Chapter Eight

The only car in the driveway was Grace’s blue Mazda Miata convertible—a wedding present from her husband Luke—parked on the side of the driveway next to the woods.

Zoe opened the door to the house. “Mrs. Worthen?” she called out.

No answer. Zoe paused and listened. She thought she heard someone in the basement. Maybe Mrs. Worthen was downstairs straightening up Dad’s office in the basement.

Yoda came bounding out of the kitchen. It was Zoe’s job to walk Yoda when she got home from school. She went upstairs and threw her jacket and backpack on her bed. It was clear from the condition of her room, with its unmade bed and clothes scattered on the floor, that Mrs. Worthen hadn’t gotten to her room—at least not yet. Probably best not to leave the backpack here just in case.

Grabbing it, Zoe headed back downstairs.

Yoda followed.

Once downstairs, Zoe stopped and set down her backpack. She had to come up with a plan. She could not keep carrying the journal around in it forever. What she needed was to find a better place to hide it—a place where the police or someone might find it and figure it was Grace who had put it there.

Yoda pawed her leg and, whimpering, gazed up at her.

“Come on, Yoda,” she said. “Let’s get you out for a walk.”

The leash hung just inside the back door, next to the brightly colored key rack her Uncle Patrick and Aunt Alejandra had brought back for them from a trip to Guatemala several years ago. Zoe ran her fingers across the keys wondering which one of them belonged to Grace’s car. Maybe she could plant the journal in her car—in the trunk or under the front seat. Some people probably hid their journals in their car—it made sense if they didn’t want other people in the house to read them. Then she could drop a few hints—maybe say she just at that very moment remembered seeing Aunt Grace carrying the journal with her to the car. Then her parents would alert the police and they would come and check out the car and find the journal.

The keys jingled as she sorted through them, trying unsuccessfully to figure which one was for the Miata. Finally, she just grabbed the nearest one.

Clutching it in one hand, she reached for the leash with the other hand, then snapped it on Yoda’s collar. Once outside, she took the journal out of her backpack and hurried across the driveway.

She tried the key in the trunk first. It didn’t fit. She tried the driver’s door—still no luck. As she was about to go back to the house and get a different key, she heard the sound of voices coming down the street. She ducked behind the car just as Mrs. Spitz came stomping down the driveway in a pair of bright pink capris at least two sizes too small, with Billy in tow. Drops of blood trickled down Billy’s leg where Zoe had kicked him.

Mrs. Spitz pounded on the door and demanded that someone open up.

Then Billy noticed Zoe’s backpack on the porch. “There,” he cried. “I told you she’s hiding something in her backpack that she didn’t want me to see!”

Mrs. Spitz paused, but only briefly, then began rummaging through the backpack. Finding nothing except school stuff, she straightened up and glared at Billy.

He shrank back.

His mother scowled at him.

“I know I saw some sort of weird book in there,” he said meekly. “She must have taken it out and hidden it.” Just then he spotted Zoe and Yoda crouched behind the car.

Zoe grabbed Yoda and pulled him back.

Billy opened his mouth to say something but hesitated.

“What is it?” his mother demanded, glancing in the direction of the car.

“Nothing,” Billy said, looking down at his feet. “Just a squirrel.”

As Billy and his mother disappeared out the driveway, Zoe considered her options. What if Mrs. Spitz was watching—maybe behind the large stand of mountain laurel at the end of the driveway where Zoe could not see her—hoping someone would come out of the house so she could confront them with her stupid complaints? Zoe decided to play it safe and take the narrow winding path through the woods behind the houses on her side of the street to the unfinished and unoccupied house next door rather than risk crossing her driveway and being spotted.

Staying low and holding the journal tightly to her body, she picked her way along the narrow, overgrown path. The dried leaves crunched under her feet and the thorny briers pulled at her clothes.

The path came out behind the garage next door. The house, which was directly across from Billy’s house, had been unoccupied for almost a year now, following the divorce of the couple who were having it built for them. It had only been a few weeks ago that the “For Sale” sign out front had been replaced with a “Sold” sign.

Zoe tightened her grip on Yoda’s leash and glanced around. She could cut through the back yard over to another road then circle around and come home the back way.

She had just started out when she spotted Billy coming down his driveway holding a bag of potato chips in one hand. He stopped and peered in the direction of Zoe’s house.

Jerking the leash, Zoe headed back to the cover of the garage of the vacant house.

The side door to the garage was slightly open. Straining, she managed to open it a little wider. A pile of bricks kept her from opening it all the way. She pushed her way into the garage. Yoda squeezed in after her, thinking it was all a fun game.

Once inside, Zoe pushed the door shut and slipped Yoda’s leash over the doorknob. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and unfinished walls. The air smelled damp and the trace of a foul odor hung in the air. Three rough wooden steps at the back of the garage led up to a door into the vacant house. Zoe tried the door—it was locked. Looking around, she noticed two neat piles of what looked like 4x4 boards stacked on a half sheet of plywood on the dirt floor under a broken window that faced the street. Water had pooled under the window from the storm the night before.

She walked over and cautiously put one foot on the boards. Stepping up onto the boards she peered out a corner of the window. Billy was still in his driveway, just standing there looking around—probably waiting for her to come down the street on her usual after-school walk with Yoda. Then he would run back and tell his mother. He probably regretted not having told her when he saw Zoe hiding behind the car and was now trying to make up for it. What a jerk!

She took a deep breath and thought about it. Maybe he just felt bad about what he had said to her on the walk home from the bus and wanted to apologize. He was like that. You never knew how he was going to act. She sighed. In any case, she could not take a chance. She would just have to outwait him.

She stepped down. Uncrumpling an old FedEx bag she found lying next to the plywood, she placed it on the dusty boards and sat down. Pulling Grace’s journal out from under her sweater, she opened it to the page where she had left off. It read:

Someone—a paramedic I think—came over and asked how I was feeling. He took my pulse and blood pressure and checked me over and told me I might have a concussion and I should go to the hospital to have it checked out. I told him I couldn’t just go off and leave Yoda especially after he had probably just saved my life! Then this tall, good-looking guy comes over and shows me his badge. His name it turns out is Lucian Esposito and he’s an FBI agent involved in the investigation of City Hall. Can you believe it?!

Luke—that’s what the others called him—asked me a bunch of questions about what had happened. Then he offered me—and Yoda—a ride to the hospital. I told him I didn’t want to inconvenience him, but he said he didn’t mind at all and he liked dogs. Yoda took to him right away.

Luke even came into the emergency room with me, which was a good thing since what had happened was all a muddle in my head. Then an orderly took me to get a CT scan—even though I told him I felt fine—and Luke went back outside with Yoda. After suffering through an interminable wait, this kid comes in—he couldn’t have been much older than my own students. He said he was a resident in neurology and shows me the CT scan, pointing to the front of the brain. To tell you the truth I really couldn’t see anything unusual. Then he spouted off some medical mumbo-jumbo about the blow to my head forcing my brain against the front of my skull causing a Con2—or something like that—which didn’t make sense to me because I had hit the back of my head, not my forehead. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I just nodded, pretending I understood what he was saying. Then he tells me there was nothing they could do about it (so what was I doing there!?) and I should make a follow-up appointment with a neurologist if I started “experiencing any physical or personality changes.” Then he rattled off a list of symptoms and handed me a yellow sheet of paper, which I promptly misplaced.

When I finally got out of there, Luke was waiting outside the main doors with Yoda. He asked me what the doctor had said, and I told him I was fine. We chatted the whole way home. Turns out we have a lot in common—we’re both single (his wife died of breast cancer seven months ago), and we both love hiking and reruns of X-Files and watching Masterpiece Mystery! on PBS and—get this!—he even majored in philosophy in college!! I mean, is this guy just too good to be true?! I hope I get to see him again SOON! More later—I’ve got to get some sleep.

Zoe smiled longingly—so that was how Grace met Luke. Although Zoe had only met him three or four times, she had liked Luke—he seemed like a great guy.

Zoe flipped the page. The next entry was dated four days later.

March 10th

Feeling a bit under the weather—nauseated, headache. Probably the flu—it’s going around campus. Decided to take the rest of the week off. I slept almost all day yesterday and today. First time I’ve used any of my sick leave in over two years. Luke called and left a message. I missed the call since I had my phone unplugged. Said he was just checking in to see how Yoda and I were doing.

March 12th

Guess who turned up at the front door this morning!!—none other than FBI agent Luke Esposito himself—holding a makeshift leash with Yoda at the other end and in the other hand a Dunkin’ Donuts bag. He said the neighbors found Yoda rummaging through their garbage and it was a good thing the cop on the beat recognized Yoda and called Luke—apparently the cop had seen Yoda in Luke’s car last week. Yoda must have gotten out when I was getting the morning newspaper. Then Luke offers me a cup of coffee and a muffin. I thanked him for all he’s done and apologized for not having returned his calls—told him that I had not been feeling well. So he offered to keep Yoda until I feel better. Of course I declined his offer—I didn’t want to put the poor man out any more than I already have. Then he asks if I want to go to a play at Trinity Theatre this weekend and of course I said, “Yes!” I still can’t believe that such a great-looking guy is interested in a schlep like me! I wonder if I can lose five pounds by Saturday?

March 19th

Luke and I went to see Berthold Brecht’s Three Penny Opera at Trinity yesterday. It was fantastic!! Then we went out to eat at the Capitol Grille. I learned Luke has two children—a son and a daughter. His daughter Andrea is still in college and living at home. He has a house on Narragansett Bay on Warwick Neck his wife inherited from her parents. We’re meeting for dinner again after my classes on Wednesday.

P. S. We ran into one of Luke’s old friends—Kate Tasca—at Trinity. Turns out she’s a detective and profiler with the Rhode Island State Police. And I thought profilers were something made up by TV script writers! She seemed like a nice person. I could see she was sweet on Luke—the way she looked at him. I don’t think he even noticed—sweet, innocent Luke. That’s one of the things I love about him. It’s hard to believe he’s a tough FBI agent!

Zoe stopped reading. So Detective Tasca knew Luke—and Grace! This was a new twist. Did Detective Tasca hate Grace for stealing Luke—the love of her life? Was that why she wanted Grace’s journal—to try to find some “dirt” on her? Or maybe the dirt in the journal was on Detective Tasca and that’s why she wanted to make sure it was found—and destroyed. Maybe she was even taking kickbacks from the Mafia. Zoe knew police were known for being crooked—especially in Rhode Island. Maybe Grace’s death was all a cover-up and the medical examiner had just said it was bleeding on the brain from a fall when, in fact, Detective Tasca had arranged to have Grace murdered—or even did it herself. Police covered up for each other all the time.