Twenty One
Molly pulled into her driveway to find Steve Moore, the roofing contractor that Cole had hired a few weeks before, sitting in his truck in front of her house. Molly parked her car and walked to the driver’s side door. Steve leaned over his clipboard, cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. He held up one finger to Molly. Molly sifted through her memory trying to recall if Cole had mentioned that he’d forgotten to pay him. A moment later, Steve rolled down his window. Even his large truck seemed too small for his six-foot-five frame. He smiled, a kind, open smile that held no pretense or hidden agenda, simply a welcome greeting. “Sorry, Molly,” he said. “Cell phones: you gotta love ’em, you gotta hate ’em.” He waved his phone in his enormous hand. Molly smiled, “What’s up, Steve?” “I came by the other day to check on a leak. I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay, that there were no issues.”
Molly told him that they hadn’t had any other leaks and that she appreciated his stopping by. On a whim, she turned back and asked, “Steve, do you know anything about the Perkinson family or their house? The one near the lake?”
“Sure, I’ve worked around here for so many years that there ain’t much I don’t know. Which is good and bad if you get my drift,” he cracked a wicked little smile. “What do you want to know?” “I don’t really know. I just have a funny feeling about the house, that’s all.” “It used to be a hotel, and I’ve heard that it has ghosts, too.” He started the engine of his truck. “What do you know about the ghosts?” Molly asked excitedly.
He laughed. “Well, I don’t know them personally, if that’s what you mean. I’ve heard rumors of old Mr. Perkinson walkin’ ’round the house, on the grounds, and of the late Mrs. Perkinson sittin’ in a rockin’ chair, knittin’.”
“Really?”
“Well, there were a few stories that went around for a while, but I doubt they were true. Oh, you know how these things go, everything from Lizzie Borden to the Amityville Horror.”
Molly looked intrigued.
“I’m not sayin’ that it ain’t true, I’m just sayin’ that I’ve heard about a daughter who didn’t really exist, and a son that was born when they were really old, but I ain’t never seen no proof.” He looked away, guffawed, “Stories, they grow like trees around here.”
“Well, you never know what happened back then.”
“You know Newton Carr? He never lets things go undocumented,” he rolled his eyes. “He s’posably asked old Chet Perkinson, you know, to validate the facts? Anyway, according to Newton, old Chet Perkinson ain’t as with it as he used to be. Said the child was never born. So who knows where these stories come from.
“One thing I do know,” his voice grew quiet, “they all died in that house, one by one. They didn’t believe in no hospitals. It’s a wonder old Chet left.” Steve paused, then cheerily said, “Speaking of hospitals, I guess you know about the big indoor yard sale up at the private school to benefit Children’s Hospital. It’s been going on all week. I went up a couple nights ago.”
Damn! Molly had forgotten all about it. “How was it?”
“It was great. I saw Newton there. He was picking up a bunch of kids’ stuff, probably for his grandkids, pants, shirts, dresses—even bought toys.”
Molly recalled the photo of Newton’s grandchildren in his living room: two boys, about ten and twelve years old.
Molly made her way inside, lavishing the dogs with soft strokes and kind words before opening the door and letting them romp outside. She thought about Steve’s mention of ghosts at the Perkinson House, and wondered if she were chasing a ghost, chasing Amanda’s memory. Maybe Cole’s right, she thought. Maybe I am trying to right my wrong. Frustrated, she buried her face in her hands, It wasn’t my fault! she thought, then she stood up straight and said, “I can’t think about this right now.” She leaned against the counter looking for a distraction—anything to take her mind off of Amanda. The blinking light on the answering machine fulfilled her wish.
“Hi, Ma, it’s me,” Molly smiled at his need to announce himself—as if she wouldn’t recognize his voice after listening to it for eighteen years. “Did you find the guy yet? Call me. Oh, and Ma, can you put twenty bucks in my account? I’m a little low. Thanks. Love you. Bye.” Molly’s finger hovered over the delete button, then she quickly pulled away. She knew she was ridiculous, but she always liked to have his voice nearby. Before checking the next message, she pulled out her cell phone and texted Erik, Got ur msg. Dating money? She knew the message would cause an eye roll from him. A moment later her cell vibrated with a reply, Haha. She smugly resumed checking messages.
The second message was a hang up, and the third was from Officer Brown. “Mrs. Tanner, this is Officer Brown with the Germantown Police Department,” his tone was professional, distant. “Just wanted to make sure Sergeant Moeler came by today. Please let me know if he has not yet contacted you.”
The message gave Molly pause. Officer Moeler had left hours ago and said he would have to provide the information to Officer Brown for direction. Molly retrieved his card and quickly punched in his phone number—she was redirected to his voice mail.
“Sergeant Moeler—hi,” she paced the kitchen nervously. She was not known for her patience, and that trait had caused her trouble in the past. She knew if Cole were there he’d caution her against bothering Sergeant Moeler—but Cole wasn’t there. “This is Molly Tanner. You were here this morning to get some information on leads? I just received a message from Officer Brown wondering if you were here yet. So…I’m just wondering what’s happening with the notes I gave you. Thanks. I can be reached on my cell. Bye.” She hung up the phone and pressed her lips between her teeth, hoping that he wouldn’t think she was the nagging type. Her mind shifted, worrying that maybe he was one of those people who said all of the right things but tended to drag their heels unless someone was sitting on them every second. She let out a long, loud breath, “No, Molly, he isn’t like that,” she said out loud, mocking herself. She grabbed an iced tea from the refrigerator and headed to her computer.
Molly didn’t have long to ponder the comfort of her chair before she received a near-frantic phone call from Erik. He wanted to know if she had found the guy that he had told her about.
“No, not yet,” Molly answered, “but I’m working on it.”
“Mom, you have to find him! Soon!”
“I know. I’m trying.” Erik’s rising anxiety worried her. “What’s going on Erik? Why are you so worried?”
“I just have an awful feeling, like, like…we’re going to lose her, the little girl. You need to find this guy. I can almost feel her slipping away, like...like…hell, like when I was little and I had that box kite at the Cape, remember? And the string slipped through my hands? Remember? And it was like slow motion as it rose in the sky, until we couldn’t see it anymore? That’s what it feels like, like I knew it was gone forever, and instead of fighting it, I just accepted it.”
Molly closed her eyes, remembering the kite he had loved so much. “I’m sorry, Erik. It’s all my fault.”
“What’s your fault?”
“This! Those feelings! You feel it all because of me, who I am, because I have that sixth sense, or whatever it is they call it. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”