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When Karen knocked on Tina Renaldi’s door, a yappy dog inside went apoplectic. The house was small and white, with a one-car garage, a neatly trimmed yard, and an impressive garden. Karen introduced Gil and herself, showed her identification, and Tina welcomed them in. Tina was a very petite woman in her seventies and wore a tank top and very short hot-pink shorts. The inside of her house was shocking to Gil—it seemed like the inside of a tropical bamboo hut. It had dark wicker walls and ceilings, loads of palm-like and banana-leafed plants, rainbow-colored birds in and out of cages, and hanging beads. New Age music played, and floral scents filled the air. “Wow!” Gil said.
“Yeah, it’s a little overwhelming for most people,” said Tina. “But it’s what I like. Please have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks,” said Karen. “We’re good. As I said on the phone, we’re interested in tracking down someone from the commune days. We’re investigating a cold case involving the remains of a child found at Poet’s Seat Mountain back in the nineties. We’re trying to find his family and figure out what happened to him.”
“Can’t you just trace the child’s DNA?”
“We’re working on that, but that takes a long time, not like on TV. Also, it often doesn’t tell us anything unless a close relative is in a database we can access. In the meantime, we’re chasing other leads. We think this family came through some of the communes around 1970 or 1971. There was a young teenage girl, possibly named Willow, who had a baby, and another girl around twelve years old.” Karen checked her notes. “Maybe they came through the Peace Out Commune in Vermont. We understand you were there back then.”
“We called it Fipp’s Corners. That’s the local name for the area. Those were the early days, and we didn’t have many people yet. Maybe thirty? There were always a lot of transient hippies coming through who I wouldn’t remember. There weren’t any kids back then. The kids came later.” She smiled to herself.
“These girls were scared of their father,” said Gil. “He may have been abusing them.”
Tina shook her head. “I don’t remember them. I’m sorry. I was hard at work back then. I did a lot of farm work and was trying out different forms of art. I wish I still had that much energy. You know, a few years later, our commune started a shelter for abused women in Brattleboro. Those young girls you’re talking about weren’t the only ones. We created sort of an underground railroad for women back then, but that was maybe in seventy-three or seventy-four.”
“What was the name of the women’s shelter?” Karen asked. “Maybe they have records?”
“It was called the Brookside Shelter. Back in the early days, we didn’t have much in the way of record-keeping, but we did keep a log. Every now and then, the cops used to come by, looking for someone who was missing. We sort of started writing down information that would help. But a lot of times it was the abusive husband looking for his wife so he could hurt her.”
Gil asked, “What did you do after you left the commune?”
“I went back to UMass and got my degree. I spent my career as a social worker for the state, but I retired eleven years ago.”
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Karen and Gil stopped at a Middle Eastern restaurant for lunch. “So, consultant, what do you think about these interviews?”
“I’m surprised anybody remembered this family at all. Those girls must have been really scared to make an impression on Terry and Carter. I think everybody’s been telling the truth, but I don’t have a lot of experience reading people. I mostly worked with machines. That said, a lot of the commune hippies were idealists back then. Sure, there were some bad apples, but in general they were very peaceful people.”
“Well, I guess I’m okay with you visiting Ms. Florakis on your own. There doesn’t seem to be any animosity associated with this case.”
“Yeah, I’m okay with it too.”