“I have to plant more. Several dozen more. And do you two know why I must plant more?”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the twins says. “Aunt Julia told us someone peed on your flowers.”
“Watch your tongue, young lady. And these are snapdragons, not just any old flowers.”
“Sorry. Aunt Julia told us someone peed on your snapdragons.”
“And you’ve trampled them too.”
“No, ma’am.” It’s the one who’s fresh most days, not as polite as the other one. “We didn’t do either. You can’t blame us for that.”
Malina squints to get a good look at them. She doubles up both fists, plants them at her waist, and leans forward so the girls will know she’s quite serious. “See to it you stay away from my flowers,” she says. “Do you understand? Stay away from my yard.” The girls nod and have the good sense to say nothing more. And then, because it certainly couldn’t hurt, she says, “And stay away from Mr. Herze.”
The girls nod and one drags the other onto the porch. “Yes, ma’am,” one of them says while the other pulls open the screen door.
“Hold on there,” Malina says. “Did you two see those men here at my house?”
One of the girls drops the screen door, letting it slam shut, and they both nod.
“That’s none of your business,” Malina says. “Do you understand me? They were here mistakenly. Don’t you go spreading rumors. Do you understand?”
Another nod and the girls run inside, again letting the screen slap shut.
After returning from her morning shopping on Willingham Avenue, Malina had unpacked her groceries and set to work on her carrot cakes. Because the bake sale was postponed, she had time for more baking, but really, it’s the icing that takes so long. Her carrot cakes always bring a hefty price and people expect a lovely scalloped edge when they are paying good money. She was in the middle of grating her third carrot when she heard a knock at the front door.
“How may I help you?” Malina had said, brushing her hands together. A few orange carrot slivers fluttered to the ground.
Two men, each wearing a dark gray suit and a necktie that was entirely too wide, stood on the porch. At the sight of Malina, they removed their hats. Both were rather short, and if it weren’t for their handsome dark suits, a person might have considered them scrawny.
“Detective Warren,” the fair-haired officer said, and dipped his chin. Perspiration stained the tips of his yellow hair. He tossed his head in the direction of the taller man standing next to him. “And this is Detective Burrows. Like to ask a few questions, ma’am.”
“Certainly,” she said. “Though I don’t know how much more I can tell you. The other officers, the dark-haired officers, I told them all that I know.” Pulling a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, Malina tapped it to her chest and neck. The bodice was a rather snug fit, but it did create a lovely silhouette. “Not that I knew much, mind you. My husband knows Charles, Mr. Symanski, much better than I. They worked together, you know, before Charles retired. I was a new bride then.” She smiled and winked at the man with the silky blond hair. “It’s been more than twenty-five years. I married quite young.”
The eyes of the sweet blond detective followed the tissue as Malina tapped it against her moist skin.
“And what of the Lawsons?” the taller officer said. His hair was an ordinary brown color, straight and cropped in a harsh line that fell just above his eyes.
“The Lawsons?” Malina said, tucking her chin.
“Yes, ma’am. On the evening of June fourth, a Wednesday evening, Mr. Lawson reports that he saw you on the street, rather late at night. And that you saw him, as well. Do you recall that evening?”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. Why on earth would I be out late at night? That’s simply not true.”
The ordinary detective placed his hat on his head and tugged it low. “So you weren’t driving toward Woodward between ten thirty and eleven o’clock on the evening of June fourth?”
“I don’t drive at night. The glare, it troubles me. It has for years.”
“He is out often, we understand, this Mr. Lawson,” the yellow-haired officer said. “Other neighbors have reported that he is often on the street late at night, keeping watch while his wife walks their child.”
“The baby only recently came to live with them,” Malina said. And then she whispered, “Adopted.”
“And in the time since the baby’s arrival, you have known Mrs. Lawson to walk the child at night and Mr. Lawson to watch over from the end of his drive?” The yellow-haired detective pointed across the street toward the end of the Lawsons’ driveway. “From there?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know the first thing about the nightly routines of the Lawsons.”
“It’s odd, don’t you think?” the yellow-haired officer said, speaking more to his partner than to Malina.
“What’s that?”
The yellow-haired officer tilted his head to one side and studied the front of the Lawsons’ house. “Why do you suppose Mr. Lawson doesn’t walk along?” he said. “With his wife? Why not join her? If his intent is to ensure her and the child’s safety, why not walk along?”
Malina laughed. “I’ve an easy answer for that. He is never dressed in more than shorts and an undershirt. I’m quite certain the neighborhood wouldn’t stand for his gallivanting around in such attire. He’s really quite ridiculous.”
“So you have seen him?” the ordinary detective said. “Mr. Lawson on the street? Wearing his ridiculous shorts and undershirt?”
Malina pinched her brow before realizing the unsightly creases she was causing. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
“We don’t expect anything, ma’am. But think for a moment. You may have seen him but are not certain of the date. Is that possible?”
“As I said before, I don’t drive after dark. It’s the glare.”
The man with the ordinary brown hair closed his notebook and slid his pencil in a front pocket. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”
“That’s all?” Malina said. “Aren’t you here about Elizabeth Symanski? Are you doing nothing to find the child?”
At the bottom of the stairs, the ordinary detective said, “There are many fine officers working to find Miss Symanski.”
“Do you mean to question me about that Negro woman, the one who was killed? That happened on a Wednesday night. Is that what you mean to question me about?”
“Thank you for your time, ma’am,” the sweet detective said, and removed his hat again.
“You understand, don’t you?” Malina called out again as the officers neared their car.
Leaning over the porch railing, Malina lifted one foot off the ground and pointed her toe to create a lovely, long line so they’d remember her kindly.
“I don’t drive at night. I can’t, you see.”
The car began to back out of the driveway.
“It’s the glare. I didn’t see Jerry Lawson that night or any other.”
The officer who was driving rolled the steering wheel one direction and then the other.
“You’ll not say otherwise, will you? You’ll not tell my husband I was out that evening? He’ll be terribly upset if you tell him such a thing.”
And then the car was gone and Malina whispered.
“He’ll be terribly upset if you tell him I’ve lied.”
Day 5
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The next morning, Grace stays home, keeping herself busy in the kitchen as the other ladies travel to Willingham to do their shopping. While the quiet of an empty house gives her too much time to think, it’s easier to tolerate than the fear of boarding the morning bus and sitting next to one of the ladies, most likely Julia. As she scrubs her sink and cleans out her nearly empty refrigerator, Grace listens for the twins. The other children in the neighborhood are too old to run through the back alley or play in the front yards. They are teenagers with cars and jobs, too old to be shooed off the street by the likes of Grace. When ten o’clock draws near, she hears the squeal of a rusted chair being unfolded in the alley, but no sign of the girls. Perhaps the threat of Orin Schofield scared them inside, or perhaps it’s the heavy drizzle after so many dry, hot days that has kept them behind closed doors. By the time Grace combs out her hair, dresses for the day, and boards the midday bus bound for Willingham, Julia will have finished her shopping and returned home. It’s the best Grace can do to keep the girls safe.