Winter Break (11 page)

Vivian stuck her head out of the kitchen. ‘Come eat.’

Harper set the package on the table in the foyer. Lunch was ready; she’d call the post office later.

‘I’ve been thinking about Louise.’ Vivian poured whiskey into her Diet Coke.

Louise?

‘Louis, if it’s a boy.’

Really? Her mother was thinking of names for her child?

‘Well, do you like them?’

Harper took her time, kept her voice calm. ‘Actually, Hank and I haven’t talked about names yet—’

‘Well, that’s why I’m suggesting Louise.’

‘Why Louise?’ Harper dug her knife into her tuna melt.

Vivian looked surprised at the question. ‘It was my favorite great-aunt’s middle name. I think she should be remembered.’

‘And I thought you wanted to name it after me,’ Lou swallowed beer, grinning.

Vivian nodded. ‘Well, that, too.’ She chewed. ‘I’m thinking Louise Rosalind. Or Louise Evelyn. Those names are important to me. Rosalind was my cousin—’

‘Ma. Thank you, but Hank and I will choose the name by ourselves.’

Vivian looked slapped. ‘I’m just trying to help.’

Harper took a breath. ‘Fine.’

‘Here it goes again.’ Lou sat back in his chair. ‘You two go at it like an old married couple. We need a damn meditator here.’

A meditator? Harper frowned. He must mean mediator.

‘Pass the potato chips?’ Lou reached an arm out.

Vivian handed him the basket of chips, then sat up straight, folding her napkin beside her plate, about to leave the table.

‘Excuse me, Harper,’ she huffed. ‘Sorry if I overstepped, but I am the baby’s grandmother. And I was just trying—’

‘Ma. Please. Let it go. Let’s change the subject, can we?’

‘Why are you so short with me?’ Vivian blinked at Harper. ‘I just wanted to help you.’

‘Thanks, Ma.’ Harper took a bite of her sandwich, determined to avoid an all-out fight.

For a while, nobody spoke. Finally, Harper changed the subject.

‘So, Lou. Tell me about yourself.’

‘Me?’

‘Yeah. Where are you from?’

‘Midwest. Ever hear of Cicero? It’s outside Chicago.’

‘And what’s your line of work?’

Lou eyed Harper, then turned back to his food. ‘I’m in business. Transportation.’ As if that explained it.

‘He owns trucks,’ Vivian said. ‘I told you.’

‘No offense, Harper, but I don’t discuss business while I’m eating. It’s bad for the digestive track.’

‘Tract,’ Harper corrected him without thinking. ‘With a “t”.’

He tilted his head and licked his lips. ‘So. You found me out: I never went to college.’

‘Some of us didn’t get the advantages you did,’ Vivian chided. ‘Some of us have had to make do without—’

‘I don’t do without, Viv,’ Lou cut her off. ‘I do just fine. I didn’t need a college degree to do okay, did I?’ Suddenly, he was jolly again. Wearing a generous, self-satisfied grin. ‘I can buy and sell these college kids.’

‘That’s right, Lou. You’ve done great.’ Vivian smiled cautiously.

Harper drank water and reached for the chips. Lunch was going swimmingly.

When lunch was finally over, Vivian suggested that they decorate the tree.

Harper tried to think of an excuse. Said she had to work on her dissertation.

‘Come on, Harper. Just an hour.’ Vivian grabbed her hand, began pulling her down the hall.

Harper stopped resisting. What was the point? Her mother would never understand that she didn’t want Styrofoam glitter and tinsel all over her living room. And she wanted to reduce the tension between them.

‘Okay. But only for half an—’ Harper stopped, feeling a tickle. She put a hand on her belly. ‘Baby’s moving.’

Vivian’s eyes lit up, and she placed a hand beside Harper’s.

‘I don’t know if you can feel it from the outside, but it’s whirling around in there.’

They were standing at the base of the stairs, their hands on Harper’s tummy, when Lou came out of the kitchen.

‘What?’ His eyes widened. ‘You okay?’

Harper grinned. ‘Baby’s doing cartwheels.’

‘I got nothing.’ Vivian took her hand away.

Lou, coming down the hall, stopped to look at the package on the table.

‘That’s not for us, Lou.’ Harper and Vivian started for the living room. ‘It’s to somebody I never heard of. I have to send it back.’

Lou blinked at the package. ‘Oh – no, it’s okay. Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it. I’m going out; I’ll drop it at the post office.’

Harper thanked him, but as she headed toward the tree, she saw him pick the package up, hold it to his ear, gently shake and turn it.

‘Lou?’ She turned. ‘What are you doing?’

He turned, hesitating. His eyes flashed their spark. ‘Just wondering what’s inside. You know. Curious.’

‘It’s for someone else.’

‘Yeah. But it’s addressed to this house. No harm opening it just to see—’

‘That’s illegal, Lou, opening someone else’s mail,’ Vivian piped up. ‘I mean I think it is. Isn’t it?’

‘What? Opening a package addressed to your house and delivered to your address? That’s not illegal—’

‘But it’s not meant for us. So just send it back, Lou. Okay?’

‘Whatever. Sure. I’ll take it over right now.’

Harper watched Lou get his coat from the hall closet and carry the package out the door. While Vivian unwrapped tinsel, she stood at the window, watching him. Sure enough, Lou didn’t get into her mother’s car. Instead, exhaling small clouds of steam, he set the package on the hood, looked up and down the driveway, checked over his shoulder. Then quickly, he tore off the brown paper, opened the box and looked inside.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Harper breathed.

‘What?’ Vivian scowled. ‘Are you spying on him? He said he’ll take it; he’ll take it.’

Harper picked up a package of sparkly silver stars, began unwrapping it, still watching out the window.

Lou turned and looked up and down the street, then back at the box. Holding it gingerly, he paced in small jumpy circles. Finally, still glancing left and right, he picked up the box and carried it to the side of the garage, opened the trash can and tossed it in.

Harper abandoned the package of stars, filled a plastic bag with ornament wrappings, told Vivian she was going to put them in the recycling can.

By the time she got outside, Lou had gotten into Vivian’s car and driven away.

Harper leaned over the trash can, grimacing, studying the contents of the discarded box. The rat was huge, the size of a cat. And its belly had been sliced open, its entrails falling out. Why would someone bother to pull out its insides? Wasn’t it bad enough to send a dead rat?

Steeling herself, she stood on tiptoe and reached into the can, rifled around until she found the section of brown wrapping paper with the address label.

The return address was, not surprisingly, bogus: Santa’s Village in the North Pole. But the postmark was stamped Ithaca. So the rat had been mailed locally. To her address. To a man unknown to her.

Harper stood beside the trash can, shivering and puzzled.

In her mind, Leslie scolded her: However sick the contents of the package were, the rat had nothing to do with her or her family. It was meant for Ed What’s-his-name, whoever he was. If Lou had just left it alone and returned the package, she’d never have even known about it. She should forget about it, go inside and play good daughter and help Vivian decorate the tree.

Harper tossed the paper back in the can, replaced the lid and went back to the house.

Still, she kept thinking about the rat in the trash. Who would send someone a dead animal? Let alone a mutilated one. It was like something from a second-rate Mafia movie. And then she pictured Lou. He must have figured the package was a Christmas gift, something he could quietly claim – a sweater, or fleece-lined slippers. She recalled his surprise – the grayish green color his face had turned when he’d opened it.

Harper couldn’t help it; she began to laugh. Was still chuckling when she came into the living room, and Vivian asked her what was so funny.

‘Nothing,’ she told her.

It was better than explaining how Lou had gotten what he’d deserved, messing with someone else’s mail.

Decorating the tree didn’t happen. Vivian hung a single glitter ball before falling asleep on the sofa, half soused. Harper went into the kitchen and made some tea, but didn’t relax. Her mind was unsettled, trying to make sense out of snippets of information.

Harper held the mug close to her face, feeling the steam. She slid onto a kitchen chair, mentally listing the events that disturbed her, not necessarily in order. There were a lot of them: The dead rat arriving in the mail. Lou secretly opening the package. His unexplained late-night excursions. The naked guy running in the snow, being carried off into the woods. The news reports about a missing student who resembled the naked guy. The blood spatter and key she’d found in the woods. The light flashing in her room, and the curtain she’d seen move in the fraternity next door.

Fine. But the list seemed random. She looked around the kitchen, stood up. Opened a cupboard. Took out Lou’s container of Christmas cookies. Told herself that the list wasn’t random. Too many odd events were happening in the same place, clustered together in a short span of time. There had to be a connection.

Unless there wasn’t. Sometimes unrelated things just happened. Rivers hadn’t been convinced that the stains were even blood – and even if they were, who said the blood was human? It might have been from a squirrel or a bird. And the naked kid might have been horsing around with his buddies. And Lou – well, who knew? Maybe Lou went out at night because he had a babe on the side.

But what about the moving curtain?

That made no sense. All fraternities were closed for intersession. Even the housemothers would be gone until the middle of January. So how could a curtain move? Unless . . . Maybe a cat got inside. Or a raccoon.

Or maybe nothing at all. Maybe she’d imagined it.

Oh God. Had she? Was she really off balance because she was pregnant and hormonally fluctuating and stressed out and Hank was away? Was it possible that, as in her flashbacks, she couldn’t tell what was real from what was imagined?

No. No way was it possible. She was still herself. Still Army. Still trained to observe, assess and respond. She ran a hand through her hair, shaken by her moment of self-doubt.

Harper took a sip of tea, then put her hand on her belly. Probably, just to be safe, she should pay attention to Leslie and Rivers. She should back off. Stop dwelling on odd packages, her mother’s boyfriend and streaking boys, and focus on taking care of herself and her swelling belly.

Speaking of which, those Christmas cookies were dancing to get her attention. A sparkly Santa tempted her – but Harper frowned, ignoring him, opting for a tree.

The cookie was rich and sweet and a little chewy. But two trees later, Harper realized that her selection of a tree over a Santa was no coincidence; her subconscious was still nagging her. She looked out the window at the trees in the woods, remembering the moving curtain, the light shining into her room, her instincts that wouldn’t quiet down.

It would only take a minute. And it would involve no risk. Checking to make sure the key was there in her pocket, wrapped in a glove, Harper put on her boots and parka, and headed out across the yard to the fraternity house.

‘Put it down a second.’ Sty dropped his end of the mattress on the stairs, letting the weight fall to Evan, who nearly toppled backwards. ‘It fucking doesn’t fit around the corner.’

‘So we have to stand it on end—’

‘The ceiling’s not high enough.’

It was true. The queen-sized mattress they were trying to remove from Rory’s room was too wide and too high to fit down the third-floor staircase. Plus it stank from the products of the kid’s loose bowels.

‘Well, fuck. It has to fit. They got it up the stairs; it must be able to go back down.’

They stood looking at the thing, twisted sideways on the third-floor landing. And then Evan had a genius idea. ‘Hold on.’ He ran back into the room with the kid’s body, retrieved the knife from his neck, returned to the mattress, stabbed the blade into it and started sawing through the fabric. Cotton batting flecked into the air, onto the steps.

‘Genius,’ Sty smirked.

‘Well, it’s easier than folding the damned thing in half.’ Evan sliced down one side of the mattress, through the binding. It wasn’t difficult, but he was sweating. ‘You know, you don’t have to stand and watch. Look for scissors or something.’

‘You’re doing fine without me.’ Even so, Sty paced from room to room, searching for sharp implements. He was in Alex’s room at the front of the house when, through the windows, he noticed movement outside. He stopped poring through Alex’s stuff and froze, staring out the window. Not believing what he was seeing. And yet, there she was. The motorcycle lady was coming this way, heading for the front door.

‘Evan.’ He called softly, as if the woman could hear.

Evan, however, could hear only the sound of a knife ripping through fabric.

Sty backed out of the room, eyes on the window, and scurried to Evan. ‘The next-door neighbor,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ Evan’s voice was loud. He stopped cutting when he saw Sty’s face. And jumped when the doorbell rang.

Neither of them moved. They stared into each other’s wide eyes, silent.

The bell rang again.

They waited. Sty held up a finger, mouthed, ‘She’s alone.’

‘Who?’ Evan whispered.

Sty pointed to the house next door.

Evan nodded, not surprised. That blonde woman with the spiky hair had been on his mind ever since she’d called the police the other night. He’d seen her staring out her window more than once. What was she looking for? What had she seen? Whatever it was, it was too much because now she was here ringing the bell when no one was supposed to be there. Obviously, she knew something. Or, at the very least, suspected something. He would talk to Sty. Figure out how to handle her. But there was also the matter of her husband. What did he know? In fact, where was he? Evan hadn’t seen him for a while. Couldn’t remember the last time—