Chasing Amanda (30 page)
Molly turned at the sound of an uneven gait. A small, hunched-over woman walked through a swinging door with black letters that read,
Kit hen
. She wore an apron around her thick waist, and a red and white polyester dress that was made not a day earlier than the bartender’s vest. On her tiny feet she wore black shoes and white socks. Molly felt as though she had stepped back in time into some small rural establishment of years past, before electricity, before fashion. The woman stood before Molly, a scowl on her face, her head the height of Molly’s chin. Her back was bent in such a way that she could not look up at Molly without twisting her entire body to the left, which she did. Molly smiled. The woman did not smile back.
“This way,” the woman directed, gruffly.
Molly wondered how the business remained open with such a gloomy environment and less-than-stellar service.
“Excuse me,” Molly said, politely.
The woman stopped walking, and Molly almost tripped over her. She twisted her body up towards Molly again, scowling.
“I’m sorry,” Molly said gently, “but I’m meeting someone here.”
The woman made a guttural sound, turned around with difficulty, scuttled back to the table next to the door, snagged another menu, and, mumbling, trudged back toward Molly, then right past her. “Come on,” she said gruffly, motioning for Molly to follow.
Molly suddenly saw the comedy in the scene and stifled a laugh. The table she was led to was one of six. The square wooden table rocked with the weight of Molly’s elbow. Headlights flashed through the front window of the restaurant. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Edie stepped in, a black hat covering her dark hair. Sunglasses and a brown knit coat completed her disguise.
“Edie, don’t you think the sunglasses are overkill?” Molly joked. Edie approached the table.
Edie glanced suddenly and suspiciously behind her. She took off her coat and sunglasses but left her hat pulled tightly down over her head. “I didn’t want to take a chance. Didn’t want no one to recognize me,” she said.
“Well, there isn’t anyone here,” Molly pointed out. “I think you’ve picked the one restaurant that throws you back in time.”
Edie looked at the bartender, who continued washing the glasses, but lifted his chin in a slight greeting.
The old woman returned to the table. “Drinks,” she said in a monotone.
Molly ordered water with lemon and Edie ordered tea. The woman turned around without acknowledgement and hobbled away. A moment later she hobbled back out with the drinks.
Edie ran her finger around the rim of her mug, avoiding Molly’s eyes.
“Edie, what’s going on?” Molly asked.
She didn’t answer. She looked down, and then, slowly, up at Molly. “I should not tell you,” Edie said, sipping her tea and looking away.
“Should not tell me what?” Molly asked, becoming annoyed at the cat and mouse game.
Edie stared blankly at the table and said with no emotion, “I wrote notes. I pay girl to call you.”
Molly’s jaw dropped. “Why?”
Edie continued looking down, avoiding Molly’s accusatory gaze.
“Edie, I just don’t understand.” She was becoming angry. “If you know something that might help Tracey, you have to tell me! There’s a little girl’s life on the line,” Molly pleaded.
Edie’s gaze held both fear and hope. She took Molly’s hand in her own trembling one. “You no understand, Molly,” she began. “There are many people’s lives at stake here, not just Tracey.” She bowed her head and mumbled something in Korean, then released Molly’s hand.
“Edie,” Molly said, frustrated. “Why are we here? Who are we hiding from?”
Edie made a low growling sound. “Jin must not know I’m here,” she said, firmly. “Ever!”
“Okay, okay,” Molly held her hands up in surrender.
“Many years ago,” she began, her hands clenched around her mug, “a very bad thing happened, a very, very bad thing.”
“Rodney’s murder?”
She nodded. “Rodney, Kate, it was all very bad. Rodney did not kill that girl.” She paused, “He did not hurt that girl. He did not take that girl. He did not.”
“I hear you,” Molly said.
“Rodney was a good boy. No trouble to anyone. He just…different.” She gave Molly a knowing look. “You know this, Molly. You know why he different.”
“Yes,” Molly said. “He was slow.”
“No, no, no!” Edie hit the table with her fist. “Not because he slow!” Her dark eyes pierced Molly’s like daggers, a vehemence Molly had never before seen in Edie, alarming her. “He
different
like
you
,” she said with conviction.
“Wait, Edie, what do you mean?” Molly’s heart raced, her eyes darted from Edie to the bartender and back.
“
Different
. You know, Molly.
Different
,” she accused.
Molly tried to laugh it off. “We’re all different, Edie. What does that have to do with Rodney?”
“I
know
,” she tapped her temple with her index finger. “I know about you. You like Rodney. You
know
things.”
Molly stood, nervously pacing, crossing and uncrossing her arms. Her movement caused the old woman to walk toward them. Molly held her palm up, staving her off. She took a deep breath and rejoined Edie.
“Okay, so you know. How?” she asked.
Edie stared at Molly, silently tapping her temple.
Molly felt as though her life had become a comic strip—this was some type of sick joke.
“Something about you…just like Rodney,” Edie said.
“Great. He’s dead.” Molly threw her body against the back of her chair, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “That gets us nowhere.”
“Rodney knew about Kate Plummer,” she said. “He knew things about where she was.”
“I know that, Edie. That’s not new.”
“He only knew some details, not all of it. But the two of you,” she looked at Molly, “together, you might know about the girl.”
“What does that mean, Edie? He and I can’t do anything together. He’s dead.”
Edie folded her trembling hands in her lap, and spoke in a hushed voice. “Rodney is only one that can help.”
“Edie,” Molly said, exasperated.
Edie leaned forward, “What I tell you, you no hear from me.”
“Okay,” Molly said, believing she’d found someone crazier than herself.
“You no tell anyone. You no tell Jin,” she said Jin’s name with a faltering, quivering voice.
“I promise, Edie,” Molly said.
Edie looked around, as if expecting someone to suddenly show up, catching her in the act of telling her secret. “Rodney didn’t take her. He just saw her, here,” she pointed to her head. “People think he took her, think he hurt her, because police take him in.”
“That’s why they killed him,” Molly nodded.
“Yes, beat him.”
“Awful,” Molly said, sadly.
“His sister take him away, back home. She take him that night. Pack him in the car and go, before he got more hurt.”
Molly perched on the edge of her seat,
More hurt?
“His sister take him to Delaware, but his parents no want him. Too much trouble. They—”
“Wait!” Molly interrupted. “He was dead. What do you mean
too much trouble
?”
“He no dead. He almost dead, still breathing.”
“What?” Molly said incredulously.
“He no die,” Edie said.
“He lived? Rodney is alive?” Molly was in disbelief.
Edie nodded.
“He might be able to lead us to Kate’s body,” Molly said anxiously.
“No!” she said, thumping the table again with her fist. “He no involved!”
Molly grabbed Edie’s hand. “Edie, you have to help me. If Rodney knew things, maybe you’re right, maybe together we can find Tracey and figure out what happened to Kate.”
Edie suddenly looked five years older than she did when she had walked into the restaurant. “I don’t know where he is,” she said.
“Damn it, Edie, come on,” Molly said loudly. “What are you worried about? You must know where he is.”
Edie shook her head. “If police find him, they arrest him again. Or worse, Rodney beat again,” she hissed.
“I won’t tell the police, Edie. I promise,” Molly pleaded, her mind raced through the possible outcome: finding Kate’s body.
Edie looked around the restaurant nervously. Molly urged her again, using Edie’s own thoughts, that together, Molly and Rodney could find Tracey. Finally, Edie conceded. “Very dangerous, you involved, Molly. Very dangerous.” She looked down at her tea once again, “Pastor Lett, she know where to find Rodney. I not see Rodney. I just know he alive.”
The Perkinson House
, Molly thought, remembering the locks on the windows and the sensation of the strong hands upon her own at the cellar doors. Molly knew that she would not keep her promise to Edie. She had to call Sergeant Moeler.
“Why, why, why?” Pastor Lett sobbed, repeatedly hitting the back of the couch with her fisted hand. She raised her arms toward the ceiling, “Why? Why do I have to go through this again?” She paced, frustrated, saddened once again by the ghost of a brother she once had, once cherished, and still loved. She knew what she had to do. She’d seen Molly in the woods, spying on her. She gathered her store of empty boxes, pulled on her overcoat and gloves, and picked up the phone.
Hannah’s voice was soft, tired, as if she were on the edge of sleep and had been brought back to wakefulness, “Hannah, it’s Carla. I’m sorry to bother you so late.”
“What’s wrong, Carla?”
“We need to talk. Can we meet at your house, right away?” she asked, urgently.
“Yes, yes, of course. Are you going to call, or shall I?”
“I will. Just be ready. We need to move fast.” She was thankful for Hannah’s lack of questions. She hung up the phone and dialed again.
“Newton, it’s Carla. We have an issue. Trouble.”
“Carla? Okay, yes. Um, where?”
“Hannah’s house. I’ll meet you there.” She hung up before hearing Newton’s reply.
As Pastor Lett drove through the empty streets of Boyds, she felt as though she were being watched through the darkened windows of the homes she passed. She went by Molly’s house, and she envisioned her stewing over the whole situation. She couldn’t blame her for wanting to find Tracey. She didn’t like to have harsh feelings towards others, but she was hurt, maddened even—seeing her at her house in the middle of the night, then at the manse. The pastor side of her wondered how she would get past the ill feelings that brewed within her to find her way to forgiveness.
Newton’s car was already in Hannah’s driveway when she arrived. She rushed up the back steps. The dogs barked as she rapped three times on the door with her gloved hand. Hannah’s tense face greeted her, her dark brown hair piled in a loose bun on her head. She guided her silently to the parlor where Newton sat fidgeting with his keys, his Members Only jacket zipped right up to his chin.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Pastor Lett said quickly. “We have an issue, or at least, I think we might have an issue. I’m not certain, but just in case, I think we need to move swiftly.” They eyed one another seriously.
“What is it, Carla? What’s happened?” Hannah folded her hands in her lap.
“Molly Tanner’s been snooping around,” she paced nervously, “asking about Rodney.” She poured a cup of tea from the silver pot that Hannah had set out for them, and took a slow sip. The warmth of the liquid calmed her nerves.
“Molly?” asked Hannah. “Why would Molly ask about Rodney? I just don’t understand.” She adjusted her sweatshirt, flustered.
“Why, she’d have no reason not to trust you,” Newton said, quickly.
“I don’t think she’s causing trouble, really, but I want to take precautions.”
“Carla, what exactly are you worried about?” Hannah asked.
Pastor Lett stood and walked behind Hannah’s Victorian sofa, looking out the window, running her hand through her hair, then down her face, trying to figure out exactly what she
was
worried about. She returned to the sofa and sat down, bracing her hands on her knees. “I don’t know,” her words were rushed, frustrated. “I’m worried that they’ll search the Perkinson House.” She ejected a sigh of relief. She’d finally said it, after all of those years of hiding behind each other’s glances, behind the safety of their carefully-executed stories. It had been released, laid naked on the table before them.
“The Perkinson House?” Hannah asked.
“She saw me, one night, when I had rowed over there.”
“Oh, Carla,” Newton said, fidgeting with his hands. “This is bad, real bad. What are we going to do? After all these years. The Perkinsons trusted you. We have to do something.” He spoke quickly, as if the taste of the words would cause him pain.