Hear No Evil (16 page)

Then she stretched out her hands as if reaching them to children who were running through the mist toward her. But instead, his mother materialized, and it was she who took Laurie’s hands.

His mother looked very old, at least a hundred, although she was only sixty-five. She wore a hospital dressing gown and had an oxygen tube clamped on her face, feeding her nostrils. She looked at him without recognition.

“Who are you?” his mother demanded, looking frightened of him. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

He woke with a start, because he knew where the dream went next: the hospital, with Laurie dying in childbirth. She died in horrible pain in the dream, and what she labored to bring forth was a tiny, fragile skeleton, with empty eyes and an emptier grin, lying motionless in a pool of blood.

He sat up in bed with his heart galloping painfully and his temples banging. He ran his hand over his face, not knowing at first where he was. Sweat filmed his upper lip.

Swiftly, in vivid pieces, it came back to him: the strange, abandoned little girl whose mother had disappeared, Jessie’s accident, the arrival of Eden Storey. All this had led him to the shithole town of Sedonia, Missouri, on the outside chance he could scare up a trace of Mimi.

He rubbed his hand over his face again and forced himself to get out of the lumpy bed. He knew he would not sleep again.

He showered, shaved, and dressed. He got into his Blazer and realized he still had his bow-hunting equipment
in the hatch. How simple his plans had seemed a few days ago, how elemental.

He drove to an all-night convenience store, the Gas ’n’ Go. He bought a large container of black coffee, drove to the edge of the Gasconade River, and parked. Drinking the bitter coffee, he watched the sun come up, tinting the haze over the river. He found himself thinking of Eden Storey.

Last night, he’d taken her into his arms too easily; it had disturbed him and, against his will, excited him. But he didn’t want that excitement; it seemed too much akin to caring. He never wanted to care for a woman that way again.

As Owen watched the rising of the red sun over the river, Drace, Raylene, and Stanek made their way through the misty wood. The wood bordered Louise Brodnik’s land.

Raylene was proud that Drace had let her come, and she felt a certain feminine righteousness as well; she was a better shot than Stanek, better in general with firearms than either he or Yount. She and Drace had grown up with hunting rifles and target pistols; they had known how to shoot from childhood.

Now she and the men moved through the thinly lit forest with its wisps of low-lying fog. They moved with eerie silence over the carpet of damp cedar needles and fallen leaves, their heavy boots falling soundlessly.

Their trousers were the dull, splotched colors of woodland camouflage. Raylene had taken tucks in hers, so they fit more becomingly. They all wore ski masks, black thermal sweaters, and gloves of black leather.

They emerged noiselessly at the edge of the woods and stopped, looking at the back of Louise Brodnik’s
small blue house. The sky was growing lighter but the sun was not yet visible, and the mist weaved about them like ghosts dancing to slow, unheard music.

Drace made a gesture for them to advance on the house, and they did so, Drace behind the other two, covering the rear. Stanek drew a pair of sharp-edged pliers from his belt and snipped the phone wire that fed into the house. It fell, like a long toy snake to the dewy ground.

Then he used a glass cutter to etch a circle in the window of the back door, and with a suction cup he pulled the disk away and kept the glass from falling or shattering. He reached inside the door and unlocked it.

The door creaked open, and Stanek edged his way into the kitchen, and Raylene and Drace followed. The room was small and shadowy, the blinds of its single window drawn. Raylene took her flashlight from its holster and flicked it on. She saw a dog’s small, empty bed in the corner, but no dog.

She went to the door that led to the living room. Stanek was behind her now, and so was Drace. The living room was quiet, somnolent, the only sound the ticking of a small cuckoo clock over the television.

Drace took the lead and moved silently down the hallway, softly opening doors that revealed first a linen closet, then a bathroom, and then a bedroom. A huddled figure lay on a bed in the darkness, snoring quietly. It was the woman.

Beside Drace, Raylene gripped her rifle more tightly and felt a swell of excited power that was triumphant and unexpectedly sensual.

T
HE SUN HAD RISEN, HIDDEN BY GRAY CLOUDS, FOR AN
hour it had climbed, its pallid light veiled.

Although the bedroom was still dark, Peyton clambered into Eden’s bed and shook her shoulder to wake her. Kneeling, she bounced, making the mattress buck.

“Eden, get up. It’s morning. I’m hungry.”

Eden groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. Memories crowded back in a jumble as she realized where she was and who was caroming about her bed.

Peyton stood up, then fell backward onto her rump so that the bed shuddered as if in an earthquake. “Get up!” Peyton urged.

“Oh, Jeez,” Eden said, sitting up sleepily. “We’ve got to work on your etiquette.”

She rose and stumbled into the kitchen, the child at
her heels. Although Peyton wanted pizza, Eden cajoled her into eating Froot Loops in milk and drinking orange juice.

The child was still dressed in the muddy clothes she’d worn last night, and there was still a fragment of leaf clinging to her dark hair. She ate noisily and far too fast, like a person who does not know when the next meal will be. Eden itched to correct her but did not.

Time
, she told herself, watching the child gulp down a second bowl of cereal. It was going to take time to win Peyton’s trust and civilize her ways. It was like trying to tame a little wild creature.

After a fourth helping, Peyton pushed the bowl away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She turned to Eden, a look of apprehension suddenly coming into her eyes.

“Are you staying today? Henry says you should stay.”

Sympathy, mixed with remorse, pinched Eden’s heart. “I’ll stay today,” she said.
I don’t want you, kid, but for now we’re stuck with each other
.

“Will you stay tomorrow?” Peyton asked uneasily.

“Yes. Go brush your teeth. We’ll go to Mr. Charteris’s house and walk his dog. Then we’ll come back and give you a bath and wash your hair.”

Peyton’s face went sulky, but she obeyed. Eden dressed hurriedly in jeans and an aqua-blue T-shirt. She put on her shoes and helped Peyton with hers.

She held the girl’s hand as they crossed the hundred yards that separated Jessie’s small house from Owen’s large one. Eden found the key under the mat and unlocked the door, swinging it open.

She stepped inside, drawing the suddenly reluctant Peyton with her. “I don’t like this house,” Peyton said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “It’s not happy.”

The child’s words struck her with unexpected accuracy and force. The house, empty, looming, shadowed, smelling of sawdust, was
not
happy.

It did not seem possible to her that someone lived here. The living room and dining room were empty, torn apart, with exposed beams and wires hanging like raw ganglia from the ceiling. The only furnishings were a pair of scarred sawhorses and a paint-spattered stepladder.

Plaster dust lay across the raw wood floors like frost, and the only sound was that of a thin scuttling, as if a small rodent or large insect were fleeing from the human intruders.

In the kitchen, an elderly refrigerator hummed in one corner. The stove had been torn out, but a small microwave, incongruously new, stood on the remains of a counter. The back door was boarded shut.

There was a brand-new sink, a dilapidated table with one folding chair, and in the far corner, a dish for dog food, a dish for water, and a faded pet bed.

In the bed lay an elderly dog, truly an ancient dog, staring toward them with eyes clouded with cataracts. He sniffed the air. His tail gave a hesitant thump.

Instinctively Eden knew this animal must have belonged to Owen’s wife; it was not a man’s dog, it was the sort of animal bred to lie in a lap and have ribbons in its hair.

A worn leather leash hung from a nail on the wall over the water dish. Eden took it down, then knelt by the dog. She spoke to it, and it wagged again, more enthusiastically. When she stretched out her hand for its inspection, it sniffed, wagged, and licked her fingers, delicately at first, then with something akin to ecstasy.

An eerie realization seized her. The dog was happy to see a woman.
I will not be sentimental about this miserable
dog
, she told herself sternly.
I will not
. She snapped the leash to its collar with a businesslike click, scooped the animal up, and started toward the front door.

Peyton hung back. “That dog’s going to die.”

“Come on,” Eden said, purposely ignoring the statement.

Peyton trudged behind her, scowling. “I know what a dying dog looks like. I seen one.”

Eden’s instincts prickled. “You have?” she asked casually. “Where?”

Peyton looked suddenly wary. “Somewhere,” she said.

They passed a hallway that Eden hadn’t noticed before. She looked down it and saw a door standing ajar. Peyton saw it, too, and went to peek in. “That’s where
he
sleeps,” the child said with distaste. “That man.”

Curiosity overcame Eden, and she stepped down the hall and peered inside the room. Immediately she regretted it. She, who fiercely guarded her own privacy, had invaded someone else’s. But Peyton was right. The room was his.

A narrow mattress lay on the floor, covered by rumpled, mismatched sheets. A rickety desk stood against one corner, along with a wooden chair.

On the desk were small tools and a strange metal clamplike device that held what seemed to be an arrow that was only partly feathered.

“See?” demanded Peyton, standing behind her.

My God, he lives like a monk
, she thought. The dog twisted in her arms, whined, and tried to lick her face. “Come on,” she ordered Peyton. “We’ve got to walk a dog.”

Eden went out the front door and carried the animal down the stairs. Peyton hopped down them, one by one.

“This is a farmhouse,” the girl said, frowning. “I don’t like farmhouses.”

Again Eden’s nerve ends tingled. “Really?” she asked carefully. “Why not?”

“I just don’t,” Peyton answered. “Will we have pizza for lunch?”

Eden put the dog down and let it lead them toward the path through the woods. Peyton half walked, half skipped beside her. “La, la, la,” she sang.

Get your act together
, Eden scolded herself.
There are questions you need answered
.

She chose her words carefully. “Peyton, you drew a picture last night. It’s a very good picture. A blond lady holding fire in her hand. Who is she?”

Peyton’s gait slowed, her skipping stopped. She looked at Eden almost fearfully.

Eden said, “Mr. Charteris went to Sedonia, Missouri, to look for your mother. Have you ever heard of Sedonia?”

Peyton gave a tiny, pained gasp. Tears rose in her dark eyes, and Eden knew she could not ask the child about Sedonia, the plane, or anything else that might upset her further.

“But none of that matters,” Eden said smoothly, stretching her hand to Peyton. “You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to. I have just one more question.”

Peyton cringed as if she expected to be hit. Eden fought not to wince at the child’s fear.

“Did you say you wanted pizza for lunch?” she asked with a smile and took Peyton’s hand in hers.

The child’s face went carefully blank. “I don’t know,” she said tightly. “Maybe Henry does.”

“Fine,” Eden said and squeezed her hand. “That’s
the most important question of all: what Henry wants for lunch.”

But her heart pounded, fast and giddy with small triumph. Peyton had recognized the name Sedonia. Eden knew it. She was certain to her very marrow.

The late morning sun beat down.

Raylene sat on the back porch, watching as Drace stored the weapons beneath the false floor of the van. She’d changed her clothes and wore autumnal brown slacks and a yellow angora sweater. Drace liked her in angora.

He tossed a pair of handcuffs in among the rifles and covered them with the false panel, the strip of carpeting. He set a stack of newspapers atop the panel, weighted them with the cell phone.

He straightened, turned, and gave Raylene a disgusted look. “A heart attack,” he said, his lip curled. “A fucking heart attack.”

Raylene tried not to flinch at his unhappiness. She herself had at first been upset and frightened by what happened.

The Brodnik woman had died, writhing and twisting on the floor in front of their incredulous eyes. They’d hardly touched her, only bruised her a bit, broken her finger.

Raylene knew Drace needed her to show her faith and affection. She rose and went to him. She wound her arms around his waist, laid her head against his chest. “It’s going to be all right,” she soothed. “You’ll make it all better again.”