Slice (36 page)

O
NE
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UNDRED

“
T
hat was odd,” Mr. Thayer said.

Todd nodded. “Very odd,” he agreed.

They headed off the porch and then back down the hill.

“Why did she refer to herself as ‘Mommy'?” Mr. Thayer wondered.

“Very odd,” Todd said again.

That was when Monica's car suddenly pulled into the driveway.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
O
NE

C
hief Belinda Walters sat at her desk, stewing.

She was angry that the feds had taken her department off active investigation of the murders. She was furious that they seemed to be withholding information from her. And she was worried that John Manning, who she still believed knew more about all this than he was saying, would get off scot-free.

But she was also stewing about something else.

Her daughter Emma's comment that Madame Paulette had actually been
right
in her prediction.

Maybe, the chief thought, she'd been too quick to dismiss Paulette Drew's reliability as a witness. Maybe she should at least give what she had to say some consideration.

This morning, Paulette had come into Walters's office. She'd told her about a boy, a strange child who'd been taken in by Jessie Clarkson—a boy that Paulette felt had some connection to Emil Deetz. She was worried, deeply worried, about this boy.

What connection could a little boy have to all these murders? If Emil Deetz was committing them, what part did the kid play?

And where, Walters still wanted to know, did John Manning fit into all of this?

She stood from her desk and walked out into the department. She stopped at the desk of Detective Knotts.

“I'm going out to Hickory Dell,” she told him.

“But I thought—”

“I'm still the police chief of this burg. I can take a walk around a neighborhood when there's a report of a lost kid.”

Knotts raised his eyebrows. “There's been a report of a lost kid?”

“There's gonna be,” Walters said, giving him a small smile before heading out the door.

O
NE
H
UNDRED AND
T
WO

“
W
hy am I not surprised,” Monica snarled, getting out of her car and slamming the door, “to come home and find you walking back from Jessie's when you haven't returned any of my calls or come by to see me?”

“I'm not getting into it with you, Monica,” Todd said, attempting to walk past her. “Not now.”

She grabbed his arm. “Todd, please!”

He shrugged her hand off violently.

“I'm your wife, Todd!” Monica cried.

“Please, Todd,” Mr. Thayer implored. “Talk with her. See what you can work out.”

But Todd continued walking down the driveway toward the street without looking back. “There's nothing to be worked out,” he said. “I want out of the marriage. End of discussion.”

“No!” Monica shrieked.

“I'm sorry, my dear,” Mr. Thayer said, passing her, hurrying to catch up with Todd.

Monica stared after them. Her husband was striding down the street now, disappearing from sight.

Walking out of her life for good.

“No!” Monica cried again.

She wanted to run after him. But instead she turned the other way, and ran to her sister's house.

“Jessie!” she screamed, banging on the front door. “Jessie, let me in!”

Jessie opened the door, staring at her with blank eyes.

“Why was Todd here?” Monica demanded to know.

“I have no clue,” Jessie told her.

“Were you making plans to meet him later?”

“No.”

Even in her fury, Monica detected the unnaturally calm tone of her sister's voice. Standing behind her in the living room was that boy. That strange, dark-eyed boy.

“He's saying the marriage is over,” Monica said. “Did you know that?”

The boy came to stand beside Jessie, his little arm gripping her around the waist.

“Monica, I have to go” Jessie said. “I'm getting Aaron's costume ready. We're having a Halloween party. If you like, you can come. . . .”

“Listen, Jessie, my whole life is ruined,” Monica told her. “I'm not interested in goddamn Halloween parties! I need you to help me! We're sisters!”

“But I can't help you, Monica.”

“Yes, you can. You have to go to Todd. You have to tell him to come back to me!”

Jessie sighed. “You told a terrible lie a long time ago, Monica. That was wrong.”

Monica could feel her face burn with rage and hatred. “You bitch! You've always hated me! You always got everything!”

“That's not true, Monica.”

Jessie's voice. So calm. So even-toned. As if she were stoned on pot or something. Even in her anger, Monica could sense something was different about her sister.

“I have to go now, Monica,” Jessie said. “We're getting ready for our Halloween party. When Aunt Paulette gets back, we're going to bob for apples and string some popcorn.” She smiled at her sister sadly. “We might have been a happy family—you and me and Aunt Paulette and Abby and Aaron.”

With that, she closed the door on her sister's face.

Monica screamed in frustration, then raced back to her house, where she drank an entire bottle of wine in fifteen minutes, then smashed the bottle and the glass.

O
NE
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UNDRED AND
T
HREE

A
round two o'clock in the afternoon, Chief Walters's car pulled onto Hickory Dell, but instead of proceeding to Jessie Clarkson's house, she pulled over to the curb outside of John Manning's. There was Patrick Castile, walking down the driveway.

“I see you finally decided to check up on Manning,” Walters said, getting out of her car.

“I told you we had things under control,” Castile said, clearly not happy to see the chief walking toward him.

“Do you? So I can tell the citizens of Sayer's Brook they have no reason to worry letting their kids go out trick-or-treating tonight?”

Castile frowned. “Chief Walters, there is really nothing for you to do here. I'd appreciate you not bothering Mr. Manning again. I've already found out everything I need to know from him.”

“What did you talk to him about? Did you ask him to explain his presence in Mexico the night Emil Deetz was supposedly killed?”

“What I spoke with Mr. Manning about is classified information.”

“Listen, you young pipsqueak,” Walters said, getting up close in Castile's smooth face. “I have my department stationed all over this town tonight. If one more of our citizens gets his or her throat sliced, I'm not going to sit idly by just trusting you guys to track down the killer.”

“I have federal agents posted all over town as well.”

“I know you do. Too bad we can't coordinate a little. But the federal government doesn't like to share power, does it?”

Castile said nothing.

“I'm not here to talk to Mr. Manning anyway,” the chief said. “I'm looking for a lost boy. Heard of him at all?”

“What lost boy?” Castile asked.

“Name's Aaron Smelt,” Walters said.

Castile eyed her coldly. “Sorry,” he said. “Can't help you there.”

“Figured as much,” the chief replied, as she walked up the street toward the Clarkson property. Behind her, she heard Castile get into his car and drive away.

God, that creep got under her skin. . . .

Walters knocked first on Monica Bennett's door. When Monica answered, her eyes were red and swollen and her breath reeked of wine.

“What is it
now
?” she asked.

“Just inquiring about a lost boy,” the chief said. “A little dark-haired child. Goes by the name Aaron. Have you seen him?”

“Sure have,” Monica mumbled. “My sister's got him. Who is he anyway?”

“That's what I want to find out. How long has he been at Jessie's?”

“I don't know and I don't really care.” Monica seemed really drunk. “But he's been coming around for a while. Odd little kid.”

“Your aunt seemed frightened of him in some way,” Walters said.

Monica laughed. “Well, everything frightens Aunt Paulette.”

“Is your aunt at her cottage?”

“I suspect she's up at Jessie's. They're having a Halloween party.” Monica snorted in drunken derision. “Such a happy little family, them and the two brats.”

“So Aaron is up there now?”

Monica nodded. “Well, he was about an hour or so ago. Strange little kid. You should really take him away from Jessie, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he doesn't belong there.”

“Why do you say that?”

Monica's face darkened. “Jessie always gets whatever wants. She wanted a son, too. A daughter wasn't enough. So she had to get a son, too.” She closed her eyes. “Some of us never had any children, but now Jessie has two.”

“Are you saying your sister is keeping him there and his parents don't know?”

Monica laughed. “I have no idea who his parents are. Neither does Jessie. But she's keeping him there. Take him away from her, Chief. Show her she can't have everything!”

“I'll go pay them a visit,” Walters said.

“Yes, you do that,” Monica said, her words slurring, and closed the door.

O
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UNDRED AND
F
OUR

“A
rthur!” Gert Gorin cackled. “Now the police chief is heading up to Jessie's! Maybe they'll finally arrest her!”

As ever, her eyes were pressed against the binoculars that were pressed against the glass of the picture window. Behind her, Arthur had fallen asleep in his chair and was snoring as loud as a freight chain. Still, that didn't stop Gert from giving him a blow-by-blow of what was happening outside.

“First she spoke with that FBI agent in John Manning's driveway. Lord, he had been in there a long time. A couple of hours or more! Wonder what he was asking Manning? Probably really gave him the third degree.”

Gert watched as the chief walked up Jessie's front steps and knocked on the door.

“I wonder what the ‘third degree' means,” Gert mused. “They always say it on police shows.”

Arthur snored in response.

“There's some kind of party going on inside Jessie's house,” Gert said. “Wish I could see more clearly. Lots of colors. And I can see a lot of movement.”

Jessie opened the door and the chief stepped inside the house, closing the door behind her.

“Damn,” Gert said, setting the binoculars down. “I was hoping they'd talk on the porch.”

She frowned at her sleeping husband.

“Wake up, Arthur!” she commanded. “I need to get the Halloween cupcakes ready.”

He shifted in his chair but refused to open his eyes. “What parents in their right minds are going to let their kids trick-or-treat on this street tonight, after all that's happened?” he mumbled.

“Oh, there will be kids,” Gert said. “Mark my word on it. And we've got to be ready.”

“I'm staying right here in my chair if any kids start ringing the bell,” Arthur said, his eyes still defiantly shut.

“I'll pass out the cupcakes,” Gert said. “But I need help frosting all of them. I made a hundred. Remember, we give out the best treats in the neighborhood, Arthur. We have a reputation to keep up!”

O
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UNDRED AND
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IVE

C
hief Walters couldn't help but smile at the scene she found inside Jessie Clarkson's house.

The place had been strung with orange and black crepe paper. The walls were decorated with images of big smiling cardboard pumpkins. A metal tub sat on the linoleum kitchen floor filled with water and floating, bright red apples. Trays of candies and sweets were everywhere. Jessie was dressed as a friendly witch, in a long blue dress and a blue pointed hat. She had painted red circles on her cheeks.

But it was the two children who really made Walters smile. Little Abby was dressed in a pretty pink dress covered in sparkles, and on her head she wore a cardboard crown spray-painted gold. The little boy—Aaron Smelt, the chief assumed—wore a long white sheet from shoulders to floor, and on his head he wore a plastic pumpkin head. He kept lifting it up to peek out at Jessie with his big brown eyes and flash a toothy grin.

“Would you like some apple cider?” Jessie asked Walters. “We also have lemonade.”

“Well, okay, a little cider would be nice,” the chief said. “I don't want to interrupt your party too long.”

“That's okay,” Jessie said, pouring some cider into a paper cup. “We haven't really started yet. We're still waiting for Aunt Paulette to get back. She's been gone all day.”

“Really?” Walters asked, accepting the cider from Jessie. “I saw her this morning in town.”

“I don't know where she could be,” Jessie said.

The kids were laughing as they scooped up fistfuls of M&Ms from a bowl and packed them into their mouths.

“Not so many!” Jessie said, moving the bowl onto the mantel so they couldn't reach. “Don't get filled up before supper! Because afterward, we have chocolate cake with orange frosting!”

“Yummy!” both children called out.

“Now, what can I help you with, Chief Walters?” Jessie asked, turning her attention back to their visitor.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” the chief said.

Jessie smiled. “Yes. And don't worry. I'm not letting the children go outside tonight. That's why we're having the party. Staying in rather than going out.”

“Good idea.” Walters took a sip of cider. “Tell me about the boy, Jessie. Is this the Smelt child you were curious about?”

Jessie seemed a little uncomfortable. “Yes. I needn't have been concerned. He's a good boy. Nothing to worry about.”

“Have you met his parents?”

“He's a good boy, Chief,” Jessie said again. “There's nothing to worry about.”

Walters looked down at Aaron, who was holding his pumpkin head up in his hands and staring out solemnly at her.

“Where do you live, Aaron?” the chief asked.

“Here,” he said.

“Here?” The chief's eyes flickered back to Jessie. “What does he mean, living here?”

“He was living in an old shack in the woods,” Jessie said. “I couldn't let him stay out there, could I?”

“But his mother or father must be wondering where he is,” Walters said, studying Jessie's eyes carefully.

Aaron had moved over to Jessie, standing defiantly at her side. “She's my mother,” he said, his little hand clinging to Jessie's blue dress.

Walters kept her eyes on Jessie. “Your sister said that I should take him away from you.”

Jessie blanched. “Monica said that?”

“She said that his real parents don't know he's here, that you're keeping him here.”

“
This
is my mother!” Aaron demanded.

“Sweetie,” Jessie said, looking down at him. “Why don't you and Abby go sit on the deck for a minute? We're going to make straw dolls out there in a minute. Why don't you get the straw ready? There's a box of orange twine, too. Set all that out on the table on the deck, and I'll be out in a minute.”

Aaron let go of her dress and obeyed, though he kept his eyes on the chief as he walked out. Abby skipped along, her cardboard crown bouncing on her head, held in place by barrettes.

“I know this will sound strange, chief,” Jessie said once the children were gone, “but I truly believe that Aaron
does
belong here. He has no place else to go.”

“How do you know that?”

Jessie's face tightened. “I just do.”

“I think I need to check if there are any missing children reports.”

Jessie nodded. “Go ahead. I guarantee there won't be.”

The chief gave her a concerned look. “Your aunt said she thinks the boy might be working in cahoots with Emil Deetz.”

Jessie laughed, a little bitterly. “I see my entire family has been talking behind my back to you.”

“Your aunt was concerned.”

“I know she is, but she needn't be.” Jessie sighed, then moved toward the door. “If you find someone looking for Aaron, let me know, Chief. In the meantime, it's best to keep him here, don't you think? We can't have him wandering alone outside, can we?”

“I'd like to ask him a few questions, alone,” Walters said.

Jessie opened the door. “Not this afternoon, Chief. Come back tomorrow, if you must. Please let him enjoy Halloween for the first time in his life.”

Walters took a step toward the door but she wasn't quite ready to leave yet. “How do you know it's the first time in his life he's enjoyed Halloween?”

“I just do.”

“You must admit, Jessie, this is all very strange.”

Jessie looked out the door into the yard. The sun was beginning to drop toward the bare trees, staining the afternoon sky red. “What's strange is why Aunt Paulette has been gone all day,” she said. “If you want to be concerned about something, Chief, then maybe that's where we should be directing our energy.”

“Do you think something's happened to her?” Walters asked.

“Well, her car is up at her cottage. But she's not there, though her cell phone is. Yes, I suppose I am getting a little worried about her.”

The chief sighed. “I'll have some officers take a look around, before it gets too dark.”

Jessie nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Walters sighed and stepped out the door. She turned around and looked back at Jessie. “But I am also going to have them look into the boy. If there are any missing-child reports that match his description . . .”

“Then by all means, get in touch with me,” Jessie said. “But I'm telling you.” Her voice became serious. “You won't find any such reports.”