Chapter Sixty-Nine Raine
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Raine
My day in town with Molly was an uneven mix of highs and lows. We stopped at the Crozet diner. After we slid into a booth, I ordered pancakes for Molly and an omelet for me. The waitress took our order and filled my coffee cup, but I felt her gaze flickering between Molly and me.
To distract Molly, I turned over my paper mat and sketched her in blue ink. A round face, tight curls for hair, and a large smile.
Molly watched, frowning. “I want to draw.”
“Sure.” I dug out another pen and flipped over her mat.
She took the ballpoint and lowered her scowling face toward the blank sheet. She drew a house, and beside it four stick figures. Mommy, Daddy, and Molly stood outside the house with two chimneys. Hale House. One female figure was alone inside. Separate. Me.
She’d drawn this scene before. Someone had impressed upon the child that she and her parents were outsiders. But hadn’t Maria promised that Molly would live in Hale House one day?
This family, like the last, were all frowning. The little girl had curly hair and a downward-turned half circle for lips.
“You draw well,” I said.
Molly shrugged. “I’m not that good. You draw better.”
“If you want to learn, I can find an art class for you.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Your family looks sad,” I said.
“They don’t like each other. They fight a lot.”
“I’m sorry.” I added more swirls to my version of Molly’s hair. “Why do they fight?”
The waitress arrived at the table with our plates. “Those are nice pictures.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Molly nodded, and though I was tempted to remind her to look up and acknowledge the comment, I gave the waitress a pitying look.
“I get it,” the waitress said. “It’s been a rough week for that little girl.”
I drew in a breath and sipped my coffee.
“Any word on how it all happened?” the waitress asked.
My jaw tightened. “Don’t know.”
Instead of leaving, the waitress lingered. “I knew them all. They came in here a lot. Not together, mind you, but they were all my customers.”
Molly’s pen dug deeper into the paper.
“Now isn’t really the best time,” I said.
She finally hesitated and nodded. “Right. I get it.”
When she left, I leaned forward. “Do you want to eat?”
“No. I hate pancakes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you loved them.”
She shrugged. “Daddy and I came here. He ordered pancakes. So I ate pancakes.”
“What do you like to eat?”
She shrugged. “Amy made good pancakes.”
Amy. “Do you miss Daddy and Amy?” Rebecca had encouraged me to ask questions when I felt there might be an opening into Molly’s mind.
“Yeah.” She looked up, her eyes glistening. “And Mommy.”
“What did you do with Mommy when she wasn’t working?”
“We visited the big house. Played hide-and-seek. She’d tell me stories.”
Hale House. Maria must’ve found Amy’s hideaway inside Mom’s old bedroom. Molly glanced at her untouched food. “Mommy loved the big house.”
“We can leave here,” I said. “There are other restaurants. Do you want to leave?”
“Yes.”
After attempting a public meal with Gabe, I should have known better. We were the center of the gossip world now and likely would be for some time.
I dropped two twenties on the table, gulped a sip of coffee, and rose. “Then let’s find another place.”
She grabbed the two pictures and followed me out of the restaurant.
The ten-mile drive west to Waynesboro—a small town that shared connections with ours—took twenty minutes. Waynesboro wasn’t as frequented by people who knew us.
We ended up in a fast-food restaurant that mirrored thousands of others like it across the country. We ordered eggs on English muffins and French toast sticks.
I laid out the mats and handed Molly a pen. We continued in silence, drawing and eating our breakfast. Our next stop was a small petting zoo. Then ice cream. More shopping. She picked a pink dress. I chose a bright blue sheath.
Molly asked several times if she could go “home,” and I promised to have it cleaned so she could.
When we arrived back at Hale House, there were no traces of Judson or the funeral home’s trucks and hearse. The cemetery was close to the house but not easily visible unless you were looking for it.
“I want to go home.” Molly dragged out the last word like a wail.
That small cottage was her last solid link to her old life. “I have to get it cleaned.”
She slammed clenched fists on her car seat. “It’s always dirty!”
I pictured the scattered debris left by the medical team in the kitchen. The blood droplets on the counter and floor. If we avoided the kitchen, we could slip into the living room and her bedroom.
“Okay. But if I tell you not to go into a room, you must listen, okay?”
The pout softened. “All right.”
I angled the car around, pulled back on the main road, and drove east until we reached the entrance for the caretaker’s cottage. I parked next to Maria’s new white minivan.
“Mommy’s home!” Molly said.
“No, honey. It’s just her car.”
Molly went silent.
The Durants’ house looked different. The yellow crime scene tape was gone, and fresh flowers filled the front porch flowerpots. Edith.
“Looks pretty,” I said.
“Mommy never had flowers,” she said. “She forgets to water them.”
I helped Molly out of the car. We walked up to the front door, and using my key, I opened it. The house smelled faintly of pine cleaner, and the carpets had been vacuumed.
Molly bounded into the living room. She plopped onto the couch and dragged a crocheted blanket to her nose. “I love this blanket.”
I walked into the kitchen. All the debris had been cleaned away and the counters wiped. The dishes were cleaned and back in the cabinet. Edith again.
Whatever her reasons, she’d helped today. “Do you want anything from your bedroom?” I asked.
Molly took my hand and pulled. “Come and see it with me.”
“Okay.”
As we passed the primary bedroom, I glanced at the queen-size bed, neatly made, all wrinkles smoothed flat. I imagined Edith stripping sheets, dusting, and vacuuming as she’d done at Hale House for years.
Neither of us should have been in this house. Judson had been clear to stay away. But Edith had sanitized it. And I’d come for Molly. Edith had been working through grief.
Molly’s bed had clean sheets and a blanket on it. The remaining pillows and stuffed animals were arranged in well-ordered rows. The dresser was wiped clean, and Molly’s little bracelets were lined up in order.
Molly plopped on the bed. “I want to sleep here tonight.”
“We can’t stay here, Molly.”
“Why not? It’s my home. And maybe the ghosts will find us here.”
I had no doubt. “We’ll come back next week.”
Her voice broke into a scream when I told her no. “Why can’t we stay tonight!”
“Because the police want us to live in Hale House.”
“Why?”
“They’re trying to figure out what happened to Mommy and Daddy.”
“They are dead.” The finality of her statement tore at my heart.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”
Something caught my eye on the nightstand. A framed picture—Maria and me back in high school. Smiling. Happy. Maybe Edith had found it and decided to place it there.
Under the glass, I saw another story. My hands had been scratched away. My chest slashed through.