The Singing Bone (30 page)

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“John Simon.” Detective Simon holds out his hand to Hans. “I can't say a lot on film,” he says, sitting behind a cluttered desk and motioning for Hans and Ariel to sit opposite. “It's still an open case. You understand, I'm sure.”

“Of course,” Hans says.

“Have you met Jack Wyck?”

“I have.”

“A scary fucking bastard. A first-class psychopath.”

“You must be talking about me.” A woman leans against the office doorway. John Simon laughs.

“Speak of the devil,” he says. “Hans, Ariel, this is my partner, Denise Torres.”

She looks at them and nods. “Mind if I join you? I don't need to be on film. I want to hear your take on this. I can stand here.”

“Absolutely not, Denise. You're gonna be in this movie, too. Am I right?” He turns to Hans and Ariel. “Yes?”

“I didn't do my face,” she says, coming into the light. “But you didn't do yours, either, I see.” She pulls a chair from behind the door and sits down next to her partner.

“This one's the real deal. Criminal record begins when he's a kid. Breaking and entering. Arson. Always pulling some scam. He was a little juvenile delinquent. You know I was the one who got the call that night.” He looks out the window, coughs, taps his chest. “You've never seen anything like it. If he gets out—”

“If he gets out, everyone's in trouble.” Denise Torres shakes her head.

“Gets out?” Ariel says.

“Certainly.” John Simon leans forward. “He's got a good lawyer. We can't keep him if it's found that his DNA doesn't link him to the crime.” He opens his hands. “Time served for felony.”

Denise leans forward. “It's a very real possibility. John here, he's been working overtime on trying to get a break somewhere, to keep Wyck in jail. He's convinced there are other crimes he's connected to—and Lee Frank. We can't talk about this on film, but we can talk a little about the old cases—things that were already in the media—but nothing new. Tell us what you know. We want to hear it.”

Hans brings out Jack Wyck's drawings and writing. He and Ariel tell them their theory: that each bird represents a girl, that the drawings and the tattoos—that each represents a death. The detectives lean over the drawings, peering at the triskelions, the roots of the trees, the twisted black birds. “You two should be detectives,” John says. “I'd like to make some copies of these.”

“Please.” Hans hands the letters and drawings over, and Denise takes them and leaves. When she comes back, she has the box and sits down next to her partner, who is talking about Allegra and how they never found her.

Alice was happy the hot water worked. She'd never heard of a play so devoted to convincing detail as this one. Alice found a packet of black fabric dye in Mr. Wyck's attic room. She boiled water and poured it into the claw-foot tub in the upstairs bathroom. She gathered some of Allegra's faded old dresses, and when the dye bath was ready, she put the dresses in, stirring them with a yardstick she'd found in the basement. The fabric was heavy and when her arms tired, she discarded the stick and used her hands instead. When she finished, her hands were black. She scrubbed, but she couldn't get the dye out. She let the black dresses drip dry, hanging them over the stairway railings.

Alice looked at her fingers. Her cuticles were black, her nails gray. She decided that her hands were right for Halloween. Maybe she'd done it on purpose? Sometimes it was hard to know. She took a flashlight and went into the crawl space. She lay on her side there, turning the flashlight on and off. This was the traveler curtain. When she was inside the crawl space, the audience couldn't see her and the principals didn't know where she was. She could hear a mouse moving around nearby. She turned the flashlight on and off and closed her eyes. Footsteps in the hallway woke her up.

“Has anyone seen Genie?” Mr. Wyck said. “We've got to go soon.”

She turned on the flashlight and crawled farther back. There were some boxes there. She opened them, shining the light inside. She found a few more closet dresses, some shoes, and a blue hand-knit scarf. She found a pair of dull black boots with sharp little heels. She brought everything out and took it to her room. The boots fit. Alice was happy. She could wear them all winter. When her dresses were dry, she put two on. One had long sleeves and the other had a top that laced up the front. The dresses were black as night. When Alice went downstairs, everyone said her costume was the best. Mr. Wyck looked at her boots but didn't say anything. Stover went out on the back porch and brought back a straw broom. “Here,” he said. “Perfect.”

Mr. Wyck watched from the doorway as Alice and Molly got into the van. Trina leaned against him, her arms around his waist. Mr. Wyck kept his hand in her hair. Lee drove. Alice looked behind them as they pulled out. “Do you care that Trina's with Mr. Wyck all the time?” she asked him.

“Why should I care?”

“Because Trina's your girlfriend—or she used to be.”

“I don't own Trina.”

“That's what Mr. Wyck always says: ‘No body owns nobody.' ”

“Because it's true,” Lee said.

“No body,” Alice said. “You have no body; you have nobody.”

“Alice.” Lee was looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“What? It's interesting.”

“Don't talk about the play.”

“I wasn't talking about our play. I was talking about nobody.”

Molly held a coffee cup and took tiny sips like it was medicine. Her pink dress made shushing sounds whenever she moved. Molly reminded Alice of a doll. She leaned over and whispered, “Close your eyes,” and Molly did. Alice ran her fingertip along Molly's eyelashes. “Do your eyes click when you open and close them?” she whispered.

Lee looked in the mirror again at Alice. “What's up, Aly?” he said.

“Nothing.” Alice moved away from Molly, who turned and smiled at her. Molly seemed normal to Alice—like a regular girl inside of a princess costume. Alice thought that was also interesting because Molly used to be the other way around: a princess inside of a regular girl. No body.

“Molly,” Lee said. “Are you with us?”

“What?” Molly was still looking at Alice.

“What, Lee?” Alice said for her.

“Here,” Lee said. “Give this to Molly.” He handed Alice a plastic bag with a line of white powder in it. “Molly, put this on your gums. And Alice,” he said. “Do not talk about the play with the Smiths.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I said already. I said I wouldn't.” She held her hands out in front of her and studied the black dye.

“What happened?” Molly asked, taking one of Alice's hands. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Alice leaned forward and rested her other hand on Lee's shoulder. “One thing though I need to ask you before we get there.”

“What's that?”

“Am I playing a witch?”

“No. You're playing the babysitter. It's Halloween. You have on a costume.”

“I'm the babysitter
dressed
as a witch.” Alice leaned back. She personally thought the play had too much ad-libbing. They should at least do a cold reading before they went out. It made scenes feel disjointed, in danger of falling apart completely. “Prepare, prepare, prepare!” Mr. Valetti was fond of repeating. “And
then
invent.”

At the Smiths', they climbed out of the bus and smiled in the fading sunlight. “They're bluebirds,” Greta said, coming down the sidewalk with the twins on either side of her. Matty and Tilly were dressed in blue footie pajamas. Nylon wings sprouted from their shoulder blades. Greta wore a pointed witch's hat. “I love your costumes,” she said. “Here.” She took off her hat and put it on Alice's head. “That's more like it.” Greta smiled at Alice. Greta wore a thick gold sweater and red trousers. Alice wanted to reach out and smooth Greta's hair because it was so pretty and bright in the late-afternoon light. She wanted to tell her that it was perfect for her part—so wholesome—but Lee was watching her, so she couldn't. Instead, Alice smiled and looked down at Matty and Tilly. “Two bluebirds!” she called out. “My!” The twins giggled and smiled up at Alice.

“And aren't you lovely,” Greta said to Molly, the doll-eyed princess. Alice gazed at Molly. Whatever had been in the bag had turned Molly into a princess inside of a princess. It was a magic powder, fairy dust. Molly picked up Matty and twirled him in a circle. “You're flying!” she called. Tilly held her arms up to Molly. “Me too!” she cried.

Alice and Molly got back into the van with the twins. Greta stood on the sidewalk, waving. The twins waved back. When they pulled away, Lee said, “You'll never guess where I'm taking you.”

Alice moved Tilly's wings around, lifting them and letting them fall. The nylon was supported by wire. She bent the wings, experimenting with the shape.

“To the ball!” Molly called out.

Alice looked up. “Where are we going?” She didn't like guessing games. “Just tell us,” she said.

“Your old neighborhood.”

“Why?” Alice asked.

Molly looked out the window. She cradled Matty in her lap, one hand on his small head, gently smoothing his hair back. “Zoinks,” she said to no one.

Alice yawned. Everything was bad news these days. She was glad for the sleep mask she'd taken from one of the dresser drawers at Big John's mother's house. The mask was black and soft. Alice cut holes out for the eyes. She took it out of the pocket of the dress and put it on. “Check it out,” Alice said to Molly. “Look what I found at Virginia's.”

“You're kind of scary, Aly.” Molly put her head back on the seat and looked at her friend. She reached up and touched the mask. Molly wore a pair of Virginia's long white gloves. The fingertips were gray already.

“Good. Because I'm a witch.” Matty looked up at her with big round eyes. She kissed him and pulled the eye mask off, then put it on again. She did that until he laughed.

“An hour,” Lee said when he dropped them off. They stood on the corner and waved.

“And don't talk about the play,” Alice said.

After Lee drove off, Molly turned to Alice. “Do you really believe that stuff?”

“What stuff?” Alice didn't like it when the others asked her about the play.

“About the play?”

Alice wasn't sure what to say. Sometimes at the house, she'd say to Mr. Wyck, “Feed me a line,” and he would. He'd tell her what to say next. ­Sometimes—no, a lot, actually—they had entire conversations like that. And even if he didn't tell her what to say, it was like he was transmitting it somehow. She closed her eyes and tried to think of what he'd say, but all she saw was the blackout curtain of the crawl space. She picked Tilly up and carried her on her hip. “I do sometimes,” Alice said. “I don't know. Sometimes not.”

“The party's going to be so great tonight,” Molly said.

That afternoon, Mr. Wyck had built a bonfire in the orchard. Stover chopped wood—tall logs to prop around a dense nest of kindling and firewood. They went into the forest to find broken trees, pulling the dry branches out behind them. They'd light it after dark. Alice liked the roar of the first flames as they caught, the sparks that flew into the night sky.

Molly leaned over Matty and looked into his bag with the flashlight. “You've got lots of good stuff,” she said. She took a small box of candy corn out and opened it, passing a piece to Alice. “Share with me and Alice,” she said.

Alice kept the candy on her molar, letting it melt so the sugar trickled down her throat. While they waited for Lee to pick them up again, Alice took all the boxes of candy corn out of the twins' bags and put them in the pockets of her dress. Alice could see her mother's house from where she stood. All the lights were off. “Trick or treat,” she said to the dark house. “Give me something good to eat.”

Molly kicked the curb with the toe of her sneaker. She looked at Alice. “You could just go home,” she said. “You know there's no play, right?”

Alice didn't look at Molly. She stared at her mother's house. “Your mom used to make Rice Krispie treats for us on Halloween. My mom didn't do stuff like that,” Alice said. “She never did anything like that. She never even came to see me in a play.”

“She always sucked that way.” Molly walked in little circles, holding the twins by their hands. “Sucked—” she said to them. “Sssssuucked.” They laughed.

“Molly?” Alice said.

Molly stopped circling and looked at Alice. “Yeah?”

“Does he still love us?”

“Yes. More than ever. I can feel it.”

“I can't.”

“That's where you are right now. Like what Allegra said. You see what you want to see.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“If he loves me still,” Alice said, looking at her mother's house, “then I'm already home.”

“You are.”

When Lee pulled up, Alice loaded Tilly and Matty into the van. They drove to the Smiths' in silence. In the backseat, everyone fell asleep but Alice. She looked out at the passing houses, the trees. The moon was bright. When they got to the Smiths', Lee took Matty and Tilly inside. Molly's head hung forward. A trickle of saliva crept over her lip. Her silver tinfoil crown had fallen to the floor of the van. Alice put her foot on it and tore it with the heel of her boot. Lee came out with twenty dollars—two tens. Alice put her hand out, but Lee put the money in his pocket. “You know all the money goes to the house,” he said.

“Why?” Alice protested. “So he can buy more props to break? I earned it.”

“You wouldn't have it if it weren't for Mr. Wyck.”