THEO
BUD MOVED PEARL into Imogene’s temporarily, and then he spent the night on her couch. I sat up all night boxing shadows. I should have spent the night in deep prayer, rosary beads in hand, beseeching God to protect us. Instead, I cleaned and reloaded my guns, wanting to go hunt Hansel down for the justice his victims deserved before he could do more harm or create more casualties in his barbed quest for revenge, salvation, or whatever he was after. I’d waited too late before in my life. Not this time.
In Imogene’s dim windows I saw Bud light his cigar twice in the middle of the night. He too watched those shifting shadows. When Solomon hit the bench in front of Imogene’s in the morning, I went to the back porch and boxed out the energy that made me want to put on my soldier’s gear and start tracking. I showered, said a quick prayer, sharpened my knife, and slid it back into my boot. Then I put on my collar and headed over to Imogene’s with my paperwork.
***
The bench was now empty. Solomon was gone on his morning trek.
Imogene stood behind the counter folding three woolen blankets and a new flannel shirt for Solomon. “Look at that,” she said, pointing out her window to the small white flakes that now drifted softly over Manzanita. “Pink snow in September.”
It was bizarre but beautiful. I’d seen out-of-season snow in Korea once; another freak storm that combined with swirling cherry blossoms was a stunning sight. “Beautiful,” I said, and planted myself at one of her tables with my paperwork.
Tula sat across from me with her cereal. Imogene plopped down on the bench next to her; as usual, Tula wiggled away, still keeping distance between herself and anyone but Solomon.
“Tula,” Imogene said, “we should get you a puppy.”
Tula’s jaw plummeted. She leapt up from the table, rushed through the screen door and outside to the wet bench. We heard the unmistakable thump when her body dropped down on the bench and knocked against the register wall.
Imogene stood straight up. “What’d I say?”
“Let me take this one,” I said as I grabbed Tula’s hot cocoa and went outside.
I handed her the cup and asked, “Sweetie, don’t you like puppies?”
She looked down the street, I assumed for Solomon. Then she sat back, held her cup with both hands, and blew the steam. “Puppies grow up to be dogs, right?”
“Yes . . . Is that a problem?”
She looked up at me with those big deer-like eyes. “I’m ascared of ’em.”
“Why?”
She swallowed hard and focused her eyes on her cup, then said, “Mommy’s boyfriend, Mark, tell’d me dogs lived under my bed and would eat me in my sleep.” She slurped her cocoa. “Then he closed my door and locked it so’s I couldn’t get out.”
Dear God! I clenched my jaw and said, “Love, we don’t need to get you a puppy. Imogene didn’t know. But, dogs won’t eat you in your sleep.” The moment I uttered the words, the image of her mother and Mark flashed through me like a bolt of lightning—the day I led the detectives there dogs prowled the crime scene, drawn by the stench of death and promise of a meal. “No dog will ever come near you in your sleep. I promise.” I shook off the image. It was pretty gruesome for Manzanita—but then, righteous retribution is often an ugly thing.
“No dogs . . . unless you change your mind. Maybe you can talk to Solomon about dogs.”
“Kay,” Tula said with a heavy sigh.
“Okay, then,” I said.
“Mommy never let me out when I banged on the door,” she said. Then, as abruptly as Solomon and with as few words, she stood and went back inside.
I wanted to hit something, something named Mark, but instead followed her.
Imogene and Pearl played rummy and had a fresh deck of cards spread out on the table. Imogene’s eyes bugged as she followed Tula, who carefully set her empty cup in the dish bin by the kitchen door, took off her sweatshirt, hung it on the hook instead of dropping it on the floor, took the shoe box with her mommy’s red shoe and placed it in her toy box, out of sight, and then sat down right next to Imogene, real close. Imogene’s jaw dropped slightly. Then she mouthed, “thank you” to me.
I shrugged my shoulders, not understanding Tula’s sudden transformation. Then I realized that it was nothing I said, but that maybe, in thinking on how her own mother hadn’t helped her, she was beginning to warm to Imogene, who she knew would do anything for just one of her smiles, and who certainly would have opened that locked door and set her free.