Scraps of Paper (6 page)

So she jumped when the knocking came at the front door. She put her artwork away, it was too soon for anyone to see it, and answered the door.

“Frank! What are you doing out in this storm?” was what came out of her mouth, though she was happy to see a real human face hovering in front of her and not some ghost.

“Visiting you. Should have called first, but the storm messed up the phones. Is it a bad time?”

“No, other than there’s a hurricane out there. I was ready for a break. Been working on Martha’s watercolor of her mansion, er, house.”

Standing in the doorway, rain was dripping down Frank’s face, his hair was soaked, and in his hands was a tiny bit of white fur that moved. He held it out to her and she took it. “What’s this?” she asked when the ball of fur peered up at her with huge frightened eyes. It meowed and attempted to hide in her hands.

“A kitten I found on your porch. It came right to me. I thought it was yours so I caught it. I think it’s hungry.”

“No doubt.” Abigail could feel its tiny heart beating. Wet and dirty, the creature was quivering. “But it isn’t mine. I don’t have a cat.” Not anymore, she thought. Joel and she had had a cat, Shadow, who’d disappeared after Joel had. She’d loved that cat and had hunted everywhere for it. Losing Shadow, too, had made the pain of losing her husband even worse. But Shadow had been fifteen years old and Abigail had concluded that, pining for Joel, she’d gone off to die somewhere. Something, at the time, Abigail had wished she could have done as well.

“Oh, my mistake. I felt sorry for the poor thing. It’s all bones and fur.”

Abigail tried to give it back to him. “Oh, no.” He pushed it away. “I have two monster German Shepherds at home. They’d eat this kitten as an appetizer.”

The kitten was purring, probably from the warmth of her hands and Abigail wasn’t sure what to do with it. It was licking her fingers, its tiny tongue rough and eager.

“The kitten most likely came from the cat lady’s house.” Frank let her off the hook. “She lives behind you about a half mile through the trees. Evelyn Vogt. Remember we told you about her–the village’s animal hoarder? Every town has one. Evelyn’s ours. Nice enough old biddy, but a little off in the attic. She has a full zoo living in that house with her.”

“Then someone,” Abigail exclaimed. “Ought to do something about her. Hoarding animals is a criminal offense. I saw a special on it on television last week. Animals crammed and locked in cages, neglected and starved. Terribly mistreated. Sometimes not on purpose, but suffering all the same. Ugh!”

Frank’s shock was genuine. “Not in Evelyn’s case. Her animals are not abused, but treated like little kings and queens. She’s well-off and adores them. She merely has a lot of them.”

“Through the woods a half a mile behind me?”

“Yep. Straight back. Head for the barnyard sounds and you can’t miss it.”

“How did it get a half mile from home in this weather?” She lifted the creature high and looked at it. It swatted a paw at her and began to purr. “It’s no bigger than a fly.”

“It sensed a potentially soft touch; a home where it didn’t have so many siblings hogging up all the food.

“Abigail, you going to invite me in or what? It’s pouring out here.”

“Oh, sorry, come on in. Make yourself at home, Frank. Can I get you some coffee or soda to drink?” She led him into the kitchen.

“Coffee would be nice. Black. Please. After battling that squall out there a hot cup of anything would be welcome.”

Abigail poured the coffee and handed the cup to Frank, and against her better judgment warmed up a saucer of milk for the cat. “There must have been a reason you came by and I’m guessing it wasn’t the cat.”

“And you’d be right. I wanted–needed–to tell you something.” He hesitated, unsure.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Then do.”

“The other night, when you and I were discussing the history of this house and Emily and her kids, I’m sorry I wasn’t as forthcoming as I should have been. The truth is Emily was more than an acquaintance, she was a good friend and I cared for her…a lot.”

“You mean you dated her?”

“Not exactly. I wanted to. I asked her out enough. Maybe I even thought I loved her. Puppy love, you know. She was vibrant, pretty, smart and artistic, like you. But she was much older. She didn’t take me seriously. I was only a small town sheriff’s deputy. A child in her eyes, I’m sure.

“Besides, she had a past, this other life…this secret boyfriend. The whole town knew she was seeing someone she was crazy about and who was ferociously jealous of her. No one knew who he was. As sweet as Emily Summers was, being divorced with kids in 1970 was still frowned upon. A town scandal. I was more forgiving than others because I was young and she was nice to me. She had kids, was alone and yet she wanted more out of life; wanted to be someone. She had dreams. I admired her for that and never giving up. Truth is, until I moved back to town, I hadn’t thought of Emily and her kids in years. They were a faded distant memory from my past.

“Then around the time of Edna’s death I discovered, by accident, that they hadn’t returned to town for any reason in all those years. I’d never known that, living in Chicago. No one here had seen them again, not even at Edna’s funeral or to claim the house. But what really made me think was when I was here the other night–which revived so many memories anyway–and you showed me those notes you’d found. I thought, something’s not right. My cop nose was itching. I haven’t been able to get them off my mind since.

 “So now I have unanswered questions I never had before. Back then most people saw nothing suspicious about their sudden absence. Emily packed up, people thought, and left, looking for a fresh start. A better, new life. That’s what Edna told everyone. I was only one of a handful of people who believed something didn’t fit. Emily wouldn’t have left town without saying goodbye to me or her friends, or leaving a note. So I spent time asking questions and looking for a crime that no one else saw as being there. Made me look foolish, but I was leaving town anyway and didn’t care. But I never found out anything.

“So I’ve been thinking of looking into it again. Oh, I know,” he put up his hand, “it was a very long time ago, but I owe Emily and those kids that. At least that.”

 Abigail sighed. “Well, I think you should. I want to know about the people who used to live in my house. Even if the three are safe somewhere in Florida eating potato chips and watching television, I’d like to know. Yet…those notes are suspicious.

“And, speaking of Emily and the children, I found some interesting papers upstairs this morning in Edna’s old chifforobe. I’ll go get them.”

As Abigail was coming back into the kitchen, the kitten, with a belly full of milk, launched herself into Frank’s lap. He awkwardly petted her until the creature jumped to the carpet and climbed up her leg.

“She thinks you’re her mistress already,” he said.

Picking the cat off her thigh, Abigail hugged her and handed over the papers. “They’re Edna’s, I think. Did you know that this house legally belonged to Emily and her children? Not Edna? Obviously, by what someone wrote on the back there, there was bitterness over it.”

Frank started rifling through the papers. “No, I had no idea. Edna always acted as if it were hers, called it hers, even when Emily was living here with her.” He returned the documents.

“
Who
do you think got what they deserved?” Abigail referred to the words on the papers.

“Not a clue. Haven’t found any more cryptic messages from the children, have you?”

“No. I’m still looking. The next sunny day, when I can see the spiders and bugs coming, I’ll tackle the basement. When I was a child I used to play and hide things in ours. Maybe the kids hid some messages down there.”

“Yell if you need help. I’ve had experience searching for hidden evidence and I’m good at killing spiders.”

“I may do that.”

Frank stood up as the rain slammed against the house walls and the thunder rocked the foundation. “I ought to go. My dogs are probably throwing themselves at the doors by now in fits of fear. They’re terrified of storms.”

Half way out the door he said, “Saturday is the Fourth of July and here in Spookie we have a yearly tradition. There’s a picnic at the Town Park and a sort of outdoor festival along Main Street with game and craft booths; fireworks in the evening. Everyone goes. All the businesses close early. The food, barbeque on the picnic grounds, is the best in the county and there are honest-to-goodness grown up carnival rides I can guarantee are safe. Want to go with me?”

His request took her off guard. She didn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, I’ll understand. I meant, as a friend? No pressure. I could show you everything and let you know who is who. It’s hard being the new person in town.”

She was relieved. “As friends, sure. Sounds like fun. When does this shindig start?”

“Picnic begins at ten in the morning, the food and craft booths open then as well, and the fireworks commence the moment it’s dark. Is ten too early?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m an early riser.”

“Great. We can walk from here if you don’t mind? Parking in town is tough on a holiday.”

“Good, you know I like to walk. See you then.” Through the open door she watched Frank run out to his truck, dodging raindrops, and drive off into the fog. So she and Frank were to be friends. Friends were nice. She looked at her gold wedding band and experienced the old sadness. How long would she feel married and continue to mourn for Joel?
Till death do us part
…she’d made that promise so long ago. But now that Joel was dead why did she still feel this way? Like by going out, she was cheating on him? She wished she knew.

She prepared a box lined with a soft towel for the kitten to sleep in; thinking that tomorrow she’d return the little feline to its real home. Then she went to bed. Sometime in the middle of the night she woke up to a soft purring and a fluffy body curled up beside her neck, tiny paws patting her skin. It smelled of dirt and urine and she gently shoved it away from her face, but it was back in moments. She didn’t have the heart to push it away again. She realized it was lonely, like her, so she let it stay.

Chapter 5

The kitten woke her up, licking her face. Hungry again. Abigail found a can of tuna in the cabinet, refilled the milk saucer and the creature gobbled every morsel and drank every drop. “Hungry little mite, aren’t you?” she spoke to the kitten as it ate. But it did look half-starved and Abigail felt sorry for it.

Outside the rain had ended and the sun was shining. Abigail got dressed and tugged on boots. The woods would be muddy, but at least there’d be no more water coming from the sky.

The Fourth of July picnic was only two days away and she was looking forward to it. Barbeque chicken was one of her favorite foods and she loved picnics, especially the ones with the carnival rides. She used to love holidays, any holiday, with Halloween her favorite and Christmas second. The Fourth of July brought back poignant memories of being a child, of hot nights, cold watermelon and multi-hued sparklers lighting up the dark. Whiffs of fireworks burning in the air. Her family had never had much money but every holiday her parents scraped together every penny they could to give them those happy times. They’d had a lot of love.

She ate a bowl of cereal and picking up the kitten, headed out the door. Frank had said straight behind the house through the woods so she began walking in that direction. The whole way two phantom children skipped around her among the trees, laughing and whispering secrets. Since Frank had mentioned sitting so long ago at Emily’s kitchen table with the kids outside playing she’d had this image of them out there twirling sparklers, laughing and running through the mist. She’d go to the window, peek out, and be surprised they weren’t there.

Abigail was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. This morbid fascination with a past she had nothing to do with and could never change was nagging her. Why were these children haunting her? And when Myrtle had mistaken her for Emily in the street and Frank had compared her, as an artist, to Emily, why had that bothered her?

Evelyn Vogt’s house was a sprawling estate with a dilapidated structure that passed for a house on it. Abigail noted the peeling paint and the grimy windowpanes, each one filled with some animal or other making faces at her. Cats and barking dogs romped all over the grounds and she had to be careful of where she stepped. What a portrait it all would make. Crazy Animal House.

Up to the front door and
knock
-
knock
-
knock
, the kitten asleep in her arms. She was glad to be getting rid of it before its tiny claws got hooked into her heart. A woman most likely in her seventies, stringy and as tall as Abigail, answered the door dressed in a bright ruby dress. With jewelry at her throat, ears, and on every finger; red lipstick smeared awry on thin lips and eyeliner on her eyes, as if she were about to go to a party. She looked like a surprised squirrel. In her arms was the smallest, fattest bulldog Abigail had ever seen. It growled at her.

“Now, now, sweetie, be nice,” party lady cajoled the dog, caressing its ugly head.

“Mrs. Vogt? Hello, I’m your new neighbor, Abigail Sutton.”

“Well, well, I know all about you child. You bought that haunted Summers’ house. Poor thing. Come on in for tea and we’ll talk. I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Mrs. Vogt, I’ve found one of your kittens and I’m returning her.”

“Keep her if you wish. I could do without her, I have others.”

“No, thank you. I don’t need a cat.”

“Who ever really needs a cat, dearie? They need us. Come inside.”

They were inside. Before her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom Abigail nearly tripped over a huge sheepdog. Once the house must have been beautiful but now it was shabby and dirty, over run by animals and apathy, streams of dried water stained the walls and there were missing tiles in the ceilings. The smell of mold and animal was heavy. Urine. Bugs.

Abigail put the kitten down and it scampered off. Her eyes followed its path, and she felt a twinge of regret. “You have an awful lot of animals living here with you. How do you feed them all?”

“Last count? Over fifty something. And you spend what you have to for your children. They love me and I take care of them. Animals live in another reality than ours, you know. There’s a network where they tell each other which humans can be trusted to care for, love and feed them. That’s how a cat or dog knows which house to go to for shelter.”

“Oh,” was all Abigail could think to say. She hoped she wasn’t in that network now.

Tea was a grand affair with sandwiches and cookies, and gossip. Evelyn’s body might have been old, but her mind was sharp. She was very entertaining and eager for company.

“That house you’re living in is full of ghosts,” Evelyn confided as they were sipping tea. “It’s probably Emily and those kids. Not Edna, though, she was too ornery to be a ghost.”

“So you knew Emily and her children then?”

“I surely did. You know,” she squinted her eyes at her, “you look like Emily. My, my. She was so special. Nothing like that sister of hers. Now that Edna was a hateful woman. Hated people. Hated animals. Can’t prove it, but I think she poisoned some of my poor little pets over the years. When Edna was alive I found dead carcasses everywhere. That kitten that wandered over to your house must have known it was under new ownership. Well, anyway, back to Emily. Edna despised her younger sister and wanted that house.”

“But it belonged to Emily, didn’t it?”

“Yes. It did. Now that wasn’t widely known. Edna kept it secret. How did you know?”

Abigail explained about finding the legal papers.

 “Well, I’m glad Edna’s dead, but she took all the rest of her secrets to the grave, I’m afraid, and she had secrets. Heaven knows.” She shook her head and went on.

“Jenny and Christopher used to come over here that last summer, it seems like yesterday not thirty years ago, and have meals with us and do odd jobs for extra money because they never had any. Never had anything. And to get away from Edna while their mom was at work. They were always hungry and needing this or that, like two little orphans. Their lives were dismal. My husband, George, was alive then and, oh yes, Myrtle Schmitt, my big sister, was living with us that summer too. She knew them. Loved Emily and the kids, despised Edna.”

Wagon Myrtle was Evelyn’s older sister? It figured. Both were sweet old ladies but neither woman’s wick went to the bottom of their candle; no surprise they were related. “I’ve met your sister.”

“You should talk to her about the Summers family. She was closer to them that summer than I was. She’d go over there and tell Edna off when she thought the woman was neglecting or frightening those kids. Which was all the time. The two had a few heated go-rounds, I’ll tell you that. Myrtle can be formidable when she wants to be.”

“Was there anyone else the kids were afraid of?”

“One of Emily’s boyfriends, I think. She had a few unwanted admirers like the old Sheriff Cal. Emily seemed to attract the wrong sort of men. I tried to get the kids to tell me who was bullying them, but they were too afraid of whoever it was to squeal. One boyfriend drank too much, I recall, and Myrtle was sure he was married or something. It explained the secrecy.”

The lost kitten that Abigail had brought back had returned with friends and all of them were tumbling crazily through the rooms meowing, swatting at each other and playing.

“Ah, it was all so long ago.” The woman gave Abigail a wistful smile, staring out the window. Then she said, “I heard a fight over there one night. Heard a man shouting. Sometimes the woods carry sound in the queerest fashion. If there’s no wind and no other outside noises you can hear for miles. I told the Sheriff at the time, Cal Brewster, the present Sheriff’s daddy, but he never put much store to it. He said it was probably cats fighting and never checked it out. Which was unusual because he was always looking for an excuse to go and pester poor Emily. He had a thing for her, married as he was.”

“Sheriff Cal didn’t sound like much of a Sheriff,” Abigail huffed.

“Enough of ancient news,” Evelyn said. “Not very neighborly yakking only about the past with a brand new neighbor. Tell me, what have you done to your house so far?”

Abigail told her and they ended up discussing wallpapering, birdhouses and Abigail’s wish to be a freelance artist. By the time she left Evelyn’s house, she had another commission to draw Evelyn’s long dead childhood cat posed next to a vase of lilacs. The old lady even gave her a photograph of the cat next to a vase. Abigail took the photo, said goodbye and went home.

She wanted to paint the porch before the daylight was gone so she gathered yellow paint and the painting materials, slipped into her old clothes, and got to work. Within hours the porch was done and so was the swing. It looked good. Later it’d be dry enough to rehang and then she could decorate the porch with her birdhouses.

She sat in the grass of her front yard, leaned back, and proudly regarded her work, then, her eye caught by stray trash, she peered under the porch. The shiny object glinted from a corner deep beneath the foundation. Fetching a broom, she used the handle end of it to dig the glass Mason jar out. There was a rim of wax sealing the lid to keep out water and air, which looked as if someone had melted a candle and let it drip around the opening. And the jar, caked with mud and dust, had something in it. She took it inside through the back door, scraped off the wax with a knife and pried off the lid.

Her heart was racing. The finding of the notes had become a game. With each new message, another part of the past slid into place. Emily’s fate was becoming a mystery Abigail ached to solve. In the jar were pieces of paper, one was a child’s drawing of a galloping horse done in crayons and the other was a scribbled note similar to the other two she’d found.

The horse was well drawn, the proportions perfect, the colors intense. The artist had had talent. It was signed Jenny. No telling how good she would have been when she’d grown up.

The letter was composed in blue crayon, lower and upper case this time. Some of the words were misspelled and it was easy to guess a ten-year-old had written it.

Last nite Mom and HIM had a bad fight. Then Aunt Edna and Mom screamed at each other. Aunt Edna don’t want to sell the house. Christopher spent the night hiding under the porch he was so afraid. I hate HIM. But Mom says Dad is coming to see us next month. I cain’t wait. I want him to take me and Chris away from here, but I know he wont. Dad gets so mean when he drinks too. I said a prayer to GOD to help us. We’re leaving this note for posterity. Christopher’s idea. Like leaving a time capsule. My brother sure is nutty. Maybe when we grow up, he says, well dig them up for laughs. Ha, ha. Were going to the picnic tomorrow and I can’t wait to ride the ferris wheel. Mrs. Vogt gave us money for cotton candy and cherry bombs. I told Chris he’s gonna blow his fingers off, he don’t care, though.

Abigail tucked the papers back in the jar and almost called Frank. But she’d see him in the morning. It could wait. What she felt like was crying. Those poor kids.

She spent the next hour searching for more letters in the nooks and crannies beneath the porch but, weary, finally gave it up. Enough is enough for today, she told herself.

I told Chris he’s gonna blow his fingers off, he don’t care, though.

Kids never changed, did they? She’d said about the same thing to her younger brother, Jimmy, on a long ago Fourth of July. Jimmy lived in California now with his family and she rarely saw him. How she missed him and her two sisters, Carol and Mary, sometimes. She’d have to call. Find some way for the four of them to get together and catch up on their lives.

She put off hanging the swing and putting up her birdhouses until the next morning and bringing them out one at a time and unwrapping them was like rediscovering old friends she hadn’t seen for a long time. She remembered where she and Joel had bought or found every one as she hung them along the rim of the porch. There weren’t so many that it looked gaudy. She was appreciating her birdhouses from the swing when she glanced down and saw the white kitten bounding up onto the porch.

“Oh, no, you again!”

The kitten leapt into her lap and clawed its way up to cuddle at her neck, purring the whole time. She laughed and hugged it. “I can see you’ve adopted me and I’m not going to be able to get rid of you, am I?”