Chapter 8 #2
She glanced at Simon, wonderfully boyish and sweet with his closed eyes and a scrunched-up nose, as he continued to focus.
“Simon,” she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open.
“It’s done.”
“Oh.” He looked down at their intertwined fingers, and she let him go.
The room was still so silent, so calm, and she wondered what was off before she realized there’d been no side effect to her spell. By now, usually a pipe would have burst, or something would have caught fire, even if there was no fire source nearby.
Maybe Simon did help, after all.
“So, you have her? You know what happened to her?” he asked.
A soft buzz filled her chest; energy, waiting to find its missing piece. “I will,” Shanna said. “But first we need to go pick up Chris. We’re going for a walk.”
***
Two hours and a walk around the city center later, the clouds had rolled in, bringing a drizzle.
Simon abandoned his hopes of an umbrella when the wind almost turned it inside out, and instead pulled up the hood of his jacket.
Chris scowled as water droplets dripped past the rolled-up brim of her beanie.
Shanna, however, leaned her face into the rain and laughed, even twirling around.
He thought people only did that in movies.
Regarding Shanna’s tracking, apparently, she felt some sort of energy, and that led them to the harbor.
As if homing in on a beacon, Shanna marched around a small lagoon, surrounded by buildings with yellow and blue clapboard facades, until she stopped in front of a pub with the sign The Winded Kea hanging above the door.
“This is it. It’s the strongest here.” She disappeared inside.
Simon looked at Chris, who shrugged, and they followed her.
Shanna was already at the bar, chatting up the young, dark-haired bartender who, to her credit, didn’t seem annoyed that someone had burst in to ask about the last whereabouts of a woman who’d been here twenty years ago.
At least Simon hoped that’s what Shanna was inquiring about, and not another topic from her seemingly endless conversation list.
While he waited, his eyes were drawn to a wall covered with pictures.
There were postcards, motivational posters, but also photos of people; workers or patrons of the bar.
A group of men posing around a pool table.
Students in matching t-shirts, cheering with glasses overflowing with beer.
And in the corner, two young women dressed in waitress uniforms, hugging and smiling at the camera.
The picture itself wasn’t of great quality—definitely not taken with a modern camera—but Simon’s eyes instantly fixed on the blonde.
“Shanna.” He’d started it as a murmur but turned into a yell, acknowledging both the likeness of the woman in the picture as well as the real woman standing by the bar. “Shanna!”
“What?” She came over, putting her hands on her hips.
He pointed at the picture.
Shanna’s arms dropped, and she breathed, “Mom.”
“Do you think it’s her?”
“Gran showed me her old pictures.” Shanna brushed her fingers across the photo. “It’s her.” She grabbed the photo and ran back to the bar. Simon followed her, and Chris appeared behind him like a shadow.
“This woman. Do you—wait, no, you won’t remember her. But this photo.” Shanna thrust it in front of the bartender’s face. “These two were employees, right? Would you happen to know their names?”
The woman looked at the photo and checked the date. “That’s twenty years ago. No idea, sorry.” But as Shanna slumped her shoulders, she continued, “Uncle might know, though. He’s the owner. I’ll go ask him.”
Shanna turned to Simon, her eyes shining, as the bartender disappeared through a door.
“It worked,” he said. “Your thing actually worked.”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “You helped.”
Well, this was much easier than he’d expected.
Perhaps they’d be done in a day and he could return home tomorrow.
He still had so much to sort out, including getting Chris to help him find out who sicced a killer on him, but he wouldn’t mind going back home.
Even if Shanna thought he was safer here.
“Uncle has no idea who the blonde is,” the bartender said, returning with the photo. “But the brunette is Holly Williams. Worked here until about a decade ago.”
“She and Mom look very friendly in the picture,” Shanna said to Simon.
“Holly would have forgotten her, but maybe there’s still a trail leading from her to Mom.
Sometimes, the lack of memory can be like a negative space.
You can assume something was there because there are things around it that don’t make sense without the missing piece. ”
“Do you know where Holly lives?” Simon asked the bartender.
“Uh, Uncle would have her address, but I can’t give out that information.”
“But we really—”
“Don’t try to bribe her,” Shanna said through gritted teeth.
“I was only trying to ask nicely!”
The bartender shrugged. “Sorry. Business policies.”
Simon showed her his back, leaned on the counter, and pulled out his phone. Holly Williams, Wellington…
“Uh, I’ll have a ginger ale?” Shanna said to the bartender, the apology clear in her voice.
“Got her Instagram,” Simon said to no one in particular—that no one turning out to be Chris, who pasted herself by his side.
“That picture looks useful,” she said, bringing her phone up. “Send me the link.”
Simon did so, then scrolled through Holly’s profile feed. The city in the back of most photos looked like Wellington, so there was a good chance she was still here. “Maybe I can message her, ask—”
“No need. I know where she lives,” Chris said in her flat voice.
“Don’t tell me you hacked her.”
Chris rolled her eyes. “I used this picture taken from her balcony to determine the position. It’s pretty easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s this geography game I play sometimes. Plonks you down on a random road, and you have to figure out where you are. You pick up some skills.” Chris shrugged. “So, you want the address or not?”
“You’re way too smart to be a shelter kid.”
“Homeless kids aren’t stupid. Just less lucky.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I wanted to say, shouldn’t you be at school, on a scholarship?”
“But then, who’d watch over Freddie?”
“Aren’t there adults to do that? How old is he?” Simon arched an eyebrow. “And, on a scale of one to you, how likely to cause mischief?”
“Taking on an assassination contract isn’t causing mischief,” Chris said, her mouth twitching in a strange way. For a second, Simon thought she might be having a seizure, but no—she was smiling.
Almost smiling.
She quickly stopped. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She shrugged her bony, hoodie-clad shoulders. “Yeah. It’s just nobody is usually interested in my stuff, or Freddie, is all.”
Before Simon could utter an apology—which he wasn’t even sure why he needed—Shanna interrupted them, a glass in each hand. “Ginger ale?”
“We got Holly’s address,” Simon said.
“Oh my gods.” Shanna nearly spilled the ale, then set the glasses back on the bar. “Where?”
Chris rattled out the address.
“I’ll check it to get directions,” Simon said, but before he could even start typing, Shanna walked over to a group of people.
“Hi,” she sing-sang. “Could I ask you lovely fellows for some directions …”
“Or that … will work,” Simon finished.
The address wasn’t far away. Shanna’s new friends marked the shortest route on her fold-up map, and she spread it out as they headed back across the city center, closer to the hill with the cable car.
“The shortcut is marked here.” Shanna directed them up a slight slope, through a less busy part of the city. The road straddled a park at first, then opened into a rose garden with a glasshouse and a fountain in the middle, bordered by low hedges.
“Oh, it’s so pretty.” Shanna went straight for the garden.
With a delay, but no complaints, Chris followed. The tattoo on Simon’s wrist soon yanked him, and he gave in to the distraction with a sigh.
Even in fall, the garden was beautiful. A couple of the bushes had begun to dry off, their petals lying on the surrounding grass, but most were still in bloom.
Shanna zipped from one to the other—velvety red, yellow with pink stripes, ones the color of the Malibu sunset cocktail—leaning down and smelling the flowers, her hair spilling over her shoulders.
Chris appeared next to Simon. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“What for?”
“It has a better camera, and I want to take a picture of her.”
“Shanna?”
“Yeah. Look.” She tugged on his sleeve, whispering as if they were two safari hunters observing a timid antelope. “Her windbreaker goes perfectly with the scenery.”
It did. How hadn’t he noticed it? It had a big pattern of colorful roses on a teal background—almost the same as the rose garden. It was funny, but more than that, it was … adorable.
He handed the phone over to Chris.
“Wow, you reduced the shutter lag,” she said, crouching down as she snapped the photos.
Was there any random subject she wasn’t an expert on?
“Here you go.” Chris returned the phone. “My artistic streak is satisfied.”
“Uh … no problem?”
Shanna approached them. “Shall we? It’s just down the side of the hill.”
“Sure.” Simon quickly hid the phone.
A windy walking path led them past high-growing pines and stouter trees with meaty, waxy leaves. At the bottom, they crossed the road only to head up another hill and into a suburban street lined with two-story houses with matching white clapboard facades.
“It’s that one,” Chris said. “I recognize the railing of the balcony.”
“What do you mean, you recognize—” Shanna waved her hand. “I probably shouldn’t ask.”
As they rang the doorbell, sudden tingles of nervousness spread through Simon’s stomach, as if he were the one coming to look for his long-lost parent—or a trail of one, at least.
“Yes?” A woman opened the door. The perm from the photo had changed to a bob haircut, and she wasn’t dressed as a waitress anymore, but there was no doubt this was the same person.
“Holly?” Shanna said. “This is going to sound incredibly strange, but twenty years ago, you worked with a woman named Isabel at The Winded Kea pub. You won’t remember her—”
“I’m sorry, what?” Holly furrowed her eyebrows.
“I’m looking for—well, not for her anymore, but her last whereabouts.”
Holly looked from one to the other. “I don’t remember any Isabel, sorry.” She made a move to close the door.
“Please,” Shanna said. “She’s my mom.”
Holly paused, biting her lip.
“I know you don’t remember,” Shanna continued. “But anything you know about that time would help.”
Holly deliberated, then opened the door wider. “Come in.” She led them to a bright living room overlooking the bay and gestured for them to sit. “You say twenty years ago?”
Shanna nodded.
Holly squinted, looking at the top left corner of the room.
“That was before I met Liam, so I would have been living with a roommate over in Newtown. Oh, it’s weird.
” She wrapped a lock of hair around her finger.
“I remember living there, very clearly. And something tells me I had a roommate, but for the life of me, I can’t remember her.
I remember things—events at the pub, going to the cinema, the insane number of Lord of the Rings costume parties that sprang up when those movies came out.
But I can’t remember her face or her name. ”
“Do you remember when that roommate left?”
Holly pouted. “Maybe around 2002? Ah, yes! I had to move because I couldn’t find a new roommate, and the rent was too high for me. That’s how I met Liam, actually …”
“That would have been shortly before Mom died,” Shanna said to Simon.
“Died?” Holly repeated.
“Yes. I was hoping to find her grave and … well, any traces of her.”
“Well, she could have died soon after. I wouldn’t know,” Holly said. “But I don’t think she died in Wellington.”
Shanna frowned at Simon, and they both looked at Holly.
“What do you mean?” Shanna asked.
“I wasn’t left alone because my roommate died,” Holly said.
“I remember, because I still had the travel prospects she left with me as I moved apartments. Yes! I don’t know what she did, or where exactly she went, but she quit her job to travel.
” Holly leaned back, smiling, as if proud of herself for untangling this mystery.
“She was going to chase adventures on the South Island.”