Hear No Evil (28 page)

The euphoric mood that Drace had enjoyed so deeply and sweetly, collapsed. “What?” he demanded.

“She’s been in the hospital all week. She fell down her front steps and broke her leg.”

“What?” Drace repeated, numb with disbelief. “She hasn’t been home? Since when?”

The woman paused, as if counting. “Since Monday,” she said. “Yeah. Monday.”

It’s impossible
, Drace thought, stunned to his marrow.
She’s there. I just talked to her
. And Mimi, who had disappeared early Monday morning, had talked to her three times at that number.

“She hasn’t been there? Since Monday?” he asked, as if the woman had made some incredibly stupid mistake.

She shook her head. “Her granddaughter’s staying out there now. There’s a little girl that has to be took care of, or something. They’re looking for the kid’s mother.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s complicated. My sister knows more about it than I do. She works at the hospital.”

Drace could only stare at her, dumbfounded.
Peyton’s there. But they’re trying to find her mother—shit
.

The woman smiled kindly. “Don’t take it so hard. Jessie’s not going to die or anything. She’s a tough old girl. You can probably go see her at the hospital. I think she can have visitors.”

“I—I don’t like hospitals,” Drace said shortly.

She gave him a peculiar look. “Oh. Well, maybe you could just leave the book at her house. With the granddaughter. She’s an actress. From L.A. She was a year behind me in school. My brush with fame.”

An actress
, Drace thought.
A fucking actress. They’re trying to find the kid’s mother, and I talked to a fucking actress
.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I could do that. The map—you were showing me how to get there.”

She took up her pencil again. She drew two
x
’s on the paper, a large one and a small one.

“Okay, over here’s the park, right next to her. There’s two houses, kind of all to themselves. One’s big, looks torn up, it’s being worked on. The other’s little and white. That’s Jessie’s.

Drace pointed to it. “She’s clear out there all by herself?”

“No, no,” the woman said with a smile, drawing a circle around the larger
x
. “Owen Charteris lives there, and it’s a good thing. He called the ambulance when she fell. He’s like her guardian angel.”

“Guardian angel?” Drace echoed.

“Listen,” the woman said. “You think your story about Jessie is strange? You should hear
his
. I mean, it’s like very spooky. You got a minute or two?”

“Sure,” Drace said, willing his stampeding heartbeat to slow down. “Sure. I’ve got a minute.”

She looked into his face, her eyes shining. “He was with the police, a detective, see …”

Detective
. Drace’s heart knocked as if it were he, not Mimi, who had been mortally poisoned.

After crying in Owen’s arms, Eden had dried her eyes and drawn away from him. She needed to plug in the office phone in case Mimi tried to call again.

But it was almost ten o’clock now, and there had been only two calls. One caller was a lovelorn Oklahoma construction worker, and the other had hung up without speaking.

Owen told her to take a break, that he’d poured her a cup of coffee. Now she and he stood by the kitchen
counter, and the silence between them seemed both uneasy and tender.

From the living room she could hear the sound of the television, a bouncy jingle being played on a cartoon show.

“I shouldn’t put it off any longer,” she said. “I should talk to Peyton.”

He nodded. “It’d be easier if I wasn’t here. I’ll go see Jessie.”

She put her hand on his upper arm, a gesture not only of gratitude, but of an affection that half frightened her.

He put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Her heart lurched crazily.
Why do I feel this way? This shouldn’t be happening
, she told herself. She managed a shaky smile.

Suddenly he bent and kissed her lips. “Good-bye,” he whispered. “Take care.”

Then he was gone, out the back door. She moved to the window and saw him crossing the yard toward his car, a tall, lean figure.

Her chest tightened with unexpected longing. Her lips tingled, and with a dizzying rush, she remembered last night, her naked body against his own. She knew it would be that way again tonight, that she wanted it, and so did he.

She turned from the window and ran her hand nervously through her thick bangs. She shouldn’t be thinking of Owen, she scolded herself. She had to question Peyton and, for once, get some answers from the child.

She marched purposefully into the office and unhooked the tape recorder. She checked to see if it could record like an ordinary machine. It could.

Carrying it, she went into the kitchen and took a tea towel from the rack. Then, shoulders squared, she made her way back to the living room. Peyton lay on her stomach before the television set, drawing another burning airplane. It was shaped like a crude cross and surrounded by bright orange flames in a blue sky.

Eden sucked in her breath.
Oh, Mimi
, she thought,
don’t let it be as bad as I’m afraid it is
. But she kept her face a cheerful blank.

The television droned inanely about the softness of clothes washed in Lambkins Liquid Cold Water Wash. Eden turned on the tape recorder, and placed it atop the television.

Then she sat down cross-legged beside Peyton and switched the set off.

Peyton stared at her in hurt surprise. “Hey,” she said accusingly.

“I need to talk to Fearless Fran,” she said as brightly as she could. She draped the tea towel around Peyton’s shoulders. “Hi, Fearless,” she said in her friendliest, most guileless voice.

Peyton pulled the tea towel off and stared at it unhappily. “Fearless doesn’t want to talk,” she said.

“Where’s Henry today?” Eden asked. “I’d love to hear about him. He’s Peyton’s special friend, isn’t he?”

Peyton’s face grew moodier. But she sat up, cross-legged, like Eden and put the tea towel back on her shoulders and tucked its corners into her collar.

“Fearless!” said Eden in the same enthusiastic voice. “I’m so glad you’re here. Tell me. Why’s Henry’s hair blue?”

“Because it is, that’s all,” Peyton said brusquely in the Fearless Fran voice. She set her chin at a defiant tilt.

“Does Henry always go where Peyton goes?” Eden asked, trying to start the conversation on neutral ground.

“Always,” Peyton said firmly.

“Where does he sleep at night?”

“Under her bed.”

“So he can take care of her?”

“Yes.”

“Did he always live with Peyton?”

The child slowly shook her head.

“When did he come to stay with her?” Eden asked.

“I don’t know. He just came one day.”

“Where was Peyton when he came?”

“In the dark place.”

Eden tilted her head curiously. “What dark place? It’s okay for
you
to tell, Fearless.”

Peyton’s dark little brows drew together in a frown. “The closet,” she said from between her teeth.

Eden blinked in surprise, and a sinister ripple snaked up her spine. “Why was Peyton in the closet?”

“She was bad again. I don’t like this game. I’m going away.” She snatched the towel away again and flung it aside. Her face crumpled and she looked as if she were going to cry.

Eden stared at her in concern. She leaned over and took Peyton by the arms. “Get up,” she said. “Let’s go to Granny’s chair, and you sit in my lap.”

Owen had said Peyton had enjoyed sitting in Filumena Stangblood’s lap and watching television. She rose and drew the child to her feet. She turned the television back on, but kept the sound so low it was nearly inaudible.

She led Peyton to the chair, picked her up, hugged her tightly, and sat down, holding the child close. Peyton nestled against her, sucking her thumb.

“Peyton,” Eden said, rocking the chair gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

Peyton said nothing. She held the sleeve of Eden’s blouse, gripping it so tightly her knuckles were pale. It was as if she feared Eden would vanish if she let her go.

Eden laid her cheek against the child’s hair. “I told you the truth, though. We have to talk. You don’t have to be afraid.”

She felt the little body stiffen with tension. “You don’t have to hide anything. I—I’m going to take care of you. And I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

“What if somebody hurts
you?
” Peyton demanded. Her voice was muffled because her face was pressed against Eden’s breast.

The question startled Eden, but didn’t frighten her. “Nobody’s going to hurt me or you,” she assured the child, rubbing her back. “Mr.—Mr. Charteris is helping take care of us. He’s—protecting us.”

“I don’t like him,” Peyton said, her voice trembling.

“Why? Why don’t you like him? He’s a good man.”

“You’ll go away with him. You’ll leave me.”

“I
won’t
go away with him. And if I have to go away, and your mother’s not back, I’ll take you with me. That’s a promise. How’s that?”

Dear God, why’d I say that?
Eden wondered in despair. But she found herself holding the child even more tightly, and kept rocking at a steady, comforting rhythm.

She took a deep breath. “Now listen,” she said. “We know some things about you now. You didn’t tell them, we found out, so it’s okay. I know you came here from Sedonia, Missouri, with Mrs. Brodnik. Mrs. Brodnik was her name, wasn’t it?”

Peyton drew back and stared at her almost fiercely. Tears swam in her dark eyes.

Eden put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, clasped them firmly. “It doesn’t matter if you tell, Peyton, because we already
know
. We know, love.”

Peyton blinked the tears back, but her face was taut, full of accusation.

“You and your mother went away from Mrs. Stangblood with a blond man. We know that now.”

Peyton gasped. “I didn’t tell you that!” she cried.

“Sweetheart, I know you didn’t. But we found out. Now we need you to tell us the rest. So we can take care of you. And find your mother.”

“I want to go back to Detroit,” Peyton said, her eyes welling with fresh tears and her chin trembling.

“Sweety, I know—”

“I miss Mrs. Stangblood,” Peyton wailed, bursting into tears. “I want her.”

Oh, God, what have I done?
Eden thought. How could she explain that Mrs. Stangblood was dead when this child wept so wildly for her?

She pulled Peyton close to her. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she begged. “Just tell me, when you went to Missouri, did you and your mother live on a farm?”

“Yes,” Peyton cried.

“Were there people there besides you and your mother? Men, like you drew in your pictures?”

“Yes.” The girl shuddered convulsively against her.

“Was a lady besides your mother there? With yellow hair?”

“Yes.”

“Peyton, did these people have guns? Did they ever talk about blowing things up? Like that plane in Florida?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Peyton screamed. Then she jerked
away from Eden’s embrace and put her hands over her ears. “Stop it! Stop it!”

“Oh, Peyton,” Eden said, struck to the heart.

But it was too late. The child was going into hysterics, and Eden had driven her there. The tape machine, its red light on, whirled on, setting it down like a relentless recording angel.

Eden sat alone at Jessie’s desk, her head in her hands. Peyton had finally wept herself into a state of exhaustion and was asleep on her bed. Eden could not forgive herself for inflicting such distress on the child.

The phone rang. She raised her head and shot it a miserable glare. It rang again, as if to spite her.

She had plugged it in and reattached it to the tape recorder, done it numbly, mechanically, simply to do something. Now it rang a third time.

“Show time,” she muttered bitterly and cocked her head at a determined angle. She picked up the receiver, praying she didn’t sound as if she had been crying. “Sister Jessie,” she recited, “God’s gifted seer.”

“Hello,” said a man’s soft voice. “I got a question, and I want psychic advice. What do I do? I’ve never done this before.”

His voice was young, almost boyish, a pleasant and friendly voice with a midwestern accent.

“Give me your birthdate,” she said. “I got to have it, it’s the law. So I know you’re of age.”

“November thirteenth, 1969,” he said.

“A Scorpio,” she said. “You want me to do your horoscope? Read the tarot cards for you?”

“How do I know you’re qualified to do all that?” he asked. “I mean, how much experience you got at it?”

She drew herself up and tried to answer as Jessie would. “I been doing this for fifty-five years. Is that enough experience for you?”

“Fifty-five years?” he said. “How old
are
you? You don’t sound all that old.”

“I am seventy-one years young,” Eden intoned, “and I have been reading the stars and the cards since my sixteenth year and seeing visions all my life.”

“Wow,” he said, sounding impressed. “You’ve seen a lot of history. You ever predict any great historical event?”

He’s a chatty one
, thought Eden, but tried to shrug it off. It was his money, she told herself, and he could waste it if he wanted.

“I predicted the death of Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” Eden lied. “I predicted the Korean War and the suicide of Marilyn Monroe and lots of other things.”

“Wow,” he said again. “So I guess you got a lot of experience with life, then.”

“Indeed I have,” Eden said, again puzzled by his aimless chatter. “So what can Sister Jessie do for you today?”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, it’s like hunting season just opened, and I wondered if I was going to be lucky. What do you think?”

The question made her oddly uneasy. She found herself staring into Jessie’s crystal ball, which sat beside the phone. In it, she saw a shadowy reflection of herself, upside down, a woman suspended in a topsy-turvy world.

“You’re asking just a yes or no question?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost lazily. “Hunting. Will I be lucky?”