Della
For a while, I watched Abit and Astrid from that old chair, but it dug into my back, so I moved to the front of the store. Besides, I knew I didn’t have to keep an eye on Abit.
I sat on the bench he’d made for the store, running my hand along Wilkie Cartwright’s head, noticing how smooth the gleaming wood felt. We’d placed the bench under the overhang to keep it from warping in the rain or drying out in the summer sun. It was so lovely, I suggested we store it somewhere protected from the weather during the cold and rainy winter. Abit surprised me with a stern no! He made me promise to always leave it out front; he’d repair any damages or replace it, if necessary.
As I waited, I realized how odd it was that I never sat in front of my own store. Up until that day, I’d only admired the bench when I opened each morning and closed in the evening. Of course, I stayed busy inside, but I vowed to sit there more often.
I heard Abit call me, so I walked toward the back. When I reached the passenger door, he cranked it open from the driver’s side. Astrid jumped off, not like someone escaping, just ready to go home. She called over her shoulder, thanking Abit for the bus tour.
Abit stepped down, that crooked smile of his telling me he’d gotten some good information. I whispered to him to try calling the sheriff’s office; I wanted Horne to know as soon as possible what she’d told him. When we pulled away from the store, Abit stood in the driveway, waving goodbye. Astrid rolled down her window and leaned out to wave back.
As the Jeep made its way up the Holt’s drive, I was surprised to see Horne standing outside talking with Enoch. Astrid jumped out the second I stopped and ran to her father. He gave her a hug and told her to run inside, just like the first time I met him, only without the push. I nodded at Enoch but stayed by the Jeep. Horne said something to him and came over my way.
“We finished up last night,” Horne said, “but I needed to come out this morning to ask Enoch a few more questions. We didn’t find anything untoward. No missing knives or hidden guns. We confirmed that Mrs. Holt hadn’t taken many clothes, just what she was wearing; maybe a couple of other things, best Holt could tell. Though I don’t know what man would notice that kind of thing. I never had any idea about my wife’s favorites.”
Figures, I thought to myself. I asked if they’d found anything interesting. “A journal,” he said. “Bizarro, I’ll tell you. I’d like you to take a looksee. The entries range from weepy and loving to ready to kill Enoch and kids.”
I was about to tell him that more than likely every mother had experienced that range of emotions, but from the look on his face, I thought better of it. Maybe Lilah’s diary was more graphic. I said I’d look it over in the next couple of days and get back to him. Horne went on about exploring every possibility, including suicide. I was glad the kids were off in their rooms.
“In fact, it was more what we didn't find. Mrs. Holt’s suitcase was missing, but Holt swore she’d given that to the Goodwill months ago. Did you learn anything from the girl?”
“Well, Abit did. I think we should head back to the store so you two can talk.”
“Astrid said her mama had bought a new suitcase, which she hid in her closet,” Abit told us. We were sitting in the back, and no one else was in the store. “Astrid found it when her and Dee were playin’ and ...”
“Maybe Holt found the new suitcase, and they fought,” Horne said. “He could’ve accidentally killed her, covering it all up by burying the body and suitcase. Maybe in the suitcase.”
“As I was trying to tell you,” Abit said, his voice sharp with irritation for being interrupted (or more like dismissed). “Astrid said the new suitcase was really small. She thought it was for her, maybe, or for her doll clothes.” I smiled thinking about that little bruiser playing with dolls, but hey, why not? “If it was that small,” he went on, “I can’t see her daddy stuffing a body in it.”
Abit shared the rest of his talk with Astrid. Again, Horne took the darkest view of everything. Like Tiptoe Days. That was something I was familiar with, and I knew they didn’t lead to murder. But when Abit mentioned that Lilah wielded a knife at Enoch on several occasions, Enoch had had a girlfriend, and Astrid’s parents argued violently the night Lilah went missing, I began to worry Horne might be right.
“We need to go back out there again,” Horne said. “No telling what took place that night—or might be going on right now.”