She shifted her Ford Escape into Park and cut the engine. It was 7:00 p.m. yet still light outside, a fact that filled her with childish joy. Daylight saving time was a welcome reprieve after the short days of winter, though she found it hard to accept the extra daylight for weeks after it arrived, not quite trusting that the darkness wouldn’t return somehow.
She sat in the car for a moment, eyeing the squat, beige building that housed the Wynotte, North Carolina, police department. The structure had the same facade as the addition they built on the elementary school back in the ’80s, as if the town had gotten some sort of bulk deal on building supplies. The city had grown as people relocated from Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and the like. People “not from around here,” seeking better weather, new opportunities, and the chance to leave behind the places they came from.
Anissa’s mother had been one of those people. Hearing about a job in Wynotte from a friend who’d heard about it from her sister who had a cousin, etcetera, etcetera, she’d packed them up and left Bloomington, Illinois, a town Anissa barely remembered and had never returned to. Her mother had spoken of the South as if it were a mecca, a promised land. She was in Florida now. She’d continued her Southern pilgrimage after several years in Wynotte, never quite reaching the destination she seemed to be searching for, merely stopping when she got as far south as she could go without leaving the country.
Anissa breathed in and out, exhaling the memories of her childhood, inhaling the fortitude she needed to go inside and face Pete. She knew he’d not yet said his piece about her gaffe with the reporter at the Malcor house. He’d say more when Davy’s parents weren’t standing there watching. She thought of Davy’s mom, Tabitha, as she insisted on being called, defending her. It had been a sweet effort, but Anissa needed to promise the sheriff personally that she’d do better next time. Hopefully that would be enough. She’d done her job well in the past, even garnered a few commendations along the way, but never with a case of this magnitude.
She got out of the car. Though it was officially spring, winter lurked in the cold edges of the evening breeze licking at her heels as she trudged toward the door. “You think this is cold?” her mother used to exclaim. “You don’t know cold. Where we came from—that was cold!” But Anissa could only know what she knew.
She scurried inside, waved at Jane, the receptionist, and headed straight for the sheriff’s office, rounding the corner to find him in a tête-à-tête with none other than Monica Allagash right there in the hallway. They stood close, their heads inclined toward each other.
Pete Lancaster towered over the reporter’s tiny frame; she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. They hadn’t noticed Anissa approaching, which gave her time to gauge whether Pete was chastising Monica or allowing her an interview. The thought of Monica and Pete in some sort of alliance was unacceptable.
Anissa stopped short of where they stood, waiting from a respectful distance. She heard Pete say, “Never again.”
She hedged over what to do next and decided to wait for him to notice her. He’d told her to come; it wasn’t her fault he was wrapped up in a private conversation with the world’s most annoying reporter when she arrived.
Pete stepped away from Monica and waved Anissa over. Monica blushed and Anissa wondered what was going on.
Pete gestured at Monica. “Monica here isn’t going to breach the perimeter of the Malcor home again. Right, Ms. Allagash?” he asked, his voice firm.
“Never again,” Monica said, but her voice had a teasing quality to it.
“We’ve also discussed the situation with Gordon Swift.” Pete pointed at Anissa. “Which is what I need to talk to you about.”
He turned back to Monica and his voice sounded even sterner. “Mind your manners.” He reached up and adjusted the police-issue ball cap he usually wore. Monica, for her part, gave him a little mock salute and strode off without even looking at Anissa.
When she was out of earshot, Anissa said, “I really can’t stand her.”
Pete waved his hand. “Eh, she’s just doing her job.” He gave Anissa the same look he’d just given Monica. “We’ve all got a job to do here. And if we do it right, we can hopefully keep this thing from going off the rails.” He raised his eyebrows. “Capisce?”
Anissa nodded as she relaxed. Pete wasn’t angry at her. He was just stressed, which was expected.
He clapped his hands together, his way of initiating a subject change. “So.” He widened his eyes. “Gordon Swift.”
She nodded again. She knew about Gordon Swift, of course, both from that night and all that came after. There’d been no more night games in the fields by his house after Davy’s disappearance. As a kid, she’d heard the tales of the man who captured and cooked little children, how the sculptures he made contained the bones of those children. But the kids who told those tales hadn’t seen what she had that night.
“Got a friendly reminder from Swift’s attorney a bit ago. With the case back in the news, we aren’t to entertain any on-camera mentions of him. He’s not a suspect and should not be portrayed as such.” Pete sounded like he was reciting a script. Which he probably was.
“But he is still a person of interest, right?” she ventured.
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Everyone is a person of interest until this case is solved.” He lifted his index finger in the air as if he was testing which way the wind was blowing. “But I don’t want to hear the words ‘person of interest’ anywhere near his name.” He gave her a hard look. “Got it?”
She nodded, hoping she looked appropriately penitent.
Pete softened. “Look, I’ve got to tread lightly here. This guy’s gunning for us. He blames us for his life being ruined. Blames us for his parents’ bad health. Says we made him out to be a homicidal homosexual pedophile.” He allowed himself a small smile. “I guess it really hurt him with the ladies.”
Anissa forced herself to smile along with him, even though she did not find his joke funny. Gordon was a good-looking guy and a talented artist, yet he’d never married, never seemed to move on from that night. In her own way, Anissa understood him.
“But that’s why I wanted you to come by,” Pete continued. “I think you should pay him a visit, try to create a dialogue with him, make sure he feels respected. I’ve gotta keep him calm and happy.” He sighed. “The mayor will have my ass if he sues again. The town can’t afford it. Literally.”
Anissa wanted to ask him the amount Gordon had settled for but knew Pete wouldn’t divulge that. Not that it mattered. The settlement might’ve stopped the police from publicly speculating about his involvement, but it didn’t stop citizens from talking among themselves. No amount of doing her job could stop that either. And she knew for a fact that Monica Allagash believed him guilty and was ruthless about “pursuing justice,” her term for all but stalking the guy.
“So you’ll pay him a visit tomorrow?” Pete asked. His look told her the question was actually a command.
“Sure,” she said, though her heart beat harder at the thought of actually talking to Gordon Swift.
“I’ll get his address for you,” Pete said and turned as if to walk away.
“I already know where he lives.” Then she quickly added, “I mean, everyone does.”
Pete turned back around and shook his head at her, his eyes closed.
She held up her hands. “Everyone believes he’s the town monster,” she explained and lowered her hands. “People want to know where the monsters live. So they can avoid them.”
Pete shook his head again, this time adding an eye roll. “And that’s why we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
* * *
In the parking lot as she was going back to her car, she spotted Seth getting out of his cruiser to talk to a fellow officer, yukking it up with his buddy at the end of his shift. She stood in the shadows and watched longer than she should have. She wasn’t watching him because he was doing anything especially interesting. It was less about watching than about waiting for him to notice her there, to feel her eyes on him and turn toward the sensation of her nearness like he once would have. But he never did.
She rolled her eyes at herself, turned, and got into her car. She drove away, the lasagna from her dinner with the Malcors sitting heavily in her stomach. She reached for the radio dial to find a song to distract her from thoughts of Seth, of Pete’s lecture, of the surreal experience of having spent the day inside Davy Malcor’s house with Davy Malcor’s parents. Before she could settle on a song, her phone rang, and though she knew she shouldn’t answer it while driving, she did.
“Ok,” her sister said, skipping any sort of greeting and diving right in. “I know you’re probably going to say you can’t talk about the case, but I’m dying to know what’s going on. Were you with the family today?”
The eagerness in Marissa’s voice stirred a protective feeling in Anissa. Her sister didn’t have a right to know what happened inside the Malcor home, but like many others, she thought she did. Anissa felt a sense of pride that she was a gatekeeper for the family, keeping nosy Nellies like her sister away from Davy’s family.
“Yes, I was there today. But you are correct, I can’t discuss what’s going on,” she said, her voice curt. She wished she hadn’t answered the phone. “Is there any other reason you called?”
“Hey now,” Marissa protested. “I get that this is your job, but don’t forget, I’m not just anyone. And I know more about this case than your average joe. You weren’t the only one there that night.”
Anissa sighed loudly into the phone. “Marissa, you were only there at the very end.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who called 911. Don’t forget that.”
“How could I? You only bring it up every chance you get.”
Marissa harrumphed. “What happened to you, Anissa? You used to be fun. You used to be adventurous. You had gumption.”
Anissa rounded the curve and watched as her condominium complex came into view, thinking about what her sense of adventure, her gumption had led to. Better to play by the rules, she’d decided long ago. Better to plant both feet on the side of caution.
“Anissa?” Marissa asked. “You better not have hung up on me.”
Anissa arrived at her condo, parked in her designated spot, and turned off the engine. “I’m still here,” she said. “I just don’t know what to say in response. I can’t help how I am.”
Marissa was quiet, thinking of her own response. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and a little sad.
“You let it change you too much.”
“Maybe I did.” Anissa sighed. “I don’t know how I could’ve avoided being changed by it.”
“Well, sometimes I miss the girl you were before.”
“Sometimes I do too,” Anissa agreed instead of arguing further. She said goodbye and put her phone back in her purse, taking a moment before she got out of the car. Her sister was right, but she was also wrong. She had changed that night, but not as much as Marissa thought. Deep down she was still, in so many ways, the same little girl who once ran through a field looking for a boy named Davy in the dark.
She got out of the car and headed up the sidewalk, spotting movement in the bushes as she approached her door. She felt the faintest flicker of fear, but quickly realized it was not a wild animal or an attacker hiding in the bushes. It was the stray Siamese cat.
Anissa spied two blue eyes peeking out from the darkness and stooped down, her purse thudding on the cement. She and the cat studied each other for a fraction of a second.
“Hi,” she whispered. “Are you—” Before she could say “hungry,” the cat darted away, running off into the night, away from someone who only wanted to help.