like?”

Her pixie face reddened with anger. “What do you know?”

“Well, Ms.
Moonbeam,
being a cop, not too much, but I figure you're not old enough to own this place, so that must mean you're related somehow to the person who does. What's his name?”

“Vincent Egelhoff.”

“You live with him?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“You don't know anything, do you? He's dead.”

She was right about that.

“A truck slid across the road and smashed into him,” she said. “His car went over the cliff and when they got there he'd bled all over the inside and blood spilled out in rivers when they opened the door.”

Demarco wondered if slasher movies were this kid's favorite. The one thing he did know about Vincent Egelhoff was that he'd died in a skiing accident. “You don't seem very upset by his death.”

“What do you know?”

Right. Sometimes the pain went too deep for the usual show of grief. Sometimes it buried itself and ate at you from the inside.

“Big dumb cop like you came to the school and told the principal and she called me out of class and led me into her inner office and she told me. Unlike you, she had feelings.”

“Who's this Egelhoff to you?”

“He's married to my sister.”

Okay, Demarco thought, now we're getting somewhere. “What's her name?”

“Gayle.” She looked around. “Where is she?”

He could see apprehension start to stir just under the surface. “You live with your sister.”

“So?”

“Where are your parents?”

She shrugged. “Tornado flattened the house when I was two days old. It's just Gayle and me.”

Ah Christ, he thought wearily. “Your sister is Gayle Egelhoff.”

“I just told you that.”

“What other relatives do you have?”

She kicked a heel against the carpet. “Just Gayle and me.”

“Were you home Friday night?”

“What's it to you?”

“Where were you?”

“Kansas City.”

He sent her a look, wondering if she was lying. “What were you doing there?”

“Music Festival. I'm in the Choral Society. We performed. Got a first place.”

“And last night?”

“I just told you,” she yelled. “Kansas City.”

“When did you get back?”

“Duh? I just walked in the door.”

“Sit tight.” He went into the kitchen.

*   *   *

She could hear him muttering into his radio. Something really, really bad was going on. Her hands started to shake and she jammed them down between the cushion and the arms of the chair. She felt something and pulled it out. Sunglasses. Gayle was always losing things. She tried to swallow and choked. When he came back, she said, “Something happened to Gayle, didn't it?”

He didn't say anything, just looked at her with cop's eyes.

Oh God, she didn't like this. “What happened?”

“Someone's coming. She'll tell you.”

“You tell me! What happened! Is she hurt? Bad? Where is she? In the hospital? Is she dead?”

Nothing went on in the cop's face, but she knew. Something really really bad happened to Gayle and she was—Gayle was—

Roaring started in her ears and rushed over her. The edges of her vision got kind of fuzzy and then—

Next thing she knew, the cop had his hand on the back of her neck and she was folded double. She couldn't get up. Oh God, oh God. He's going to kill me. Oh God, please help me. I promise I'll be good. I promise—

He let go. She straightened, took a breath and screamed.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You're all right. You just fainted.”

“I did not.” She clamped her teeth. Cold, it was really really cold in here. Her teeth had started to chatter. “My sister! What happened!”

“Another officer is on her way. When she gets here—”

“I'm fine. See. I'm calm.” She sucked in all the air she could find and blew it out slowly. “Tell me now! She's dead, isn't she? Gayle's dead and you won't tell me. What happened to her? Is she dead?”

His cop's eyes bored into her like X-ray vision to read the inside of her brain.

“Yes,” he finally said. “She probably died of a head injury.”

“What happened?”

“That's what we're trying to find out.”

“Where is she? Should I—?” She jumped up and started for the door.

He caught her around the waist and plopped her right back in the chair. “You need to stay here for a little bit.”

“Why? 'Cause something's wrong about how she died? Tell me!”

So he told her and it was like her mind started making all this static and she couldn't hear. One thing was really really clear though. Gayle was dead. Somebody had hit her and shoved her in the trunk of the car.

She had to get away. She didn't know what the cops would do with her, but she knew they wouldn't just go away and let her stay here by herself, even though she was perfectly capable. They'd make her go someplace. Not to jail, she wasn't so dumb she believed that, but someplace that would be the same. They'd make her stay there. She wouldn't be allowed to go anywhere. She couldn't see her friends.

“I need some water.” She started to get up.

“Stay. I'll get it.”

How was she going to get away from Dipshit in there? Meanest-looking cop she'd ever seen. Face probably made by an ax hacking away at stone. She considered crying and nixed it. Probably wouldn't reach the heart of Dirtbag in there. Probably didn't have one.

“You mind if I let the dog in?” He was at the sink filling a glass with water when she darted past, fumbled the door open and took off running.

17

Fucking son of a bitch! Moonbeam slithered under the wooden fence next door, her scarf caught on a jagged board. It ripped when she yanked it free. She moved, not so fast somebody'd think she was running from something, but fast enough so she'd leave space behind her. Beef-brained cop! No way she'd let herself be jerked around by children's services. Line up foster homes. Shit, make her an unpaid servant or a punching bag for some rapist pervert. She upped the pace.

Holding herself tight on no running, she cut across Birch Street and made a right on California. Row of televisions in Nathan's Electronics all flickering with the same thing. Ducking her head, she walked along by the window, until a picture of Gayle came on. She stepped inside. News program, talking about Gayle. She stood there watching until the sales guy gave her a look and started her way, then she lit out.

Only when she heard the sounds of the river doing its rushing, sloshing roar thing, did she realize how far she'd come. She heard something else. Car? She listened. Coming up behind! She slid off the road into the ditch alongside.

Cop car. Pressing up against the dirt, she kept her head down until it was way past. When she figured she'd be permanently deformed if she didn't move, she poked her head up. Coast clear. She clambered up the embankment, dusted mud and dead leaves and shit off her skirt, wincing as she gently brushed over the scrape on her side where her top had slid up when she dived in the ditch.

The wind had picked up and she was way out here and all without a coat. Still headed toward the river, plodding slowly, she kicked around her brain cells to think where she might flop for the night. It wouldn't get dark for hours yet, but it was getting awfully cold.

Hypothermia would set in if she didn't think of something. Stupid cop. Think. Anybody walking around on a day like this without a coat would be picked up for a loony. She was always good at taking care of herself, why wasn't she getting a flash? Brain freeze.

Library? Nah. They probably searched before they locked up. Ladies room? Not a fab plan, but, at least, something. She trudged along the edge of the road as it curved around and then clambered down the embankment to the river's edge. The water looked dark and cold. Her nose started to drip.

Rubbing it vigorously, she clamped her teeth. She never cried. Okay, so she did when Vince died, but that was last month when she was only thirteen and she had Gayle and Gayle had cried. On October 14, she'd turned fourteen and she still had Gayle. Now it was October 26 and she didn't have Gayle. She didn't have anybody.

“God damn you, Gayle. Why'd you have to go and get dead for? Shit shit shit!” The river kept rushing away to wherever it rushed away to as though she wasn't even there. She found a rock and threw it in. It hardly even made a sound with all the rushing and sloshing.

When she was back on the road, kicking rocks and hiking toward town, she thought of where she could go.

*   *   *

“You ran away from the cops?” Sherry, stomach down on one of the twin beds, bunched the pillow beneath her chest and put her arms around it. “You're a fugitive! Wow! You're going to have to keep running and running, like that guy in that old movie. I'll help!” She tossed the pillow aside and scooted around to sit up, leaning forward eagerly. “They always need somebody they can call, like in emergencies, or to find out what's going on, or if they have a narrow escape and stuff.”

Moonbeam lay flat out on her back on the other twin bed, wrist over her forehead, staring at the ceiling. A long dusty spider web hung down in the left corner. Sherry's mom didn't worry so much about spider webs. She was kind of loose about things and was always so busy she didn't pay attention. That was why Moonbeam thought she could come here.

“Hey, you're bleeding.”

Moonbeam twisted around to look at the scrape on her side. “I fell.”

“Gosh, you want me to get a bandage or something?”

“Naw. It's okay. I probably ought to go so you don't have to lie.”

“I'll never turn you in, Arlene, no matter—”

“Don't call me that!”

“Oh, right, sorry, Moonbeam, but do you think this is a really good idea? I mean, you can stay here and all. Mom has a date tonight and she's okay, like if I told her I had a friend staying over and all, but, you know, it'll probably be on the news, about your sister and they're looking for you and everything.”

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted a place to get out of the cold.”

Sherry lay back on the bed. “I'm really sorry about your sister. What happened, do you know?”

“Somebody whacked her and stuffed her in the car trunk.”

Sherry gasped. “Why?”

“Don't know, but I bet it has something to do with that time, you know, a million years ago in that fire where Vince got hurt and everything.”

“Why do you think that?” Sherry wriggled down and dangled her legs off the foot of the bed.