Lost Innocents (29 page)

Maddy tried to pretend that she still did not understand. “I don’t think this argument is any of my business. I’m going to take my daughter out of here. I want you two gone when I get back. I don’t care where you go or what you do. I just want you gone.”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Bonnie.

“This is your quarrel,” Maddy said, trying to sound weary. “It’s none of my concern.”

“Leave Mrs. Blake alone,” Terry ordered from his powerless position on the floor. “None of this is her fault.”

“She knows too much,” Bonnie retorted.

Maddy felt fear bubble up inside of her. “I don’t know anything. I don’t care about your personal life.”

Streaks of mascara smudged on Bonnie’s face, and Maddy was surprised to realize that Bonnie wore makeup. She had never looked closely enough at this woman. Bonnie was the kind of person who was overlooked. Until it was too late.

“You know who he is,” Bonnie said flatly, inclining her head toward Sean. “Don’t you?”

Of course she did. No matter what Father Nick had said, there was only one possibility. She looked at the baby sitting on the floor of her guest room, wailing, and she knew. That meant that this woman before her in the shapeless turtleneck and the dull gray skirt, streaks of mascara under her eyes, was a killer.

Maddy’s breath was coming in short gasps, as if she had been sprinting and come to a halt. As if she had been forced down an alley with no exit. She had to face the facts. Suddenly, as if in a moment of calm in the chaos around her, she knew that she could not deny the baby any longer. She could not deny his wailing, or his identity, or all the horrible things that had happened to him. She didn’t think it could save her if she did.

She walked over to the child, who was crying miserably on the floor, his face red, his nose running. It seemed inhuman to deny him, to leave him there uncomforted. None of them was going to get out of this unscathed. At least she could hold him. She bent down and picked him up, cradled him tenderly in her arms. She wiped his nose, and kissed his head, and held him to her chest.

“Don’t cry, Justin,” she said. The child’s wailing stopped, and he lay very still against her, his eyes wide, clutching her with his tiny hands. “Don’t cry, baby.”

She turned and faced Bonnie, who was standing in front of her holding a gun.

T
here had been only three customers in the cafe, and Nick’s meal had been served without the slightest visible curiosity on the part of the server about the identity of the stranger. The atmosphere did not invite one to linger. He had quickly dispatched his Salisbury steak and walked back out onto the deserted streets. Now he stood in front of Number Twelve Maple Street, a small clapboard-sided gray house that sat on a large untended lot covered with an ankle-high layer of leaves. The front of the house was almost obscured by scraggly evergreens, and even in the gathering darkness Nick could see that the paint on the clapboard was peeling off in large patches. A few lights were on in the windows behind the curtains, but Nick hesitated to intrude. The house was modest and shabby, and it seemed unlikely that anyone within would be able to offer the Lewises any financial support. But maybe there was someone who really did care about Bonnie. Moral support could be just as valuable. It couldn’t do any harm to try, he reasoned. The worst he could meet was a short rebuff, which seemed standard in this part of the world. That didn’t bother him.

He walked up to the front step and rang the doorbell. He was a little surprised to hear it chime inside the house. He had kind of figured that the doorbell would be broken, too. Everything else about the house was in such a state of disrepair. He noticed, as he stood waiting for someone to come, that one of the shutters had fallen off the front window and was resting up against the house, as if waiting for someone to come and fix it.

He heard footsteps approaching. For a moment he felt a tiny surge of apprehension. The house was so run-down and gloomy, he half expected a ghoulish figure to open the door and glare at him. To his surprise and relief, the door opened, and inside stood a pretty young girl in her early twenties, in bare feet, jeans, and a cheerful flowered shirt. Her gaze was guileless, and her bright smile lit up the gloomy foyer.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly, throwing the door open wide.

“Miss…Hartwell?” he asked.

“Mrs. Hartwell,” she said, beaming at him. “Colleen, actually.”

This girl isn’t from around here, Nick thought. He could hardly believe she belonged in this town, where he hadn’t seen a smile since he arrived. “Urn…my name is Nick Rylander. I’m a Catholic priest, actually, and I…uh, I have a friend who used to live here.”

“In Gravesport, you mean?”

Nick glanced down at the card. “Yes, well, actually, here, in this house. I believe she rented a room from you. Bonnie…Bonnie Lewis?”

“Oh,” she said, reaching out her hand across the threshold and shaking his vigorously. “You’re a friend of Bonnie’s? Well, that’s okay, then. Come in, Father. Come on in.”

Surprised but pleased by this reception, Nick stepped into the gloomy foyer.

“I’m sorry it’s so dark in here,” she said. “The light bulb’s burned out, and I can’t reach it without a ladder. I’m waiting for my husband to come home, so he can fix it,” she explained, motioning for him to follow her into the considerably brighter rooms of the house.

“Is he working late tonight?” asked Nick.

Colleen laughed as if he were being incredibly witty. “Oh no. I must have given you the wrong impression. He’s a fisherman. He’s out for weeks at a time. That’s why the place gets so run-down. He’s not around to keep it up.” Colleen’s placid expression radiated kindness, if not intelligence. “I try to keep up with it, but it’s impossible.”

Looking around her house, Nick wondered how hard she tried to keep up with anything. The house was a mess, every surface piled high with junk, and it looked as though no one had tried to pick up in weeks.

Colleen removed some newspapers, comic books, and a few pairs of worn socks from the corner seat on the sofa and tossed them onto an end table. “Sit down, why don’t you?” she asked pleasantly. “Can I get you something? A cup of tea?”

He said yes before he stopped to consider the condition of her kitchen. Well, tea was only herbs and boiling water. How bad could it be?

“I was just having one myself,” she said. She went into the kitchen, switched off the little TV on the counter, then stuck her head back in the living room. “What do you take in it?” she asked.

“Just sugar,” he said.

She emerged in a few moments with two teacups in chipped saucers. She handed him one, made a space on the coffee table for her own, and cleared a teddy bear, some laundry, and a pile of catalogs off a chair so that she could sit, too.

She carefully tucked a long, shiny curl behind her ear, took a sip of tea, and gave him, once again, her warm, unruffled smile. “So,” she said, “what brings you to Gravesport? It’s nice to have a visitor. We’re alone here so much with Georgie out to sea all the time.”

“I’m passing through,” said Nick. “I’m on my way to Canada. Nova Scotia, actually.”

“Vacation?” she asked.

“No. I’m…working up there. At a monastery. Doing some art restoration.”

She nodded, as if thinking this over carefully, but her expression told him that she didn’t have a clue what he might be talking about. “And how do you know Bonnie?”

Nick looked at her narrowly. She didn’t seem the judgmental type, but he wondered how much she actually knew about Bonnie’s life. He tried to phrase it carefully. “I actually knew her husband before I met Bonnie,” he said.

“Terry!” she exclaimed. “Did you know him before he went to jail?” Her tone was absolutely without reproof. Nick congratulated himself on having come here. This woman might not be able to do much to help. She hardly seemed able to do much for herself. But she would certainly care.

“I met Terry while he was in jail,” said Nick. “We spent a lot of time talking. I performed their wedding, actually.”

“You did!” she exclaimed. “That is wonderful. Bonnie told me about the wedding. She can describe something and make it seem real. I think that’s ’cause she reads a lot of books, you know. I don’t read much,” she admitted. “But Bonnie, she’s different that way.”

“I remember Terry telling me that he had sent out an ad asking for books, and she had sent him some,” Father Nick recalled.

Colleen appeared delighted at this. “I always thought that was the sweetest romance, you know. Bonnie was so lonely, and they were penpals. There was something…I don’t know, kind of old-fashioned about it, if you know what I mean. She used to wait for those letters. She would really and truly wait by the mailbox. Then rush up to her room when they came, just like a teenager.”

Nick smiled and sipped tea. “It was good for both of them.”

“Of course I never thought he’d get out of that jail. I used to say to her, ‘Bonnie, he can never be a real husband to you.’ It was a hopeless situation. But she didn’t worry too much about it. She loved him, and that was that. Then, all of a sudden, that other guy confessed. Wasn’t that great?” she enthused.

Nick nodded. “I was happy for him. For both of them.”

Colleen nodded thoughtfully. “It was just like a miracle. I don’t see how some people have no belief in miracles. I mean, that was one, right there.”

“I agree,” he said.

“Well, you would, wouldn’t you, being a priest and all. I mean, poor Bonnie. No one in this town ever thought she’d find someone. She is a little…” Colleen tried to think of an apt phrase. She waggled her hand in front of her. “A little…stiff. But when you get to know her…”

“You knew her pretty well?” he said.

“As well as anyone, I guess. She wasn’t one to confide in people. But we got along. Poor Bonnie had it rough, you know,” Colleen confided, turning sad at the memory. “Her mother was terrible. Very mean to her. She was a pretty woman. Didn’t look at all like Bonnie. She treated Bonnie like a slave, I hear, and I don’t think she ever gave her any love. I think Bonnie just escaped into those books of hers. Nobody shed a tear around here when that lady died, I can tell you.”

Nick nodded. It confirmed what he had suspected.

“Not to be un-Christian,” Colleen added hastily, remembering that her visitor was a priest. “I mean, I know we’re all supposed to love our neighbor and all…”

“Some people make it difficult, don’t they,” Nick said with a smile.

Colleen sighed and sank back into her chair. “I don’t mind telling you, I miss having Bonnie around here. She’s only been gone a week or so, and look at this mess. When she was here, this place was shipshape. I felt guilty even charging her rent, the way she took care of everything. The house was always picked up, and she’d do the shopping.” Colleen leaned forward. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I tried never to take advantage of her. Poor Bonnie’d been taken advantage enough of in her life by that witch of a mother. Oh no, I was always telling her, Don’t work so hard. You don’t have to do all that. But Bonnie hated a mess. Me, I don’t even notice it,” she admitted.

Nick stifled an urge to smile. It was pretty obvious that she didn’t notice it. But she had a quality of goodness about her that made her appealing.

“So,” said Colleen, “how’re they doing now, anyway?”

Nick set down his teacup and leaned forward, clasping his hands. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about. I mean, I didn’t know if Bonnie had any family in town…”

Colleen shook her head. “I’m about as close as it gets.”

“Well, I can see that,” Nick said. “The truth is—”

A baby’s thin wail pierced the air, emerging from a room down the darkened hallway. Colleen threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, Father, just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She started down the hall, calling out, “Coming, angel. Coming, my little sweetpea.”

He heard her murmuring, and the crying stopped immediately. In a few minutes she came back into the living room, carrying a big fat baby in her arms. He was wearing a stained sweatshirt and pants, but he was cooing happily in his mother’s arms. “This is George junior,” she said proudly.

“Very handsome lad,” said Nick.

Colleen walked back to the kitchen, one arm wrapped securely around her baby, and got a bottle of milk from the refrigerator. She brought it back into the living room, sat down, settled the baby in her lap, and gave him the bottle. He began to suck on it contentedly. Colleen gazed at him in complete adoration and then forced herself to give her attention back to her guest.

“How old is he?” Nick asked politely.

“Eight months,” Colleen answered. “He’s full of mischief. Just like his dad. But he’s good-natured like his dad, too. Bonnie used to take care of him sometimes. It was great having a built-in babysitter.” She sighed, remembering. “One weekend I knew George senior was coming into port up the line, and I wanted to go up there and surprise him. I knew I couldn’t because of Georgie here, but Bonnie insisted that I go. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I just left Georgie with her, packed up my laciest things, and off I went. George was so surprised. It was like being honeymooners all over again. We had the whole weekend, alone together.”

“I think Bonnie likes to be helpful,” said Nick. “Although right now she’s the one who needs a little help.”

“Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I didn’t ask her to do it. She volunteered. She practically begged me,” Colleen protested. “Anyway, you were telling me that she’s in some kind of jam. What happened that she needs help?”

“Well, it seems that no sooner had Terry gotten out of prison than they were involved in a car accident.”

“Oh no,” Colleen exclaimed. “Not another one.”

“Another one?” he asked.

“Well, that’s how her mother died. Bonnie was driving her to a church fashion show or something, and she lost control of the car. Drove right into a tree. She was okay, but her mom never had a chance. She was in the death seat, and she was from the old school—didn’t wear seat belts. The police said she never knew what hit her.”

Nick winced. “Bonnie never mentioned it to me,” he said.