I cracked the window in my car and studied the unremarkable exterior of 254 Old Harbor Road. I now knew who lived inside. And why Marie Perry had shown up here yesterday.
Late-afternoon sun glinted off living room windows and car windshields up and down the block. A woman carrying a bag of groceries walked through a fracture of light and into a valley of shadow. It was the person I’d been waiting for. The person who didn’t have her name on the deed but nonetheless lived at 254 Old Harbor. I waited until she was halfway up the front stairs before getting out of the car. She was just pulling out her keys as I hit the first step. Amanda Mason turned. “Mr. Kelly.”
“Hi, Amanda.”
Her eyes darted up and down the street, then behind her to make sure the front door was still closed. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I think we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice sounded hollow, like a pill rolling around inside an empty bottle.
“Might be better inside, Amanda.”
“This is my home, Mr. Kelly. I have two children inside.”
“I’m not going to harm your children.”
“I didn’t say you were, but I don’t want them exposed…It doesn’t matter. It’s my home. If you want to talk, we can do it right here.” The nurse stiffened her jaw and clutched the bag of groceries to her chest.
“It’s about Emma Perry,” I said and took out the hospital report from 2004. At the very bottom was Amanda Mason’s name and address. Underneath that, her signature.
“You were the attending nurse, Amanda. I’d like to know what happened.”
We sat at her kitchen table. I’d gotten a quick glimpse of her two girls before Amanda hustled them upstairs. One looked like a teenager, thick limbed with pale skin and straight auburn hair. The other was maybe nine or ten, with blue eyes and blond hair that ran halfway down her back. Amanda closed the kitchen door behind them and filled a kettle with water.
“You want some tea?”
“Sure.” I watched her bustle back and forth with mugs and milk. Sugar, spoons, and tea bags. She waited by the stove, staring blankly out the window while the water came to a boil. Then she poured the tea and sat down. I fixed mine up with some milk and sugar and took a sip. Amanda pulled the admission report close and touched her signature on the bottom of the page. I’d attached Emma Perry’s birth and death certificates.
“Where did you get all of this?” she said.
“Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“I’m a private investigator. Ray Perry had it stashed among his personal belongings.”
“Ray.” Amanda sighed, and I thought the old nurse and charismatic governor might have been allies at some point, maybe even friends. Not that it mattered now.
“Does Marie know you have it?” she said, holding up the admission report with two fingers before dropping it back on the table.
“No.”
“What is it you want?”
“I want the rest of the story.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Try me.”
Amanda stared at me as if I were suddenly made of wood, then fortified herself with a sip of tea. “What do you know about spina bifida?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s a congenital birth defect caused by an incomplete closing of the neural tube that houses the spine. There are different levels of severity. Mild cases can sometimes be corrected with surgery, and the child can still lead a fairly normal life. In severe cases the life expectancy is often three to four years. Sometimes less.”
“I assume Emma had a severe form?”
“You saw the death certificate. She passed away a day after being born.”
The child’s passing sat with us for a moment. Amanda sipped some more tea and avoided my eyes.
“Why did Marie Perry come out here yesterday?” I said.
“Out here?”
I took out my phone and showed her the photo I’d taken of Marie at the front door to 254 Old Harbor. Amanda’s face flushed with anger. “You like to spy on people, Mr. Kelly?”
“What I don’t like is when people lie to me.”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“Sure you do. And you’re not very good at it. If you help me, I’ll try to protect whatever it is you want protected. If you don’t, I’ll leave here owing you nothing. And that’s probably not the best spot for you to be in.”
She played with a spoon on the table. Then she picked up the hospital report and read through it again. Finally, she stood up. “Can you wait here a moment?”
“Sure.”
I could hear her walking through the house, then the opening and closing of a door. The house went still. No sound from Amanda. Nothing from the girls upstairs. Ten minutes passed, twenty. Finally, I heard footsteps returning. Amanda walked into the kitchen. She was alone. Her hands were empty.
“I’m sorry for making you wait.” Her voice was hushed, almost afraid of itself.
“Not a problem. You want to sit down?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“You need to come with me, Mr. Kelly.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just come with me.”
I got up and followed Amanda into the bowels of the house.