Black Water Tales: The Secret Keepers (5 page)

Once or twice, the girls had encountered Glen DeFrank’s parents in the spectacular home, and they were always perfectly hospitable. His mother had even made them chocolate chip cookies once, that they had eaten at the kitchen table after their lesson. On that particular day Regina recalled seeing the DeFranks’ daughter who would frequently skulk about the house alongside the housekeeper or nanny when the girls were there for their lesson. The DeFrank girls’ name escaped Regina, but she was a couple of years younger than Regina and her friends and by that fact alone was deprived of most of their attentions. Just after their second year of lessons Glen DeFrank’s parents died.

Regina let the DeFranks wander out of her thoughts as she sat back in the booth and looked away from her mother and father, trying to signal that she was almost at her end with this conversation.

Unable to muster the stomach fortification to devour another piece of meat, she picked up one of her fries, dipped it into the vanilla shake that she had promised herself she wouldn’t have and took a bite.

“Is that it?” she asked dryly. “Do they know anything else?” It was amazing that just talking about something so incredibly heinous could emotionally exasperate one to the point of being physically tired.

“Nope, that is it for now. Sheriff Handow is rounding the troops to go back over the case, asking more questions, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“… And by troops you mean goober, step-goober, and goober-in-law?” Regina had somehow regained some of her humor at the mention of the Black Water police force.

Her father laughed before confirming that Sheriff Handow had his son, his stepson, and his son-in-law, the only officers in Black Water, on the case. Despite her friendly name calling, Regina actually liked Sheriff Handow’s son, Lawson. In high school he had been a sweet boy, but not particularly bright.

“Jesus,” Regina sighed, indicating her lack of faith in the team of authorities that was working the case.

“Ready to go?” her father asked before they all pushed themselves out of the booth. Regina could take no more of this conversation, but still she feared getting into the car that would take her deeper into the shaded streets of Black Water.

B
lack Water was a small town. Once you gave a street name with a description of a nearby landmark, such as on Elm Street by the library, your Black Water native could almost pinpoint your location exactly. Every street in the entire town, with the exception of Main Street, had been named after a tree or flower and; as a child, Regina had always wondered who made that decision. The home of Charlie and Patricia Dean sat several blocks off Main on Pine Street. Gentle fall winds slipped in through the cracked window of the car as her father turned onto their block, which smelled of pots bubbling with delicious concoctions and fresh loads of laundry that people hung on the lines in their backyards until the snow came. A number of houses looked older now, while some were fresh with updates, but they all fit together perfectly like the pieces of a bizarre puzzle.

The Queen Anne-style home beamed in the colorful fall landscape, with its rich maroon and forest green accents. The curved porch made the home a romantic kind of place where one would want to waste away slow evenings sipping coffee and watching their children grow. Oversized bay windows on the second floor brought the nostalgia as she remembered all of the nights that she sat in her room looking out her window, watching people go by. One of her great, great grandfathers had built the home in the early 1900s and it had passed on from generation to generation until it was bestowed upon her mother. Two green rocking chairs swayed back and forth on the broad porch, pushed tenderly by the autumn winds, one of the same rocking chairs that her mother rocked her in when she cried as a baby. Regina stepped out of the car and admired the four walls that encompassed her childhood, she sighed deeply as her eyes dragged over all of its memory-evoking parts. The dread began to drain out of her stomach, as the arrival had not been the awful torment that she had anticipated. She
had been afraid of visiting her old haunts, fearful of the effect that encountering all of the places that she had spent time with Lola, Nikki, and Natalie would be too overwhelming for her, but she was starting to think that she had been wrong. Actually, she felt almost comfortable on the street where even after all of these years, she still knew every house, every tree, and every old rusted swing set that sat in some of the backyards. Mr. Dean grabbed Regina’s bags from the trunk and began to make his way up the drive before he looked back to his daughter who was still set in marvel.

“You OK?” he asked. Her mother stared, waiting patiently from the porch for her daughter’s answer.

“I’m fine; it’s just been so long. I think that I will go over to the Rushers’ first, if you guys don’t mind,” she told her parents, who looked to each other, worry etched deep into the surfaces of their faces. After a wave of pregnant silence, her mother spoke.

“OK,” her mother agreed. “I am going to start dinner in a bit, lasagna, your favorite,” Mrs. Dean tempted.

Regina smiled. “OK, Mom. Don’t worry, OK. I’m fine. I’ll be back shortly.”

Regina tried her best to shove her fingers in her skinny jean pockets as she turned and walked back down the drive. She didn’t look back, but she knew that her parents had not moved from their positions, like statues, and probably still had their eyes attached to her. She didn’t look back.

Everything was different here, even the crisp, late-afternoon air smelled foreign as she filled her lungs with a heap of it.

Regina Dean was not sure what to expect at the Rusher home and her mind was beginning to wander.

How would Lola’s parents react to seeing her?

What had her family been going through since the body was discovered?

Lola’s home was a couple of long country blocks from her own, but the streets were wide and lined with animated trees and she took comfort in the certainty that the neighborhood overall would make for enjoyable scenery. Another block still lay stretched out in front of her when she heard a crackling behind her; the
breaking of a thin switch underfoot. The girl stopped and turned around to face the gray gloomy street. For a moment she felt the eerie sensation that came with the realization that one may not actually be alone when they assumed that they had been. Goosebumps emerged on her arms in intimidating numbers. She wished that she had dressed for the weather that she was coming into instead of the weather that she had left behind. The rain had never come but a sporadic drizzle kept the air moist.

After scanning the street and rubbing her arms to create a friction that would relieve the chill, she turned and continued to her destination.
Nothing to be afraid of
, she thought,
just ghosts
.

As she walked, she could feel the eyes; someone was watching her, they could see her, but she could not see them. Regina slowed her pace as her instinct directed until she was completely still.

“Lola,” her heart stopped for just a beat when she heard someone call out to her. Regina looked around and pinpointed an arm waving wildly.

Mrs. Landcaster.

“I mean Nikki …” Mrs. Landcaster sputtered. “I mean, Regina, is that you?” after several failed attempts, she was able to match the correct face with the name. Regina remembered how Mrs. Landcaster always used to call out at least three or four names before she could fish out the right one for the person with whom she was speaking. For many years now, the older woman had been planted on her porch. Every afternoon and evening, the old woman sat there sipping steaming hot coffee. Regina wondered how she could even blink, let alone sleep at night when she drank coffee until evening every day. In fact, it had been a running joke that Mrs. Landcaster didn’t sleep because she was on her porch as soon as the sun came up and she was always there when it set. The woman had always claimed to love the fresh night air and it was possible that she did, but it hardly seemed a coincidence that she started spending all of her time outside the house after her husband left her years before. Some people said she hated being in the home where they had spent their happy years together, while others speculated that the trauma sparked some severe hoarding
behavior that made her house unlivable; nevertheless, it was well-known that it was more than the night air that she hoped to encounter every evening as she sat outside. Mrs. Landcaster was a mix between the Black Water news and neighborhood watch. She saw everything that happened on her block and had a photographic memory about every car that had driven up and down the block, at what time, and everyone who was in it, but somehow still regularly misplaced her keys and had trouble remembering where she parked when she went to shop on Main Street.

Regina jogged up the stone walk so that she could greet the older woman. Mrs. Landcaster was wearing fitted denim jeans over her slim body; she wore a white T-shirt with a long-sleeved denim collar shirt over it. Her hair was short and brushed back and several gold bangle bracelets ornamented her wrists. The woman that, Regina guessed, was in her mid-sixties always wore the same set of gold rings on her fingers, between which she usually clamped a cigarette.

“I am sorry; you know that I know your name, but I just get them all confused sometimes,” Mrs. Landcaster said. “Besides, you girls used to be so close it became difficult to tell you apart, except that you look nothing alike.” Mrs. Landcaster spoke with a laugh before bringing her cigarette to her lips and sucking furiously, which amplified all of the lines around her mouth.

Regina laughed. Mrs. Landcaster’s face was marked with hundreds of lines created over the years by age and cigarettes.

“How are you, Mrs. Landcaster?” Regina asked.

“Oh…fair to middlin’…fair to middlin’,” Mrs. Landcaster responded. Regina had not heard that phrase since she was a child and her grandfather was alive.

“That’s good,” Regina said. “It’s kind of chilly out here.” Regina commented. “Well it doesn’t much matter to me; I sit out here every day, all day…because I enjoy it,” Mrs. Landcaster said with a certain lack of enthusiasm that failed to convince Regina of her sincerity. The weather was quite icy and she eyed the cup of coffee that Mrs. Landcaster was sipping. The older woman must have seen Regina’s longing gaze fall flatly on the cup.

“Would you like a cup?” Mrs. Landcaster offered. Regina knew that she should be on her way, but it was cold and she did not want to disappoint the old woman.

“Sure,” Regina answered. Mrs. Landcaster smiled; she placed her cup of coffee on the porch railing and pulled out a ring of keys that jangled with abundance. She searched through the keys one by one, studying each with an analytic eye before flipping it over and moving to the next. Her cigarette was cocked up at one side of her crinkled mouth. After locating the correct key, she opened the door just wide enough for her thin body to snake through. Moments later, she returned with a second cup of coffee. Regina was excited at the sight of the steam rising off the top. Mrs. Landcaster handed her the white ceramic cup and then brought out her keys once again to lock the door behind her.

Regina’s eyes narrowed as she watched Mrs. Landcaster’s strange ritual with the locks and keys. She blew her boiling coffee before raising it to her chapped lips.

Both women looked up, noticing one of the Black Water police cars driving by the house, but the dark tints on the windows made it impossible to make out the person inside. Mrs. Landcaster held up a hand in greeting.

“Nosy son of a gun.” Mrs. Landcaster muttered to herself with her hand still up before the car had fully passed. Regina snickered at the lady’s ornery response to the town’s police authority.

Pot, have you met kettle?
Regina thought to herself.

“So you here for Lola’s funeral, are ya?” Regina was sure that Mrs. Landcaster already knew the answer to that question. If Regina remembered correctly, it was rare that Mrs. Landcaster asked a question to which she did not already have the answer.

“Yes, I am,” Regina told her.

“Yeah,” the spinster dragged her word out to linger on the afternoon air.

“Terrible thing, terrible thing.” Mrs. Landcaster shook her head, her eyes momentarily wandered to a dark place, before the resilient old woman re-brightened.

“How are you?” she asked. “Haven’t seen you in so long, you look good, real pretty…lost a little bit of weight…you look nice, real nice.” The cigarette-smoking woman had a way of repeating herself that others probably found annoying, but Regina found it comforting.

“Thank you. I’m great. I live in Texas. I’m an ER nurse, just work, work, work.” Regina gave her only the information that she figured safe since she was sure that once Mrs. Landcaster had breakfast at the OC tomorrow morning everyone would get the scoop on one of their return residents.

“OK, OK,” the lady said. “A nurse, wow. I bet you make good money?”

“Yeah, I do OK.” Regina responded.

“Well that sounds good, real good,” Erma Landcaster told her visitor.

Oddly enough, Regina felt relieved that Mrs. Landcaster appeared pleased with the status of her life. The women spoke about life and Black Water, among other things before Regina determined that she had spent enough time delaying her journey.

“I should be going, I need to get by the Rusher’s house and make it home before it gets too late.” Regina ended the meeting and headed back toward the street, placing her half-empty coffee mug on the railing. She said farewell to Mrs. Landcaster with a quick good-bye and a wave.

“Nice seeing you. You be careful. This town just isn’t the same anymore.” Mrs. Landcaster warned. “Hasn’t been for a while,” she added hesitantly as Regina galloped across her lawn. Regina turned back to the woman as a swell of wind blew through Black Water, shaking the trees. She heard a deep wailing that she swore came from inside the home that continued the shudder in her body that the gale wind had begun. Regina’s frightened expression fell on Mrs. Landcaster.