Running With the Shadows of the Night, chapter 13

How are you today?

Tired. I like when you put your hand on my head like that.

I’m glad you can feel it.

It’s comforting.

That’s good.

I tried to tell my mom today. About you again.

Oh?

She still won’t believe me. She says I’ve been in the hospital so long that I’m seeing things.

Did that bother you?

Not really. I get that she can’t understand you’re real. But I wish she’d believe me. I want her not to be afraid.

It’s natural that she’s afraid of losing you.

I know. But I’ve decided that I’ll stay if I die. I want to be able to tell her that she can still talk to me.

Little one, I’m here so that you will know what’s possible. You may not be able to help your mom. Sometimes we can’t help, no matter how much we want to. No matter how much we love someone.

I wish it weren’t that way.

Yes.

But you’ve helped me. I’m not scared like I used to be.

I’m so glad.

Senka…the story’s almost over, isn’t it?

Yes, little one.

How much longer, do you think?

A few more nights.

I thought so….You can start if you’re ready.

I am. It’s easier for me to tell the story in the third person. You know, instead of talking about myself. That means I’ll still tell you about Senka.

I get it. So Senka and Silas were going to call the hotline.

It was harder than Senka would have guessed to find a phone they could use to call the hotline. When she had died, public phones weren’t as common as they had once been, but there was at least one every few blocks. Now, they couldn’t find any. Eventually, they ended up on Cannery Row and stopped a tired chef walking home after closing time. Silas invented a story about losing his phone, and the man kindly handed his over, then leaned against a nearby wall taking drags on his cigarette as Silas dialed. Adopting the voice of a captain of industry used to being obeyed without question, Silas began talking as soon as he heard the beep. “I live in Pebble Beach. I have just seen my neighbor acting very suspiciously. He dug a rectangular hole and deposited something into it, something the size and apparent weight of a human body. I could tell that the body wore dark clothing, and I remembered the missing boy. I thought it odd that he was digging on the edge of a hillside in the middle of the night. Odd and suspicious. You need to get someone over there as soon as possible.” Silas gave Kenny’s address and hung up. He handed the phone back, thanked the chef, and for insurance, willed him to forget the interaction. The tired man tucked the phone in his pocket and walked on.

“What now?” Senka wondered aloud. “I guess nothing’s going to happen before daylight. Or do you think they’re monitoring the tipline all the time?”

“I’m afraid I know no more than you do.”

“How long is it until sunrise?”

“A couple of hours, perhaps a little more.”

“That gives us time to see how everyone in the graveyard is doing. Let’s go there before we head home, okay? After that, we can decide what to do next.”

“Perhaps Ms. Wang will have some ideas for us,” Silas said, the corners of his mouth quirking.

They arrived in the cemetery to find Ms. Wang and Signore Peluso engaged in an English lesson, though both teacher and student were delighted to see them.

“Buona sera,” Ms. Wang greeted them in American-accented Italian. “Come siete?” She turned to Signore Peluso. “È corretto?”

“Completamente corretto!” Signore Peluso responded, beaming.

“We’re teaching each other, you know,” Ms. Wang confided, patting the stone wall next to her. Senka sat as Silas and Signore Peluso began chatting with each other in rapid Italian.

“That’s wonderful, Ms. Wang.” Senka kissed her on the cheek.

“Yes, though he’s a much better student than I am. Thank heavens he’s a kind and patient teacher.” She put her arm through Senka’s and leaned in companionably. “How have you and Silas progressed?”

“The boy’s name is Jeremy, and he’s officially a missing person. We’ve buried him on Kenny’s property and called the information hotline to report suspicious activity there. So I guess we’re in waiting mode. What’s been going on here?”

“Oh, my dear, it’s the most excitement we’ve ever had. Of course, the police won’t let the groundskeepers clean up, and they’re afraid that families will come and see the mess, so I suppose it hasn’t been terribly exciting for them. But for Riccardo, Bink, and me, it’s been a treat. Bink was over there all day,” she waved in the direction of the houses near the golf course, “following the police as they did their door-to-door questioning.”

“Wow, I didn’t know they did that.”

“Oh, my, yes. On SVU, they always have the uniforms conduct door-to-doors. They ask everyone if they saw anything unusual. Of course, if the child is just staying with a neighbor, they need to know that right away.”

“Did they learn anything?”

“No. Bink reported that everyone said they were asleep. I guess that far away, no one was bothered by all the noise in the cemetery.”

“Ms. Wang, what do your shows say about hotlines and tiplines? How fast are tips acted on?”

“It depends on how many come in, but Olivia Benson always follows up as soon as the uniforms give her a credible tip. And Scott and Bailey insist that they be told about everything of interest, then they either delegate or follow up themselves.”

Senka wasn’t sure who these people were, but Ms. Wang sounded so confident that Senka was inclined to believe her. “So they’d follow up quickly. And are the lines monitored all the time?”

“Oh, my, yes. The first forty-eight hours are crucial. They want to chase down every lead as soon as they possibly can.”

“Good.” Senka stood. “Thank you. That helps.” She looked over at Silas who was smiling at something Signore Peluso was saying. When he saw her, he patted the chef on the back and rose. “Before I return to the cottage,” he said, “I think I’ll find something to eat.”

“Of course! You must be famished.” They said goodbye to their friends and Silas went in search of deer while Senka walked through the damp grass back to the keeper’s cottage. The empty rocking chair reminded her that she was entirely alone. No Jeremy. No Luna. The sense of home and safety she had once felt in the cottage was waning. When this is settled, she thought, we’ll find someplace permanent, someplace that is ours.

As she waited for Silas to return, she went back to the laptop and opened the email account she had made earlier. She added the tipline address, typed “More Info” into the subject box, and began to write. “I sent you an email earlier tonight about seeing a man with the young boy who is missing. I saw him again! He was dressed in a white polo shirt and lime green pants. I saw him get into his car, and I noticed that there was a Pebble Beach resident’s badge on the front of his car. I hope this helps.” She omitted any reference to when she had seen him. She was torn: it might strike the police as odd if she had seen him during the middle of the night, but it would be awkward if she scheduled the email to go out at an early morning hour and it turned out the police were with him when he was supposedly out being seen. She pressed send and hoped for the best.

When Silas returned, looking refreshed, she was reading an online governmental publication on what to expect when one’s child goes missing. It reiterated what Ms. Wang had said: the first forty-eight hours are the most crucial. “I just keep thinking how awful Jeremy’s parents are feeling right now,” she said as he kissed the top of her head. “And how awful they’re going to feel for years to come.”

“I can only imagine what it would be like to lose one’s child, especially to violence.”

“Yes.”

They sat, isolated in the misery of their thoughts, until Silas said, “The sun is rising.”

Senka looked out the window. “No fog. It’s going to be a warm day.”

“And the cottage is open for tours today.”

“Silas, couldn’t you just transport yourself to Kenny’s garage or something? Somewhere not in the light? Then you could be there, hide somewhere, I guess, and know what’s going on.”

Silas shook his head. “When vampires travel, or when you travel with me, we are not jumping from point A to point B with nothing in-between. We are moving extraordinarily fast. We are moving at the speed of thought. But we are still moving through space. From here to Kenny’s garage, I would be exposed to direct sunlight. In filtered light, I am safe for several minutes, as you know. Even if the light is coming through clear glass, I can last for a short time, a minute or two. I cannot withstand an instant in direct sunlight.”

“I see. If the fog drifts in, would you be able to come?”

“If it’s thick enough, I will come.” He pulled Senka from her chair and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “You will be fine, my love. If something unexpected arises, you will think of a way to respond. Remember the crises we have been in. You have risen to every one. It’s you who has cleverly seen us through.”

“I feel braver when you’re there,” she answered, hugging him close to her.

“The man who murdered you cannot harm you now, no matter how foul he is.”

“I’m not afraid for me.” She looked up into Silas’ face. “I feel responsible to Jeremy and his family. I’m afraid the police won’t find him. I’m afraid that Kenny will somehow weasel out of it all and keep being horrible to Brittany. I’m afraid that I’ve left the housekeeper—Dolores, I think—without a job, and who knows what her story is?”

“I see. Yes. I’d forgotten that the stakes are so high. Perhaps two hundred years of existence have caused me to forget that there are many levels of pain. You are so sweet, so kind, you want to protect everyone.”

“I didn’t used to be kind. When I was alive, I mean.” She separated from him and sat in her corner of the loveseat. “I was too self-absorbed to think much beyond what I wanted, except maybe when it came to Stanley. Someone who was looking past the tip of their nose would have noticed all the red flags Kenny raised. Hell, that he was waving around. It wasn’t till I had a decade and a half of involuntary monastic solitude that I started to think about others. And then I met you and Luna, and I fell in love. I don’t know.” She jumped up from her seat. “This isn’t the time to talk about all this. Maybe self-recrimination is another form of self-absorption. I think I should see what’s going on at Kenny’s, even if it’s unlikely that the police have gotten there yet. What will you do while I’m gone?”

“I will hide in the attic as I monitor the news, look for real estate, and read a novel,” he said instantly.

“I see you’ve been thinking about this already,” Senka said, laughing. She couldn’t remember having laughed for several hours. It felt good, lifting her spirits and her confidence.

The trip to Kenny’s house took only a few minutes. As it always did, the sea air left her feeling cleansed and refreshed. She was a bit disappointed, though unsurprised, not to see police swarming the property. The blackout curtains were still drawn throughout the house, and she found Kenny sprawled in his giant bed, snoring softly. She watched him for a moment, then made her way downstairs to the den. The first thing she noticed was that he hadn’t straightened Brittany’s portrait since she had knocked it askew the night before. She wondered if he hadn’t bothered or if he simply hadn’t noticed.

Glancing down, she saw a laptop charging on the desk. She walked over, sat in the desk chair, and opened the computer. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was password protected. She looked around the desk, under the laptop, and in the drawers but found no scrap of paper with the password helpfully recorded. She leaned back in the chair and considered what Kenny would be likely to use. She thought about the growler of beer and tried variations on the name of the hipster brewery. No luck. She typed in names of football teams, cursing her inattention to his obsession during her life. After a dozen tries, the computer locked her out for an hour. She flipped the lid closed, irritated, and made a restless circuit of the room. Light, she thought. That’s what I need. She punched the buttons next to each panel of blackout shade and watched as they rolled up into their valences, revealing the sunny day, the sweeping view of the ocean, and the hillside where Jeremy lay, waiting to be found.

Thinking about Jeremy made her more restless, so she drifted from the room, across the entryway, and into the garage. There were still rows of shelving she hadn’t investigated. She paused as she passed his little sportscar and popped open the trunk. Empty except for his golf clubs. Who has nothing in their trunk but golf clubs? she asked herself. No reusable shopping bags? No gym bag? No, I don’t know, stadium cushions or blanket or something?

She closed the trunk as quietly as she could, then made her way to the shelving unit closest to the large garage door. The boxes here were labeled: Investments 2009-10, Investments 2010-11, one box for each year. She pulled one from the shelf and looked inside. As the label promised, the papers were clearly marked as sent from a brokerage firm. Unlike the box of Kenny’s neatly filed school records, however, these papers were thrown in with no apparent organization. She peeked into several boxes and found the same to be true of each of them. She moved on to the next shelving unit.

She was about to pull out a box when a noise in the entryway caused her to abandon her search and flit across the garage and through the door. The housekeeper, laden down with shopping bags, was just closing the front door. Once again, she was dressed head-to-toe in pink. Senka followed her as she went into the kitchen and set down her load. She pulled one bag aside and began to unpack it. A votive candle, a bouquet of flowers, a handful of mini candy bars, and a glass jar of a milky white liquid.

The bag unloaded, Dolores produced a simple glass vase out of her copious purse, filled it with water, and popped the flowers in, meticulously arranging them to look their best. In her light, tuneful voice, she sang, “Recuérdame! No llores por favor. Te llevo en mi corazón….” She lapsed into humming as she positioned the vase on the counter, then carefully placed the tall votive next to it and lit the candle. She created a lovely triangular composition with the jar of liquid and arranged the tiny chocolate bars around the trio.

As understanding dawned on her, Senka’s eyes prickled with tears. She thought, This is a gift for me! I didn’t scare her yesterday. She wants me to feel welcome. Senka peered at the liquid in the jar and saw tiny specks of floating cinnamon. It’s horchata! she realized. Oh, my gosh! I used to love that stuff. She glanced at Dolores and saw that she was busy pulling out a plate and coffee cup. Before the pink-clad woman could turn around, Senka tugged a daisy out of the vase and carefully balanced it on top of the jar of horchata. She waited with anticipation as Dolores set the plate and cup on a tray and turned back to her shopping bags. She spotted the daisy and froze. Senka felt a surge of pleasure when a beaming smile brightened the woman’s face. Dolores broke into a torrent of Spanish, too fast for Senka to follow, though she was clearly delighted that her gift was acknowledged and appreciated.

Still chattering to her ghost, Dolores pulled a breakfast sandwich from a bag, unwrapped it, and put it on the waiting plate. She tucked a napkin beside the plate, then filled the cup from the fancy coffee machine and added it to the tray. She picked up the load and swept out of the kitchen. Senka followed her upstairs and into Kenny’s bedroom. Balancing the tray, Dolores tapped the buttons to raise the blackout shades.

“Mr. Kenny,” she sang out cheerfully with a heavy accent. “Good morning. Buenas días. Breakfast.” Kenny merely groaned. She set the tray on one side of the large bed and left the room.

Kenny groped for his phone and peered at the time. With a sigh of resignation, he scrubbed at his face and yawned gapingly. He sat up and scratched his head all over as if he were washing his hair. Finally, he hiked himself back against his pillows and pulled the tray close. He reached for his phone with one hand while he used the other to bring the breakfast sandwich to his mouth, taking an oversized bite and scrolling through the phone as he chewed. Senka was eager to know what he was looking at but decidedly did not want to be in bed with him, so she positioned herself partly inside the headboard and the wall behind it, her face poking out so she could read over his shoulder. She was a little disappointed when it turned out he was reading news updates. He flicked over to his texts and read a dozen or so from Brittany. Without answering any of them, he moved on to Facebook and scrolled through his feed. It was all pretty standard stuff.

At last, he put the phone and the coffee cup down and crawled out of bed. When she realized that he was naked, Senka once again squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She lingered as he showered, shaved, and dressed for the day. When she saw that he was putting on light-colored khakis and a burnt-orange polo shirt, she couldn’t help smiling. It was close enough to her description of him in her emails that she hoped it would catch the attention of the police. He was just putting his shoes on when the sound of the doorbell floated up to them. He paused. “Fuuuuck!” he groaned.

Senka heard the door open, then a man’s deep voice and Dolores’ lighter one muffled by the closed bedroom door, then silence. Seconds later, there was a quick tap on the door. “What?” Kenny called. The door opened and Dolores poked her head in.

“Mr. Kenny,” she hissed, her face creased with concern. “It’s the police.”

Senka felt a shock of excitement, nerves, anticipation all rolled into one. She stared at Kenny, trying to read his expression, but he kept his face neutral. “What do they want?” he asked coolly.

“They want to talk to you. That’s all they say.”

“Alright. Take them into the living room. I’ll be down in a minute.” Dolores started to leave, but Kenny called her back. “Ask them if they want some coffee.” Dolores nodded and closed the door. Senka could hear her patter down the stairs.

However much Kenny was trying to appear unruffled, he wasn’t as collected as he seemed. He sat for a moment, staring at the shoe in his hand. With an effort, he shook his head as if dislodging a pesky thought and finished putting his shoes on. As he rose from the bed, Senka slipped through the wall and down the stairs to the showy living room.

Two plainclothes police occupied the angular armchairs. The man, looking like a GQ model on a budget, rested one ankle on a knee and spread his arms wide, his hands draped over the armrests and tapping the outside of the chair restlessly. The woman, a stork in a power suit, was looking around the room with obvious interest. “I feel like I’m in an upscale doctor’s office,” she muttered to her partner. He snorted softly and glanced around. Before he could answer, Dolores swept in with two mugs of coffee on a small tray. “Here you go, Detectives,” she sang, handing out the coffee with a sunny smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” As she left through the dining room, Kenny entered through the main archway. He strode in with his best lord-of-the-manor attitude.

“Officers!” His tone was all warmth and hearty welcome. “How can I help you?” He stood, his legs wide, and looked at them like a benevolent god.

The detectives rose, but only the woman spoke. “I’m Detective Stacey Washington, this is my partner Detective Henry Velasquez.”

“Please sit.” Kenny waved them back into their seats but stayed where he was, looking down at them.

Detective Washington continued. “We’re looking into the disappearance of a juvenile. Perhaps you’ve read about the case?”

The shift in Kenny was so subtle that Senka didn’t think the detectives would notice, but she saw it. He relaxed just a bit. After all, what did this have to do with him? He walked to the snow-white couch across from them and sat. His aging good looks, his golfer’s tan, even his brightly colored polo shirt were set off by the starkness of the white cushions. If Senka didn’t know him, she would think he was gorgeous.

“I have heard about it,” Kenny answered, adopting a grave tone. “I’m not sure how I can help, though. I understand he lives in Pacific Grove.” He spread his hands indicating their surroundings. “I don’t get over there very often.”

Detective Washington went on. “I understand. I doubt that you can contribute anything useful, but my partner and I have to track down every lead we get.” If she had intended to needle Kenny with her dismissal, her ploy fell flat.

“Surely only the substantive leads.” He was smiling, but his eyes were cool.

Senka judged that the detectives were too experienced to be rattled either by the opulence of their surroundings or by a rich guy’s condescension. Detective Washington returned his smile. “You’re so right,” she said. “You must have some experience with this kind of thing.” She waved her hand vaguely to include their conversation, the situation, law in general. Senka saw that the implication wasn’t lost on Kenny. His smile became a little icier.

“If you’re suggesting that I’m used to being questioned by the police, you’re mistaken. However, I am familiar with the law. I’m a lawyer.”

Washington said nothing, just tilted her head to the side questioningly. It was Detective Velasquez who said, “You mean you were a lawyer. You were disbarred, weren’t you?” Kenny’s reaction was subtle, but Senka was sure that this time, she wasn’t the only one to notice. Kenny hadn’t imagined they’d looked into him before coming over. His pressing question must be, Why?

Kenny cleared his throat. “I still hold a Juris Doctor,” he said a bit defensively. “Perhaps you can tell me how you think I could possibly help with your case.” There was the slightest emphasis on the word, “think.”

Detective Washington reached down for her bag and pulled a photograph from it. “This is a photo of the missing youth. Have you ever seen him before?”

Kenny took a look at the photo. “No.”

“May we ask your housekeeper if she has?”

“Sure.” Kenny raised his voice. “Dolores!”

The rotund woman appeared so quickly that Senka was convinced she’d been just around the corner, listening to the conversation. “Yes, Mr. Kenny?”

“Take a look at the photo these detectives have. Do you know this boy?”

Detective Washington held the photo up. “Have you ever seen him before?” she asked, correcting Kenny’s phrasing. Dolores took the photo into her own hands and studied it carefully. She looked up at Detective Washington, a frown creasing her forehead. “This is the missing boy?” she asked. Washington nodded. Dolores looked at the photo again, then almost regretfully shook her head. “No, I have never seen him.” She handed the photo back and looked expectantly from one detective to the other. “Thank you,” Detective Washington told her. “That’s all we need for now.”

“Oh, one thing.” Detective Velasquez stopped her before she could leave. “Tu hablas bien inglés.”

“Gracias,” Dolores responded, her cheeks matching her outfit.

“¿Vive usted aquí? En esta casa.”

“¡Claro que no!” She laughed. “I go home at four in the afternoon.” She frowned slightly. “Usually.”

“¿Preferirías hablar inglés?”

“Sí. El no habla español.” She indicated Kenny with a subtle twitch of her head.

“Supuse que no.” Dolores looked at him curiously. Senka was impressed by the detective’s moxie, questioning Dolores in front of Kenny, assuming that Kenny wouldn’t understand Spanish. He went on. “You said you usually go home at four. Did you yesterday?”

“No. I….” She hesitated and shot Kenny an embarrassed look. “I left a little early yesterday.”

“¿Por qué?”

“Something…something happened. It frightened me.”

Kenny, who had been looking out the window with feigned lack of interest, turned towards Dolores so quickly that Senka thought his neck would crack. Both detectives perked up. “Can you tell us what happened?” Detective Washington asked.

“I saw…I was thinking I saw…a ghost.”

The detectives’ shoulders slumped a bit in disappointment. Kenny gaped at her, then said, “What are you talking about?”

“I finish cleaning, but I remember that I didn’t empty the trash in your bathroom, Mr. Kenny. I come back there, but when I go in, I see…I see writing appear on the mirror.”

“There was writing on the mirror?” Detective Washington asked.

“No, no.” She looked at Detective Velasquez for help. “La escritura aparecía en el espejo mientras miraba.” She looked at him closely to see if he understood the distinction.

“The writing was appearing on the mirror as you watched. Is that right?” he asked her.

“Sí, sí,” she answered excitedly. “The words were coming as I watched.”

Kenny snorted. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Detective Washington shot him a look, then turned back to Dolores. “What did this ghost write?”

“I only see the first letters. I make a noise and she stopped. She wrote, ‘It’s t—.’”

The room was silent. Then, Velasquez asked, “You said, ‘She wrote.’ Why do you think it was a female ghost?”

Kenny sat forward with a snarl. “Are you actually believing this shit? She obviously wrote on the mirror herself, and now she’s trying to blame it on the fucking spirit world!”

“Sir, you’re going to need to calm down.” Washington spoke sternly. “We’re trying to understand what Ms.—” She looked at the pink-garbed woman expectantly.

“Sanchez. Dolores Sanchez.”

“Thank you. What Ms. Sanchez experienced.”

Kenny sat back with a look of disgust. “I’m perfectly calm.”

Detective Velasquez asked again, “So, why do you think it was a female ghost, Ms. Sanchez?”

“Because she was writing with lipstick. Men ghosts don’t write in lipstick.”

“I see.” He snuck a peek at his partner who picked up the questioning. “Ms. Sanchez,” she said, is it possible that someone, I mean a living person, got into the house and wrote that?”

Very carefully and deliberately, as if speaking to a child, Dolores said, “I was watching while she wrote.”

“I see,” Washington said, echoing her partner. She turned to Kenny. “Sir, you suggested that Ms. Sanchez wrote on the mirror herself. Did you see what was written?”

A look passed across Kenny’s face, one that Senka had seen in life. For the first time, she recognized what it meant. He was choosing whether or not to lie. He seemed to decide that telling the truth couldn’t harm him. “I did. It said, ‘It’s time to pay.’”

The detectives made notes in their pads. “What did that mean to you?” Velasquez asked.

“I have no idea. I pay Dolores punctually.” Senka glanced at Dolores just in time to catch her rolling her eyes, but she said nothing and the detectives appeared not to notice.

“You haven’t always paid your creditors punctually, though, have you, sir?” Detective Washington asked.

Kenny stiffened. “Those matters have been settled through the legal system and have no bearing in this conversation.”

“They do, sir, if someone is threatening you,” Washington said, unimpressed by Kenny’s haughtiness.

“Or trying to connect you to the disappearance of a teenager,” Velasquez added.

Kenny had clearly forgotten the original reason for their visit. He paled but recovered quickly. “I fail to see how the two are linked.”

Velasquez and Washington shared a look, then the handsome detective turned to Dolores. “Ms. Sanchez, thank you,” he said. “We’ll contact you if we need to speak again. We appreciate your honesty.”

Kenny snorted again, and Dolores left the room with a purposeful step, shoulders squared.

“Where were you last night, sir, from, say, 8 p.m. onwards?” Detective Velasquez continued.

Kenny, who had been watching Dolores leave with narrowed eyes, snapped his attention back to the two detectives. “Uh, let’s see….I was here. In the den. Watching football.”

“Football? At this time of year?”

“I keep some of my favorite games on the DVR so I can watch them again.”

“I see. Were you alone?”

“No,” he said, lying so smoothly even Senka couldn’t see a tell. “My girlfriend was here.”

“Was she watching with you?”

“No. She was in here. Reading.”

Senka saw Detective Washington glance around the room, clearly noting the pristine nature of the space. She would have bet that Washington knew no one ever lolled around reading in here. Velasquez was speaking, “And you didn’t leave the den all evening?”

“No, I left to—” Kenny stopped cold. His eyes widened, and it looked to Senka as if he had stopped breathing. She felt gleeful knowing he was remembering seeing her through the glass of the sliding door.

Washington looked at her partner, her eyebrows raised, then back at Kenny. “Sir? Are you alright?”

Kenny forced his features back into their neutral expression. “Yes, sorry, fine.” He shook his head and laughed weakly. “Just, Dolores’s ghost story, I guess. Uh, I went to the kitchen to get a beer. That’s the only time I left the den.”

The detectives were eyeing him doubtfully. Velasquez asked, “And your girlfriend could corroborate that?”

“I would think so.”

“But you didn’t, say, get her a beer, too.”

“No.” Kenny faked a carefree laugh. “I guess that would have been polite, huh?” The detectives didn’t laugh with him.

“Sir, would you mind showing us the writing on the mirror?” Washington asked. Kenny looked surprised at the return to that topic but recovered at once. He said, “It’s not there anymore. I washed it off last night.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, I didn’t think there was any reason to keep it,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Besides, it was bothering my girlfriend. She was upset that it ruined her lipstick.”

“We could try to pick up some fingerprints from the lipstick tube, if you’d like,” Washington offered.

“That’s pretty unlikely, though, isn’t it?” Kenny regarded them levelly.

Velasquez nodded. “You’re probably right.” He tried a different approach. “Still, it might help us get a sense of things if we had a look at the mirror.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t plan to press charges.”

It was clear the subject was closed, so the detectives let it go. Washington asked, “Is your girlfriend here now, sir?”

“No,” he responded quickly. “She went home this morning.”

“She’s an early riser.”

“Yes,” Kenny said and left it at that.

“We’ll check in with her later.” The detectives shared a look and stood up. Kenny rose with them. Velasquez pulled a card from his pocket and offered it to Kenny, saying, “Thanks for your time. If you think of anything that might help us in our search for Jeremy Smithe, the missing juvenile, please give us a call.”

As she watched them follow Kenny to the door, Senka thought, That’s it? What about the tip about the digging? She wasn’t sure what to do, but she knew she couldn’t let them leave. Kenny closed the door after them and went back into the living room, watching them through the glass. Senka slipped through the door and hovered near the detectives. They walked to the car in silence, then Washington said, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? It’s not every day you get to take in a view like this.”

Velasquez looked at her curiously, then the penny dropped. “Right!” he said a little too heartily. “Let’s go take a closer look, huh? Like from that hill there.”

Senka’s spirits lifted as she followed them to the edge of the slope. She glanced back and saw Kenny watching them. Velasquez stretched and breathed deeply. Senka could see that both detectives were surreptitiously scanning the slope for any signs of the digging that had been reported on the hotline. “See anything?” Washington asked quietly.

“Hard to tell. How about you?”

“Maybe. Ten o’clock?”

“Yes!” Senka shouted uselessly.

Velasquez tried not to appear to be looking but cast his eyes sideways to see where Washington was indicating. “Yeah. It’s possible. It looks to me like the ground has been disturbed fairly recently. Hard to tell unless we can get closer.”

“Try it. Act like you’re just wandering in that direction.”

Detective Velasquez stretched again and swung his arms from side to side as if he were loosening a stiff back. As he did, he moved a few yards to his left and stopped again.

“Can I help you with something else?” The sound of Kenny’s voice made them turn around. “Just admiring the view,” Velasquez called back. The detectives unhurriedly headed to their car as Kenny walked around toward the front of the house. “See anything?” Washington muttered.

“Definitely disturbed.”

“Enough for a warrant?”

“Could be.”

They were too close to Kenny to continue the conversation. Dolores was standing by the front door, her curiosity too strong to keep her in the house. The detectives reached their car, parked in front of the large garage doors. Velasquez waved, whether to Dolores or to Kenny, Senka couldn’t tell. “Thanks again,” he said.

“No, no, no!” Senka cried. “You can’t leave now! I need to know you’re coming back. You have to find Jeremy!” The detectives reached for the door handles. Senka frantically tried to think what she could do to keep them there. She tore through the garage door and along the rows of shelving until she got to the box she wanted. Standing behind it, she gave it a shove. It flew from its shelf and tumbled to the floor, hitting with a loud clatter as the top sprang open and the contents tumbled out. Was it enough?

She heard a little scream from Dolores as Kenny exclaimed, “What the hell was that?” Senka hurried back through the big garage door to see what was going on outside.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” Washington demanded, all business.

“No, no one!” Dolores’ hands were clasped to her heart. “Except the ghost.”

Kenny looked at her with irritation. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Velasquez glanced at Washington, then said to Kenny, “Given the circumstances, sir, we need to check this out.”

“What circumstances?” Kenny demanded.

“The writing. The calls we received on our hotline.” Without waiting for a go-ahead, Washington and Velasquez brushed by Kenny and Dolores and went into the house. Senka rushed in behind them and through the garage wall as they carefully opened the door from the entryway. They peered into the gloomy garage, then both drew their service weapons. With utmost caution, they split up and walked around the sportscar blocking their way. “Clear,” Washington said from her end.

“Clear,” Velasquez responded from his. He looked back at Dolores and Kenny standing in the doorway. “Would you give us some light, please?” Dolores flipped the switch.

A banker’s box lay on the ground at the foot of one of the shelving units. Strewn about it were various-sized objects. Washington and Velasquez, guns still drawn, crossed the garage floor to get a closer look. They peered down at the objects, then looked at each other in surprise. Washington turned to Kenny.

“Sir, why do you have human bones stored in your garage?”

Is it alright if we stop there?

Of course, if the story wants to. I like that you threw your bones on the ground.

Do you?

That made me laugh.

You’re funny.

When you leave here, do you go home?

I do.

Is Silas there?

Yes, he is.

Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Good night.

__________

Go on to Chapter 14