THEO
TRILLS OF LAUGHTER came from inside Imogene’s store. I opened the door and said, “Okay, you can go shopping now.” Settled my toolbox on the counter and hung my hat on the hook. “I’ll fix that squeaky door while you’re gone.”
Figured I couldn’t do a thing about Tula’s family, calls in the night, or the whereabouts of a man whose hate ran so deep it oozed from him like water off the walls of the Karst Caves. But I could fix Imogene’s door.
“And the bell?” Imogene asked.
“And the bell.”
Pearl grabbed Tula’s car coat and offered it to her; Tula shook her head no and wrapped her pouch over her shoulder.
“We’re ready,” Imogene said, holding her hand out in anticipation. Instead, Tula walked past and out the door. They followed, climbed into the Woody, and drove off.
Clearly Imogene hadn’t read the news.
***
The girls had been gone to Tillamook for nearly an hour when Bud stopped by with a gift.
“Here.” He handed me a bag. “Whoever left it wiped off their prints. It’s useless to the investigation. It’ll only get lost in the evidence room. But to Tula it’s probably all she’ll ever have of that mother a hers. Little as it is, sick as it is, it’s better ’n nothin’.”
“Probably so,” I said, taking the shoe out of the plastic bag and placing it next to Tula’s toy box. “So, no real proof then of who did it or why?”
Bud took a bottle from the cooler, flipped off the cap, and said, “I never understand the whys. But I think we know who did it. Provin’ it’s another story altogether. And I think we know it’s the same person who got Toreck bailed out.”
“The ‘whys’ are important, too,” I said. “Speaking of, will you grab a book for me at the Tillamook Library? Effie Grimm has it at the library desk for me.”
“A book?”
“World Religions. I’m doin’ some research.”
Just then the Woody screeched to a halt at the curb. Tula and Imogene opened their doors and stepped to the curb carefree as ever, watching as Pearl crawled out of the back. She held onto her scarf, holding her chest through her coat like she was having a heart attack.
Bud opened the door, stifled a grin, and said, “Pearl, you okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” Imogene said. “She’s just a backseat driver, that’s all.”
He tipped his hat and left.
“Tula,” I said, “Bud brought you a present.” I pointed to the red shoe.
Without a word, she snatched it in her hands, bolted up the stairs, and slammed her bedroom door. Imogene glared at me, then we both scaled the stairs behind her and listened through the door. I placed my hand on the glass door knob but then heard her; Tula was talking. No, meditating. Or crying. We put our ears closer to the door and listened.
“I’ll be a good girl,” Tula sobbed. “Send my mommy back.”
Imogene clasped her hands over her mouth. Her eyes pooled. My heart sank.
As I began to turn the knob, Tula said, “If you can’t send her back, can she be with Ruby? Can they be watching over me?” Then she began to hum and chant like Solomon. I cracked the door. She sat holding the shoe and rocking. I closed the door and left her to her mediations—words intended to bring her mommy back in some way. Words that, if whispered, chanted, and deeply heartfelt in front of Solomon’s dream catcher, would find their way to the Ancient Ones. Those Ancient Ones whose whispers she believed could send hope, grant wishes, proffer messages, and shelter her world, and maybe, just maybe give her an ethereal mommy who actually loved her.