Celtic Sister (11 page)

“Huh.”

“A little bit of anxiety mixed with guilt, I guess.”

Roxy walked into the room and plopped down in a corner. The magnitude of the plop startled Amy. She didn’t think a furry creature could make so much noise as it settled in a room. She stared at Roxy, and the dog began to wag its tail and pant.

Amy and Sam removed the drawers. They tapped every surface, pried connecting boards, and looked between the runners on both the drawers and the desk.

An hour later, the entire desk was apart on the floor, including a couple of sides which Sam had removed with an electric screwdriver. It was two o’clock, and Amy hadn’t eaten breakfast. She was a little jittery. For the first time that day, she thought about alcohol. She buried that thought and summoned the courage to ask Sam if he had any food in the house.

“I think I can scrounge up some bread and peanut butter,” he said.

“Any chance of jam?”

“I’ve got honey.”

“That would be perfect.”

They sat at a four-by-four table in a kitchen nook, eating chips and sandwiches while looking thoughtfully out the window.

“I think we’ve exhausted the desk possibility,” Amy said.

“I agree.”

“Where are the books?”

“In my closet. There are only two boxes, a few dozen books at the most.”

Amy finished her sandwich, brushed the crumbs on the table into her hand, and dropped them on her plate along with her napkin.

Since the den was now covered with drawers and pieces of the desk, they settled into the living room with the boxes of books. Amy sat on the couch cross-legged while Sam sat on the floor next to Roxy. Roxy’s head was on Sam’s knee, and he was petting her neck.

An eclectic assortment of books emerged from the boxes. About half of them were novels, romance and thrillers, some young adult. There were several religious books. One book of poetry. An atlas. A well-illustrated book on astronomy. A physics textbook as well as a calculus textbook. An anthology of Irish folklore filled with lovely pictures of very green places. A beautiful coffee-table book of photography. Several craft books – beads, sewing, and macramé.

“Macramé,” Amy said. “I didn’t think anyone did this anymore.”

Sam looked at her crossly.

“I mean even fifteen years ago, Sam. This is like seventies stuff.”

“Well, my sister had a wide variety of interests.”

“I guess.” Amy grabbed the photography book and leafed through it slowly. A photo of a very pregnant woman caught her eye and her belly fluttered. She touched her abdomen absentmindedly as she had done so many times during her pregnancy. Dark images threatened to invade her mind, but she steeled herself and moved on.

“Did your sister ever doodle in the margins like you?” she asked as she picked up the calculus textbook.

“No.”

“Did you guys ever exchange notes using a secret code? Like the drawings you made in your CSI textbook? You know,
dog
for best friend.
Eye
for I’m looking out for you.
Lips
for my girlfriend’s over tonight.
Shapes
mean… my left brain is working.
Birdhouse
for freedom. That sort of thing?”

Sam chuckled. “No. The dogs are all about Roxy.” He smiled at his dog. “Right, girl?”

Thump, thump, thump went her tail.

“The crosses, my sister’s faith. Shapes are random. The lips…” He blushed. “I miss being kissed. The birdhouses…” He rummaged through the stack of books by his feet. “My sister liked to make birdhouses.” He held up a craft book which explained how to build, decorate, and mount birdhouses. “We had them all over the backyard.” He set the book down. “And the eyes? I don’t know. I just like eyes.”

“Are they Emma’s eyes?”

“I’d have to look. I don’t think I’m talented enough to capture those subtle details.”

“Sure you are. They were very good.”

“Anyway…” Sam waved her off. “Let’s keep looking.” He hesitantly examined the inside of a hardcover book. “I really don’t want to take apart books. That doesn’t seem like an Emma thing.”

“Just look for one that’s already damaged,” Amy suggested.

He watched her turning pages. “What are you doing? There’s no way something like that would be small enough to fit between the pages of a calculus book and be missed all these years.”

“I know, but I’m still hoping for a code or clue written in the margins.”

“My sister didn’t write in books.”

“I see that.”

Several hours later, they had examined every book. Sam had even given in and cut the spines off five hardcover books. Nothing. The air of disappointment was palatable. Roxy glanced back and forth between the two of them. At this point, Amy was slumped on the couch, her eyes focused on the ceiling, while Sam paced in agitation.

“What now, Amy?”

At that moment, Roxy leapt to her feet and scrambled into the hall, barking madly. Sam and Amy followed her.

The dog was pacing and growling back and forth between the front door and the window. Her growls rumbled low in her throat and her hackles bristled.

“What’s the matter with her?”

“I don’t know. She almost never growls like this.” He approached her and attempted to peer out the window to the left of the door. “Easy, girl. Easy.” Roxy sat quietly at the sound of his voice. Suddenly, Sam bolted to the door and opened it. “Someone’s running away.”

In the heat of the moment, Roxy slipped past Sam, her barking and growling renewed by Sam’s change in mood.

“Roxy,” he screamed. “Get back here.”

She disappeared.

“Oh, no,” Amy whispered. “Was that person looking into the apartment?”

Out of nowhere Roxy returned, panting and wagging her tail.

“Good girl,” Sam said. “Did you chase that big bad prowler away? Did you get a piece of him? Huh, girl?” She wagged more and more enthusiastically until her entire hindquarters swayed back and forth. “Come on. Let’s get you a treat.”

Amy shuddered as Sam closed and dead-bolted the door.

“What do you think that man was doing?” she asked tentatively, although somewhere in the back of her mind she had a sinking suspicion. She followed Sam into the kitchen.

“Who knows? There’s not much to steal here. Books. A couple of pots and pans. A three-year-old computer.” He pulled a couple of glasses out of a cupboard and started rummaging through other cupboards. “Oh, and some unmailed med school applications. Big whoop.”

Amy sat down at the four-by-four kitchen table.

“Here it is,” Sam announced, and he produced a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Hope you like whiskey.”

“Absolutely,” Amy said. The whole concept of alcohol came as a wave of relief.

Sam poured a couple of glasses and sat down.

Amy cleared her throat. “The thing is…”

“Yes?”

“The thing is, Brent didn’t know where I was going when I left.”

“So? That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“But he just showed up at the motel this morning.”

“He showed up? You didn’t call him?”

Amy took a generous sip of the whiskey, savoring the way it burned her throat.

“Of course I didn’t call him. Why would I call him?”

“I thought you were going to confront him. That’s what we talked about.”

“That’s what
you
talked about,” Amy said crossly. Then she took another sip and quieted her voice. “Let’s not argue about this. That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”

“So what’s the point?”

“He didn’t know where I was staying. He
found
me. His dad called in some favors or something and found out I got a job at Banhi’s Grill.”

“Is that the new restaurant going in next to Russ and Smitty’s?”

“Yeah. It’s really going to be cool. Indian food. The brother of the woman who owns the Shanti Motel gave me a job helping him get the place cleaned up.” Amy felt proud as she described it. It wasn’t like she was a grunt worker; she was part of something big in the making.

“So the brother didn’t give you up, did he?”

Amy shook her head. “No, no, no. The employment paperwork. I gave Sahil my social security number. I wasn’t thinking. I mean if I had a credit card or a cell phone, I would think Brent would have me pinned down in a heartbeat. But I didn’t think he could track me through my social security number. The Richardsons just made a call to someone they knew in the government.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“But after they found out where I worked, they must have had someone follow me home. Sahil and I agreed to use the restaurant as my address. It was his idea. I think his family has helped more than one runaway in the past. He was being protective.”

Sam sat forward. “So you think someone followed you here? It wasn’t just a random jerk looking into windows.”

Amy shrugged. “I don’t know. But it
is
weird.”

“Yeah. This place is very safe overall. And Roxy hasn’t gone nuts like that in a while.”

“Think about it. Now the Richardsons know we’re on to them. This is kind of creepy.”

Sam took a sip of his whiskey. “Not just kind of. It’s unnerving.”

“So I guess you should be careful. Stay alert.”

“No
you
should be careful. I have a dog.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

He tapped the table. “You could stay here. I can sleep on the couch.”

“No. That’s not necessary. I mean, they’re not threatening us.”

“A man looking into my window qualifies.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Brent
suggested
we find the notebook. If he knew it was damaging, he wouldn’t have told me about it.”

“He
suggested
?”

“Yeah, he said if you knew about the notebook, you’d realize it was made by a girl saying good-bye.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Amy felt a stone drop in her stomach. “Now that you mention it, it does sound fishy.”

Sam got up and made his way into the living room. “They want us to find the notebook so they can take it. Destroy it.”

“Maybe,” Amy replied. She downed her glass of Jack Daniels and followed Sam, Roxy at her heels.

“But we have nothing.” Sam held out his arms and turned in a circle in the middle of the books.

“Nothing yet.” Amy stared at the books on the floor.

“Maybe we should attack the desk again. Break it into pieces and—”

“Wait,” Amy interrupted. “Tell me again about the birdhouses.” She stooped down, picked up the
Build Your Own Birdhouse
book, and held it up. “Did she make them from scratch?”

“Well, she had kits, but basically yes.”

Amy’s adrenaline rushed. “So she took pieces of wood and put them together to make a birdhouse?”

“That’s the general concept of building.” He gave her a slight smirk. “Then she painted them and fastened them to trees. Some she gave away.”

“Did she ever give one to you?”

“Not exactly, but…” Color rushed into Sam’s face. “Amy, you’re brilliant.”

She smiled.

“Positively brilliant,” he said again. “I just hope we can talk Mom into letting me take it down.”

Amy frowned. “Don’t you have it?”

“No. It’s at my parents’ house. The last one Emma made before she disappeared. It was the most elaborate of the bunch. She made a big deal out of it when she showed it to me. Later, after she was gone, we hung it up in the silver maple. It was autumn, so it could lose its paint and people smells during the winter. Birds like that. We even had a little ceremony when we fastened it to the tree. I think there are birds in there almost every spring. Mom thinks Emma sends them from heaven.”

“Your mom thinks Emma’s dead?”

Sam touched Amy’s shoulder. “Eventually, I think she had to. It was the only way she could move on. She even got angry with me a few years ago when I blathered on about God telling me Emma was okay. So we just don’t talk about it. She lives in her reality, and I live in mine.”

Amy nodded. They were quiet for a moment.

“But the birdhouse might have something hidden in it,” Amy said.

“It would be the perfect place.”

“Perfect size.”

“Perfect disguise.”

“So you think your mom will let you have it?”

Sam sighed. “It’s going to take some delicate convincing.”

“Can we call her?” Amy asked. She was beaming.

“I guess that’s the best place to start.”

Chapter Twelve

Sam held a phone to his ear and paced circles around the room. Amy sat on the couch, waiting in anticipation for his parents to answer. Eventually, she could hear the sound of a voice recording, and Sam hung up. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m tempted to just run over there and wait, but that’s probably not the best way to approach the subject. If I sound like a zealot ready to rip the birdhouse from the tree the moment they walk through the door, it won’t go well.”

“I agree. But what are you going to tell her? If she doesn’t want to hear about your feelings that Emma might be okay, what are you going to say?”

He smiled, kneeled in front of her, and took her hand. “That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to tell her it’s time to fork over her missing daughter’s beloved birdhouse?”

“I think we can come up with something more appealing than that.”

Sam rested on his knees and then settled entirely to the floor. Roxy walked up to him and started nosing his hand. He looked at his watch. “Probably time for a walk and some dinner. Huh, Roxy?” Then he addressed Amy. “Let’s walk, talk, and make a plan.”

“Do you think it’s safe? With the prowler on the loose?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam stood up and brushed off his pants. “Roxy will smell that guy long before we see him.”

Amy glanced toward the kitchen at Sam’s still half-full glass of whiskey. She hated herself for the nagging obsession but was not going to stoop to the level of sneaking his drink.

They walked through the park, stopping now and again while Roxy sniffed something.

“So I’m thinking,” Sam began, “honesty is the best policy, but we need to soften it up so it doesn’t sound like a crusade.”