“So that’s what Martha meant earlier about keeping an eye on the time.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s what she meant. When Merrie wakes up it will be pretty much like nothing ever happened. For her, it will be Christmas Day, nineteen seventy-four, which in her mind was the last time the holiday was ever good to her. We even have a tape of the ball dropping in Times Square, New Year’s Eve, to ring in seventy-five. She stays up to watch it every year.”
“What about other things? Like school and such? People aging around her? Not having any other children to play with? Surely she can see that things have changed.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to matter. She focuses on the Christmas holidays. Those are important to her. The rest of it seems to play itself out in her head as long as nobody interferes and she has her room.”
“But there are other physical issues. She’s a grown woman. What about menstruation? Arousal?”
He nodded. “She knows how to handle the monthly thing. Her mother was still around when that started. As to any sort of desires and such, to my knowledge she’s never exhibited any other than a crush on a teen idol from the day. No matter what her body does, in her head she’s ten. She doesn’t know any better than to think that’s just how it’s supposed to be. And… Well, we don’t really know what she sees when she looks in the mirror.”
Constance turned and stared toward the building as she breathed, “Dear God…”
“Sweetheart, in my way of thinking, God doesn’t have much of anything to do with it,” Carmichael spat. “If he does, then he’s just as big a sonofabitch as Colson was, and I’ll tell him that to his face when I get to the gates… As you can imagine, the preacher and me don’t much see eye to eye on that issue.” He paused for a second, looking at the ground thoughtfully, then hefted the bags once again and turned to go. “Let me get this stuff inside, so Merrie has her presents to open Christmas morning. It’d break my heart to disappoint her, and the past seven years I’ve been too busy to deliver ‘em when she wakes up. When I missed the first couple it caused some problems for her.”
“I understand,” Constance replied. As he started to walk toward the door, she called after him. “When you’re finished with that, do you think you can take me by the scene? I’d like to have a look at it.”
He stopped, half turned, looked up into the sky and then back down at her face. “Not really much daylight left,” he grunted. “No electric over there, and it’s boarded up, so it’s gonna be dark enough as it is. Be better if we did it tomorrow morning. Believe me, I’ve been down this road before. Nothing’s gonna show up there till Christmas Day anyway. But it’s really up to you. You’re the Fed.”
Constance thought about it for a moment. “Do you already have the house under surveillance?”
“Yep. Broderick should be out there now. Slozar’ll relieve ‘im this evening. We can drive by and check on them if you want.”
Truth is, he was correct. That visit could wait. As far as all of the previous murders went, the site was cold in almost every way imaginable. And this year, as a crime scene, it technically didn’t yet exist. She wasn’t going to learn anything stumbling around in the dark with a flashlight that wouldn’t be there for her to discover tomorrow morning.
And besides, at this point her feet really were killing her.
She nodded in agreement. “Okay, tomorrow morning then. I would feel better if we checked on the surveillance though.”
“We can do that. I assume you’re staying in town tonight?”
“I booked a room at the Greenleaf Motel, yes.”
“Good. We’ll swing by to check on Broderick, then we can suss out a time for me to pick you up in the morning. Just do yourself a favor tomorrow…”
“What’s that?”
He dipped his head toward her feet as if he’d read her mind. “Since we’re going out to do serious police work, wear a different pair of shoes. I’m a little tired of watchin’ you dance.”
“HARRY, this is Special Agent Mandalay,” Sheriff Carmichael said. He jerked a thumb toward Constance while pressing himself a bit deeper into the driver’s seat to allow for a slightly more unobstructed view. “Special Agent Mandalay, meet Deputy Harry Broderick.”
Skip had pulled up so that his driver’s side window was matched up against that of the deputy’s cruiser. Therefore, the two simply nodded at one another across the span in between.
“So… Anything?” Skip asked.
“Same ol’, same ol’,” Broderick replied.
He grunted in reply, “Yeah, figured as much.” He looked over to the passenger seat and addressed Constance. “There ya’ go. Harry’s on the job. Nothing to report, just like always. Ready to head back?”
She glanced at her watch. The package delivery and drive over here had taken a little longer than expected, but it was still only now approaching 3:30. She glanced out the window then back at the sheriff. “Actually I think maybe I’d like to get out and have a look around, if you don’t mind.”
He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Change your mind about waiting till in the morning?”
By way of an answer she said, “It’s still light out…”
“Your call,” he replied, an audible shrug in his voice as he shifted the vehicle into gear and started it rolling forward. “Just let me get us out of the middle of the street first.”
Once they were parked, Constance unbuckled and climbed out of the patrol car. After swinging the door shut, she simply stood there for a moment, looking at the property over the top of the vehicle.
The house at 632 Evergreen Lane on the north side of Hulis Township was a simple one and one-half story bungalow, sitting on what appeared to be an average-sized lot. However, while there were other houses lining the street itself, none of them were what you could consider nearby. In fact, the closest in proximity was at best a football field away. On top of that, the undeveloped lots that made up that distance between them were to the heavy side of moderately wooded with stands of conifers. The arrangement effectively left number 632 to occupy its own private corner of the world.
“From the looks of the trees I suppose it has always been this secluded,” Constance observed aloud as Skip levered his door shut.
“Yeah,” he replied, leaning to the side and looking around the light bar at her. “Looked pretty much the same in seventy-five. It was a different color, but…well… This place has been boarded up more than once over the years.”
“Secluded and abandoned. That would explain why Colson chose it to hole up.”
“Yeah, that’s what we thought too. Just don’t know why we didn’t find them here on the first pass…” Skip sighed heavily then cleared his throat. “Back when I was a kid, old man Henderson lived here. Died here too. After that we used to think the place was haunted.” He glanced over his shoulder, gazing at the structure for a good while, then added. “Who knows? Maybe now it really is.”
“I’d like to think there’s a mundane explanation for what’s been happening,” Constance replied.
Skip gave a quiet snort, then nodded and said, “I’d be much obliged if you could find one.”
Sunset was still a little over an hour away, but the cloud cover that had been looming over the town all day was still firmly in place. What little daylight they had left was being consumed by the ravenous shadows from the surrounding wooded lots. Whether it was the clouds, the shadows, or something else entirely, to Constance it simply didn’t seem as “light” out here as it had just a scant few minutes earlier. The muted patina made her feel unnaturally chilled.
She continued to stare across the top of the police cruiser, silently taking in the tableau. In stark contrast to the green-needled conifers on either side of the property, a bare-branched pin oak tree was rising out of the front yard. It was malformed, probably due to some sort of damaging wind or storm that had sheared off the weaker branches at one time or another in its history. Though dormant now, she imagined that when its foliage was full during summer, it likely had an abundance of character and provided a refreshing shade. However, at the moment there was nothing inviting about the tree. In fact, it looked to her like a spindly, tortured soul trying to escape a forgotten grave, the headstone for which was the house itself.