The Body in the Woods (17 page)

“I found this feather,” Nick said, holding out a long narrow black and white feather with a orange-red shaft. Ruby hadn't noticed him pick it up. “Do you know what it is?”

“Northern flicker,” Becker said immediately. “Red-shafted. There's also a yellow-shafted variety, but they're less common.”

Ruby let out a little huff. She could have told Nick what it was, but he hadn't even thought to ask her.

“You can't keep it, Nick,” she said. She knew some people collected bird feathers the way her mom collected owl figurines. “Under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918, possession of bird feathers is a federal crime.”

Nick snorted in disbelief. “Are you serious? It's not like I killed a bird and pulled out its feathers. I
found
it.”

“Ruby's right,” Becker said. “Nearly every bird is protected. It's left over from when whole species went extinct so ladies could wear huge hats decorated with feathers. Personally, I think it's a tad outdated. Although it's not like they actually have the cops out hunting down people who like to collect pretty feathers. They've got better things to do. As you two well know.” He frowned and then turned to Ruby, his expression lightening. “Since you're a fellow birder, have you heard the news? The swifts have finally been sighted up north. They should start showing up here in the next two or three days.”

Ruby felt a huge grin spread across her face. On their migration down to their winter home in Central America, swifts flew nonstop all day, even eating on the fly. They alighted at night only to rest. Every fall, for the past twenty years, thousands of swifts had stopped to roost in the old brick chimney on Portland's Chapman Elementary School. But so far this year there had been less than a handful. Everyone worried it was yet another sign of global warming.

“I can't wait to see them.” She clapped her hands. “It doesn't feel like it's really fall without the swifts.” Recalling their previous conversation, she asked, “So have you seen your northern spotted owl yet?”

“Not yet, but I still keep looking. Good things are worth the wait.” He took the digital camera from around his neck. “Like that Cooper's hawk I was taking pictures of a minute ago.”

He pressed a button and handed them the camera. The photo was in perfect focus. Above the cruel curve of its black beak, the bird's red eyes stared down alertly.

“It looks like an eagle,” Nick said.

Becker clapped him on the shoulder. “Very perceptive. It's a raptor. So are eagles. The very top of the food chain.” A smile curved his lips. “I'm saying ‘it,' but this is more than likely a female. Female raptors are usually much bigger than the males.”

“Seriously?” Nick said.

“If it's any consolation, male birds of all types usually have the better plumage. Not like humans, where the most interesting-looking specimens are invariably female.”

“She's a beauty.” Ruby was filled with a quiet, buzzing joy. It was such a pleasure to meet an adult happy to discuss one of her pet subjects. Kids her own age didn't care about birds.

She handed back the camera, but as he took it, the older man lost his balance on the uneven ground. He had to steady himself on Ruby's shoulder, and then he grabbed her backpack for balance. By the time he was stable again, he was red-faced and embarrassed. Not meeting her eyes, he straightened Ruby's backpack, even adjusting a zipper and then patted her shoulder. “Oh, my, I'm so sorry about that.”

“That's okay,” Ruby said hurriedly. It must be terrible to get old and weak.

But then again, it would be even more terrible to die long before you ever had a chance to get old.

CHAPTER 32

SUNDAY

OUTSIDER

Even worse than crying was having someone see you cry. In a desperate effort to stop her tears, Alexis bit her lower lip, widened her eyes, and blinked rapidly. Bran leaned forward and took both her hands in his. Pulling free, she put them over her face. Under her palms, her cheeks were hot. If only she could just disappear.

A chair scraped back and then a strong arm encircled her shoulders as Bran crouched next to her.

“Hey, it'll be okay,” he said in a low voice next to her ear.

“You don't know that,” she said from behind the shelter of her hands. “Nobody knows that.”

His sigh stirred the hairs on the back of her neck. “That's true,” he agreed, surprising her. “But I do know that it's possible to live through things that you honestly thought would kill you. You can even come out stronger on the other side.”

Right now, Alexis felt anything but strong. “How do you know that?”

After a pause, Bran said softly, “Someday I'll tell you.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But not today. Today is about helping you find your mom.”

What was she doing? Alexis didn't even really know this guy, and here she was falling apart in front of him. And if she did let him help her? Either they wouldn't find her mom and Bran would worry about her being on her own, or they would and he would see for himself just how crazy she was. What if he decided it was his duty as a member of TIP to report her home situation to children's services?

Alexis took her hands away, grabbed her napkin, swiped it across her eyes, then pushed herself to her feet. Bran's arm fell loosely to her waist as he stood up too. She stepped away and turned to face him. “This is something I really need to do by myself. For one thing, my mom doesn't like strangers.” Which was only partly true. There were times her mom craved an audience. But she was also wary of anyone who wanted to fix her.

“I just want to help you.” Bran's eyes locked onto hers.

She looked away. She ignored Mara, who had stopped loading cups into the dishwasher and was giving her a look that basically said, “Are you crazy?”

“You can help,” Alexis said, “by letting me do this on my own.”

 

 

Back at home, Alexis paced the small living room, trying to figure out how she could find her mom. She had already tried looking downtown and gotten nowhere. But she had been an outsider dressed in nice clothes that no one could tell had come from a thrift store. Maybe if homeless people thought she was one of them, they would open up more.

In her mom's closet she found a shapeless brown sweater with stretched-out sleeves and a pair of faded green cargo pants. Once she changed, Alexis checked herself in the mirror. What with the bags under her eyes, her lack of makeup, and her crazy hair from running around in the wind and drizzle, she already looked the part of a homeless girl. Bran must have thought she was pathetic. No wonder he had been so nice. It had probably all been driven by pity.

The photo of her mom was still in her backpack. Alexis added a couple of granola bars in case she got hungry. She tucked her cell phone into her pocket, but after putting a couple of dollars in her other pocket, she left her wallet on the counter. No ID meant nothing to contradict any story she told. On a scrap of paper, she wrote, “Mom—gone to find you. If you come home, call me!” Not trusting her mom's memory, Alexis scribbled her phone number on the bottom.

She decided to walk. Even in their own neighborhood, there were plenty of homeless people who might have seen her mom: smoking on curbs, reading Bibles under tarps, and lugging black plastic garbage bags full of belongings. Alexis was a child of the city, used to ignoring them, used to crossing the street, used to not making eye contact.

But now her eyes had been opened.

The first person Alexis approached was a plump black woman pushing a shopping cart loaded with plastic-wrapped bundles. Despite the cold, the other woman wore flip-flops, a short-sleeved shirt, and cropped pants that dug into her full calves.

“Excuse me.” Alexis pulled out her mom's photo. “Have you seen this woman?”

The woman looked from it to Alexis and back again. “That must be your mama. You look so much alike.”

Her throat swelled closed. All she could do was nod.

“No, I haven't seen her, honey. Sorry.”

Alexis moved on, stopping every now and then to ask people who didn't scare her too much. More homeless were scattered under the on-ramp to the bridge. But if any of them had seen Alexis's mom, they weren't saying.

At the far end of the bridge, a girl sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, her back against a metal fence. She wore a navy blue American Apparel hoodie, jeans, and scuffed boots. Next to her was a blue backpack and a bottle of Coke Zero. In front of her feet a sign simply said
PLEASE HELP
.

“Hey,” Alexis held out her mom's photo, which was already crumpled. “I'm looking for this lady. Have you seen her?”

The girl took it without speaking. While she looked at the photo, Alexis looked down at the top of her head. Her black hair was scraped back into a cross between a ponytail and a bun.

“Yeah, I have seen her around,” she said, rolling her
R
s.

“Wait—what—you have?” Alexis felt a jolt of electricity.

“Not today.”

“Then when?”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe yesterday? Or the day before.” And just as Alexis was beginning to doubt, she added, “She was talking about God. And I think she was barefoot.”

“That's her. That's my mom.” Instead of feeling relieved, Alexis felt like she had just been punched in the stomach. She doubled over.

The girl leaned forward and patted the back of Alexis's head. “It's okay,” she murmured. “It's okay.”

Alexis straightened, blinking back tears. “It's just that's the first I've heard of her in a few days.”

The girl's face clouded. “Did you guys get separated by the shelter?”

Alexis nodded. It didn't feel as much like a lie if she didn't say it out loud.

“That's such bull!” the other girl exploded. “I hate it when they do that! Like once you're over thirteen, it's okay to separate you. But if you don't have your family, you don't have nothing.” She held out her hand. It was callused, the nails broken to different lengths. “My name's Raina.”

She took her hand. “Alexis. My mom's name is Tanya. I can't find her, and I don't know where to look. I'm really worried about her.”

Raina gazed at her more closely. “You haven't been out here very long.”

“Um, we haven't.”

“Then you might not know all the places to check.” The other girl got to her feet. “So let's go see if we can find her.”

Alexis hesitated. She hadn't been looking for a helper. But then she nodded.

“Which shelter were you staying at?” Raina asked.

She hadn't thought this story through. “A private one run by a church. On the East Side.”

“And they said they didn't have any more room for adults, right? Like your mom isn't just as vulnerable as you.” Raina shot her a look. “Maybe more.”

“She has some issues,” Alexis said. Which she wished was a lie.

“Everything's closed right now.” Raina leaned down to pick up her things. “And people aren't allowed to wait outside the doors until they open, because it bugs the other businesses. But there are other places where she might be.”

With Raina as her guide, Alexis went on a tour of the various areas where homeless people congregated. The library, McDonald's (“They're pretty chill about letting you charge your phone”), a church basement. Over and over, Alexis asked people about her mom, showed her picture. A few thought they might have seen her, but no one was as specific as Raina.

The red brick steps of Pioneer Courthouse Square were empty except for homeless people. The day was too cold for anyone who had anyplace else to go to be outside.

“When I first came to Portland, I refused to sit,” Raina said after they finished talking to a man who had only a few teeth left in his mouth, even though he looked like he was only in his mid-thirties. “It was just too embarrassing. I would have rather been dead on my feet than sit on the sidewalk and have people guess I was homeless. But you know what?” She shrugged. “There's no hiding it. Somehow people always just know.”

Alexis had a pretty good idea how. Raina didn't really look that dirty, but she smelled funky.

“What time is it?” Raina asked.

Alexis checked her phone and told her.

“Day services is open. Let's go check it out.”

Once they got there, Alexis followed Raina in. It was a big open room with lockers in the back. On one side was a line of people to use the three computers. On the other side of the room, people were matching a movie on TV. In the middle was a pool table, its green felt matted and scarred from years of play. Everywhere people were curled up on couches or just the floor, trying to nap despite the noise.

Raina wasn't shy about asking people it they had seen Alexis's mom, even those who looked sound asleep. Each time, Alexis handed over the photo. But no one recognized her, not even the staff workers, who presumably weren't groggy from lack of sleep or previous ingestion of illicit substances.

Finally Alexis leaned against the wall. Next to her a framed piece of paper read
NO DRUGS, NO SEX, NO VIOLENCE.
In the corner, three photographs were tacked on the wall. She moved closer.

“Who are these people?” she asked Raina.

“That's the memorial wall.” She pointed at the first picture, which showed a black kid with high cheekbones. The photo had been enlarged over and over, so the face was composed of a series of dots like a piece of modern art. “He was hit by a car.” Raina's finger moved to the next photo, a blond man with a blank face. “He was found dead in an alley, but I never did hear from what.” The third was a girl with crooked yellow bangs and crooked yellow teeth. “She died right on that couch over there. Heroin overdose. One of the staff tried to wake her up, and she was gone.” All the photos had messages scrawled on the edges. The girl had the most.