The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies (10 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Pete Koski didn't speak until after he'd made a quick survey of the kitchen, barely moving from the doorway. “I radio'd for an APB. Won't do a hell of a lot of good without a car description. Cecil and Adam Wall are out looking around. They got Geronimo, but his nose ain't gonna be worth shit in this downpour. There ain't much more we can do now. The state police will get here in the morning, and if she still hasn't turned up we can get more people out looking.” He removed his hat and used it to swat ineffectually at the hordes of mosquitos that appeared to be coming in to get out of the rain. “Who knew Mrs. Hofer was in the hospital? That the house would be empty?”

“Hardly anybody, so far as I know.” McIntire told him. “But the obituary was in the paper, and on the radio. It mentioned that Reuben was going to be buried in South Dakota. Most people would have assumed that the whole family would be away.”

“So it could have been just a simple burglary.”

“For what? The Hofer family jewels? Has there ever been a burglary in St. Adele?”

“Not that I know of.” Koski didn't sound as happy about that as might have been expected.

“A young girl is missing,” McIntire said. “Nothing simple about that.” He didn't add that it was a situation that had happened before in St. Adele or remind Koski of its outcome.

“The kid probably took off and is hiding in the woods somewhere, maybe lost, or slightly lost.”

That was possible. Even under normal conditions, Claire Hofer seemed scared of her own shadow and headed for cover at the first sight of a stranger—but wouldn't she have been more scared of running off into the dark? Of course it might not have been dark at the time. “Hadn't we better get out and start looking for her now?”

“If she's out there, Wall or Cecil will find her, if she wants to be found. Otherwise, she'll be okay once it's daylight. Getting a bunch of people out might just scare her more. The last thing we want is to get her panicked into running in the dark. With this rain the river's gonna be way up in short order, if it ain't already.”

Being out in a storm would be frightening, but nothing compared to the terror she would be feeling if she was in the company of…. “Maybe we'd better get Father Doucet over here,” McIntire said.

“What the hell for?” Koski asked. “He's a priest, not a magician.”

“The boy was asleep when his sister left the Thorsens'. That's why Mia didn't go with her. He's going to be frantic when he wakes up and finds himself alone with her and Nick. Doucet might come in handy.”

Mia herself had already gone well beyond frantic. Doucet's smug serenity might keep her from going completely off her rocker. And there was the child's mother to consider. Doucet would be the person to tell her.

Koski's head was still planted firmly in the sand. “Maybe she left before any of this happened and got lost walking back to Thorsens'. She probably didn't know the way very well, and it might have been after dark. ”

“She wouldn't have left the cow locked in the stanchion and the milk sitting in the barn.”

“No, I guess not,” the sheriff admitted. “But she did milk the cow. So whoever ransacked the house either did it earlier, before she got back here, or turned up while she was milking.” He flicked his burning cigarette butt out the door. “I'll go talk to the neighbors. See if they noticed a strange car—or any car—heading this way.” His words were swallowed in a volley of thunder. “I expect they'll be awake.”

***

Rain on the Studebaker's roof created a steady deafening roar. The windshield wipers did next to nothing, and McIntire crept along, watching the road's edge, both to stay out of the ditch and to keep his eyes peeled for a small rain-soaked sprite. He was in no hurry. He'd never felt so helpless.

Koski was probably right. Sending Claire off and running through the dark could be dangerous, and it was true that lost children often ran away from their rescuers rather than to them. But leaving her in this deluge seemed cruel. If she
was
out there, which McIntire doubted. If she'd taken off, it would have been to go back to Mia, and she wouldn't have lost her way.

Lights blazed from the Thorsens' house. As always when he came into the yard, McIntire's gaze was drawn to the window of the room he'd slept in for the first five years of his life. Now Mia stood there, framed by the light at her back, a narrow shadow distorted by the water that sheeted down the glass, crowned with a silvery halo. When McIntire stepped out into the downpour, she turned away.

She burst out the kitchen door as he got to it. Her only questions were in her eyes, and he was sure she could read the reply in his.

He shook his head. “Pete's gone to check with the Makis and Touminen. Anybody who drove in would have had to pass by one or the other of their places. They might have noticed.”

“I let her go back by herself. I didn't feel right about it, but I let her go alone. I can't believe I was so stupid.”

Aided by hindsight, McIntire couldn't believe it either, but what did he know? He might have done the same thing. He said, “It's not your fault, Mia. You couldn't have known.”

“Couldn't I?” It sounded like more than a rhetorical question, but one only she could answer.

While they talked, she fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, folding and unfolding her arms, turning to look into the shadows, her body seeming to move on its own, like there was something inside struggling to get out.

“Get inside. You'll be drenched.”

“I can't. I have to
do
something.”

“If Leonie was here,” McIntire told her, “she'd make a pot of tea.”

“You want tea?”

“No.”

She clutched at his arm with the grip of an alligator's jaws. “Please, John, you have to tell me. Did somebody take her? It's not going to do any good to keep it from me.”

Water ran down her cheeks; rain, tears, or both, he couldn't tell. He steered her into the house. Nick was in the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from the stove. A full bottle of whisky along with two glasses sat on the table. The single form of spirits never known to pass Nick Thorsen's lips was whisky. He pulled out a chair, which his wife ignored, continuing her restless movements. She thrust her hands in her pockets and pulled them out again. “Tell me.”

“I don't know what could have happened, Mia. It's like I told you, she wasn't there, that's all. The cow and the milk were in the barn, the dog was locked in the closet, and the house was torn apart, but she wasn't—”

“Torn apart?”

McIntire hadn't mentioned that when he'd come back to give Mia the news and call the sheriff. He wished he hadn't now.

“The house was searched.”

“For what?”

“How do I know?”

“Yes, how do you know? That it was searched?”

“Well,” McIntire admitted, “
searched
might not be precisely the right word. It was ransacked from top to bottom. Like someone looking for something specific.”

“Oh, God!”

“So she might have gotten scared and run away.”

“Then why isn't somebody out looking for her?”

“People are out looking for her. Cecil Newman—”

“Cecil Newman is a first class idiot!”

“He's out with Adam Wall and Pete's dog. Pete's going out himself as soon as he checks with the neighbors. He thought it was best not to have a whole gang tramping through the woods, in case she panicked into running again and got hurt. If she's in the woods, she's hiding. She won't be wandering around in the rain, lost. And if she is, she won't stay lost for long. It's not the Amazon out there. She couldn't get far without coming out into the open and seeing somebody's house. She couldn't get into any deep woods without crossing a road.”

Mia moved to the window, still at last, staring out for a long time, like she expected to see Claire Hofer strolling up the driveway through the rain. “Do you want me to tell you about today? Before she left?”

McIntire didn't know what Mia could tell him that would help in locating the girl, but if it would keep her, and himself, sane for a few minutes longer, he was all for it.

“What am I going to say to that little boy?” She remained motionless, her back to the room. Her anguish was all in her voice now. “How can he be sleeping through all this?” She turned and demanded again, “How can I tell him? What will I say? ‘Your mother is sick, and your sister is….' What will I say to
her
? She trusted me. She trusted me to take care of her children. Me, of all people!”

“Mia…,” Nick sighed.

McIntire took her arm. “Sit! Tell me about this afternoon.” He sat down himself and poured a half inch of whisky into a glass.

Mia lowered herself into the chair like every movement hurt. Her husband added cream to a cup of coffee and shoved it her way.

“Dr. Guibard called and said he was going to hospitalize Mary Frances for a day or two. He said she was suffering from the heat and the stress of all that's happened and he didn't want her to get worse. He asked if the children could come here. He didn't think they should be left alone, even during the day, after what happened, especially if news reporters showed up, but I let her go back. Alone. At night.”

“Mia….” Nick made another half-hearted protest.

McIntire said, “Keep going.”

“I walked over and got them about one o'clock. They're very shy, especially Joey. He hardly makes a peep. I figured I should have some way to keep them entertained, so I decided to take them to the lake. We fixed a picnic. Claire made some deviled eggs all by herself.

“The surface water had blown in, and was, believe it or not, warmish. The kids said they'd only been to the lake once before, and then it was too cold to go into the water. We stayed a long time.

“It was getting late when we came back, close to seven. Joey was exhausted and fell asleep in the back seat, and we didn't want to wake him up. Claire said she could go do the chores by herself. She said she always did the milking and could do it quick. She left about seven-thirty, maybe later, and she didn't come back.”

“What about before?” McIntire asked. “Did you talk about her family? Her father?”

“Not much. I asked if she knew Wanda Greely. She said she'd never seen her before, and that she hadn't come back again.”

“Did she mention anyone else coming around?”

“No. I think a few news reporters maybe, but only local, and that was when her aunt was there to put the run on them. People have gone over with food, but Claire didn't say anything about anybody in particular. Father Doucet goes over most every day. Maybe we should try to get hold of him now. Somebody will have to tell Mary Frances what's happened. I don't know if he even knows that she's in the hospital.”

Nick got to his feet and shuffled to the phone.

“I can't bear it, John. I just can't.” Mia spoke into her cup.

“It'll be daylight soon. We'll find her.” That was safe to say. They would find her eventually, but in what circumstances? McIntire didn't want to think about it.

“Somebody murdered her father. If this was the same person what might they do to her?”

“The dog's still alive. That's a good sign.” He might have a broken leg, though, but McIntire thought it best not to mention that.

“The dog!” Mia looked up with a start and a splash of coffee. “I forgot about Spike! Where is he?”

“They locked him in a closet. He's still there, far as I know.”

“You left him locked up?”

“No. I opened the door. He could come out if he wanted to, but the last I saw of him, he wasn't budging. He's huddled in a closet, nursing an injured leg. When I tried to pick him up, the miserable mutt almost ripped my thumb off.” McIntire displayed the purplish tooth marks.

Mia went to the metal cabinet over the sink and took out a small bottle. “Do you want me to do it?”

It would sting less if he did it himself, but he nodded, “Go ahead.”

She held the thumb still and brushed on the burning mercurochrome.

“Maybe you could go get the dog. It would be something—
someone—
to be here when Joey wakes up.” Her hands shook, and a russet blob landed on the table. “Maybe Spike can lead you to Claire.”

McIntire stood. He'd go fetch the pup if that's what Mia wanted, but he had no illusions about a heroic canine rescue. “The little mongrel ain't Rin Tin Tin.”

Chapter Seventeen

The thunder was over, and it wasn't raining any more. It was so quiet that she could hear Opal huffing and snuffling below. The men must be gone by now; she hadn't heard any cars for a long time. Still Claire didn't move. Her eyes hurt from the dust, straws poked and scratched her everywhere, and her legs stung because she was wet. She'd been afraid to go out when she had to pee.

She went back to praying again.

On the fifth
Hail Mary
, it worked; the rooster crowed. In the night she had prayed for the thunder to stop, and it did. Now she prayed for morning, and it was coming. Maybe it was already light. Under the hay, she couldn't see a thing but black and the moving colored spots you can always see in the dark.

She had to go out sooner or later. Mrs. Thorsen would be mad that she didn't come back to her house. Opal was still locked in the stanchion and Spike…. He had yelped and then not made another sound, so he was hurt for sure, and she'd been a coward and deserted him.

The rooster crowed again, and Claire pushed at the hay to get it away from her face. She slid along, feeling the boards of the wall, until she came out from behind the stack. She sat back against the wall and took a long breath with no hayseeds in it. It was still dark, but she could see a grey square up high where the window was. Morning was here, and she was still alive.

A thump came from below, and she felt her stomach flip over.
Hail Mary, full of grace
. A splat hit the floor. Opal.

Claire crept forward, not making a sound, stealthy and careful, feeling in front of her for the opening in the floor. Her head hit the wall. She felt all around herself and sat up. Across the floor she could see more gray light and the ladder sticking up through the hole. She was going exactly the wrong way.

She crawled over on her hands and knees and peeked down. There was the dark shape of Opal, looking up at her. She grabbed the ladder and felt for the rungs with her toes.

Outside it was still almost dark, but a few birds were starting to sing. The air felt fresh and cool and smelled like rain. A deer stood by the block of salt, huge ears perked up, looking at her with round gentle eyes. Claire held her breath. She could see whiskers on the doe's soft brown muzzle. Then Opal coughed, and it turned and sailed over the fence without even taking a run at it.

Claire pushed the barndoor wide and opened the cow's stanchion. It would be time to milk her again in a little while. Last night's milk might be spoiled. She'd have to give it to the chickens, if they still had any chickens. She hadn't closed them in to keep out the foxes and weasels—or the dogs. If she still had a dog.

She slapped Opal on the butt and followed her through the door into a magic world.

Claire was used to getting up early. She was always out of bed when it was still dark in the winter time, but she hadn't ever in her life been outdoors before the sun came up in the summer. It was silvery and misty, and even though it seemed like it was still night, she could see everything.

The only car in the yard was Pa's. Her shorts rubbed against the hay scratches on her legs and burned like mad. She took baby steps and kept her feet apart as she walked around the puddles to the back door.

When she opened it, Spike jumped into her arms, licking her face and squirming. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight, and he gave a squeal and went still.

“What's the matter, Boy?” She sat on the step and put him down next to her. He kept one paw up while he sniffed around at her damp shorts.

She took his face in her hands and kissed the top of his head. “You'll be all right, Boy. I'm here now. Come on, let's go inside. I need some different clothes.” She felt sorry for him.

The front room and Ma's bedroom were in an awful mess. Things were dumped and thrown around, so it must have been burglars that came in.

Claire went straight upstairs to her bedroom. The first thing she saw was her books and magazines flung all over the bed, and the first thing she thought was that Pa would see them, and she'd be in awful trouble. Then she remembered that Pa was gone, and she could read if she wanted to.

Their clothes were on the floor, and the sheets were pulled off the mattress. The burglars saw that the mattress had holes in it.

She looked around for something to put on. Her blue and white dress was at the Thorsens', and her other underpants were in the wash. She dug in the pile of clothes and pulled out her old yellow jumper. She put it on with no blouse under it, and settled for wearing a pair of Joey's undershorts.

She gathered up the books.
Baree, Son of Kazan
was ripped almost in two. Why would burglars want to wreck her books? It didn't make sense. Then it hit her. Burglars! Thieves! What else would they take?

Claire went to the closet, opening the door as far as she could and dragging the blanket against it to keep it that way. She hated that closet. It was long and dark, like a cave, and smelled old and dirty. The thought of the door swinging shut and trapping her inside gave her shivers. She pulled the light string. The bulb flashed and sizzled and went out.

She could see fairly good without it, but not good enough to see if there were spiders in the corners. She got down on her knees and pulled up the board where it was cut out in a small rectangle. Underneath there were electric wires, and Claire held her breath as she reached past them into the dark. It was there. The wooden cheese box that held her treasures. The burglar hadn't found it. She slid it out and carried it to the window sill.

Everything was still there. The scapular from her first communion. The stone with the wolf shape on it. The silver dollar from Grandpa. Her feather collection. And her magic charm. She didn't know what it was, exactly. Probably a wheel from an old toy truck. It was kind of beat up, but was a pretty greenish color and had some fancy designs around the edges. It was the only thing Pa ever gave her.

It happened a short while after they moved here. He got a letter in the mail with a snapshot in it. Pa didn't believe in taking pictures of people, and he threw it and the letter in the stove. Then he looked kind of funny at Claire and said, “Come with me.” He opened a drawer in the bedroom and took out the wheel and gave it to her. He said, “This is just between you and me. Don't lose it.” He sounded different, and Claire had gotten a lump in her throat and felt stupid, so she took it and walked away quick.

She picked the charm up and rubbed it between her hands.

All of a sudden, thinking about it, tears came in her eyes again, and before she knew what was happening, she started to bawl like crazy. She laid on the floor and she sobbed and sobbed, and she couldn't stop. Spike whined and stuck his nose under her arm to lick at her face, begging her to quit, but it was a long time before she stopped crying.

Finally she sat up. She'd be sure not to lose the wheel. A pair of Sam's old shoes was in the closet waiting for Joey to grow into them. Claire took the lace from one and put it through the wheel. She tied it in a loop and hung it around her neck under her jumper. It scratched against her chest.

She put the lid on the box and shoved it back under the floor and shut the closet door. It was getting lighter by the minute, and she had to get back to Thorsen's. Joey would be scared if he woke up and she wasn't there. He'd probably think that Mrs. Thorsen had her for breakfast or something. Mrs. Thorsen might not eat her or turn her into a toad, but she was going to be really mad. Claire didn't want to face her, but she felt better now that she was dry and the sky was getting pink. And she was hungry. She didn't have anything to eat since the picnic.

The kitchen was a fright. Everything was yanked out and food was spilled all over the floor. Ma would have a conniption if she saw it.

Claire picked up the box of Cheerios and emptied the last of them into a bowl. Then she went to get the milk, but one look down the cellar stairs made her change her mind. She put the bowl on the floor for Spike and cut a piece of bread. There wasn't anything except peanut butter to put on it. She didn't like peanut butter much without butter under it, but the butter was in the cellar, too.

She went for the broom and began to sweep with one hand and eat with the other.

She felt sorry for herself. Ma had been in the hospital before, first in Iowa, and then they took her away to Minneapolis. She came home in a few days. Maybe this time she wouldn't. Maybe Joey was right and Ma would die, too. Maybe she'd die in the hospital, or she'd come home, and somebody would shoot her, like they did Pa. The peanut butter stuck in her throat, and tears made everything blurry. Maybe it wasn't a burglar in the house; it might have been a murderer who wanted to kill them all. Shoot them all. She wiped her eyes and looked through the doorway to the living room, to the chest with its drawers pulled out, to the clothes dumped all over the floor.

She went in, shoved the empty drawers to the side, and gave a few pokes under the clothes with the broom. It didn't hit anything hard. She pulled up the flowered sheets. There was nothing underneath. Getting more panicky every minute, she dug and kicked through the pile, throwing sweaters and long johns and pillow cases around the room. It wasn't there. The gun was gone.

Spike gave a squeaky whimper. A long shadow fell across the floor and words came from behind her, “So there you are. I've come to get you.”

Claire forgot about the gun. She dropped the broom and ran for the door.