David Bell - The Hiding Place

Ashleigh was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal even though it was after five o’clock in the evening, when her mom came through the back door. Her mom usually whisked through the world with breezy efficiency. She moved quickly, but always with purpose, her body and movements under her complete control. But that evening her mom seemed out of sorts when she came into the house. She dropped her keys on the kitchen floor. They fell in a rattling jumble against the linoleum. Rather than take her purse to her room, as she always did, she dropped it onto the floor as well. Her face was flushed, and Ashleigh didn’t think it was just from the heat.

“Hi, Mom.”

Janet stopped in the kitchen and leaned back against the counter by the sink. She let out a deep breath and then moved to the refrigerator, where she pulled out a bottle of wine. While it wasn’t unusual for her mom to have some wine in the evening, it was unusual for her to open a bottle before she was even ten steps in the door. She still hadn’t spoken to or looked at Ashleigh.

“Is everything okay?” Ashleigh asked.

Janet filled a glass and took a long first swallow. She came over to the table and sat across from her daughter.

“Would you believe me if I told you someone gave us ten thousand dollars today?” Janet asked.

“No.”

“I don’t believe it either, but they did.”

“Who gave you ten thousand dollars?” Ashleigh asked. She studied her mother’s face. Had she been drinking before she came home? Had the stress of the last few days driven her to say crazy, nonsensical things? Her mother’s eyes looked clear. She didn’t slur her words or seem fuzzy-headed.

“Someone created a fund at the bank in my name,” Janet said. “An anonymous donor. They set it up because they read the story in the paper about Justin, and they wanted to give us the money to move Justin’s grave next to your grandma’s.”

“An anonymous donor did this? Someone we don’t know?”

Her mother swallowed more wine. “The bank manager doesn’t even know who did it. The whole thing was set up by a lawyer or something. But the money’s there. I saw the paperwork at the bank.”

“Have you ever had that much money before?” Ashleigh asked.

“Just in my retirement account. And I can’t touch that.”

Ashleigh ignored her cereal. The Cheerios looked fat and milk swollen. “You seem pretty upset about this,” Ashleigh said. “Aren’t you happy? You said you wanted this to happen. You’ve always said that.”

Her mother didn’t speak for a long time. She finished her glass of wine, then went to the counter and poured another one. When she came back, Ashleigh studied her mom’s face again. Her mother didn’t look very old up close. She was younger than most of the other parents of the kids Ashleigh went to school with, and in the slanting late-afternoon light that came through the kitchen window, Ashleigh noticed again how pretty her mother’s eyes were. They were light blue, and the sun picked up flecks of a gold color in the irises that Ashleigh had never noticed before. Her mother never dated, but she could. No doubt about it, Ashleigh concluded: her mother could be out on the market finding a nice guy and having a little fun. And Ashleigh wished her mother would do that, would choose to have a little bit of fun. She deserved it.

“I don’t know what to make of this, Ash,” she said.

“Someone just wants to help. There are rich people who can write a check for thousands of dollars just like that.” Ashleigh snapped her fingers to demonstrate. “We don’t know any of them, but I’m sure they exist.”

“Isn’t it strange that this is happening right when this guy is here saying he’s Justin? What if the two are related?”

“You mean that guy might have given the money? No way. You didn’t see his sketchy apartment, Mom.”

“I guess I don’t trust anyone anymore,” her mom said. “I feel like there’s a trap around every corner. I feel like-”

“Like Grandpa,” Ashleigh said, her voice low. The old man was back in his room, the TV on. But she still didn’t want to risk having him hear her.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s so angry. So bitter. He thinks the world is out to get him.”

“I know.” Janet nodded, then said, “He wasn’t always like that. He could be warm and fun when I was a little kid. I can remember him laughing and playing sometimes. He’s had a rough ride.”

“No rougher than you.”

Janet smiled. She reached out and squeezed Ashleigh’s hand. “That’s sweet of you to say. But he lost a son. Maybe I can’t imagine.” Janet let go and sat up in her chair. “But you’re right. I don’t want to look at everyone like they’re a suspect or like they’re up to something.”

“So just take the money and have Uncle Justin moved. You’d feel better-”

But Ashleigh stopped talking. She recognized the problem with what she was saying at the same time the words came out of her mouth.

A chill went through Ashleigh’s torso, shaking her upper body hard enough to make her teeth rattle against one another.

“Mom, if that’s not Uncle Justin in there…”

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

Stynes arrived at the Manning house after nine o’clock. He’d received a call from Janet Manning that afternoon, something about money being donated to her for the purposes of-

He couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t listened to the message carefully, and he didn’t replay it. Other things were cluttering his mind.

He had called in advance of his arrival at the Mannings’. He wanted to tell them in person, before they found out about it on the news or some other way. But he hadn’t given many details over the phone. He simply said they needed to talk, that there’d been a development in the case and he needed to speak to them as soon as possible. Was it too late?

Janet Manning assured him it wasn’t.

She opened the door for him seconds after he knocked. She was barefoot but otherwise still wearing the clothes she’d probably worked in. Her father wasn’t in the room, but Ashleigh was. The two of them sat on opposite ends of the couch, the TV playing one of those shows where they redecorate an entire home for fifty bucks or something like that. Janet turned it off, and Stynes sat in a chair, noting the empty wineglass on the end table by Janet’s arm.

“Detective,” Janet said, “this house has just about exhausted its potential for hearing strange or disturbing news.”

Stynes almost laughed. He looked at the two of them on the couch, the daughter a more petite version of the mother, but undeniably mother and child. He admired them, even liked them. Hell, if it weren’t for the complications surrounding the twenty-five-year-old murder of one of their close relatives, he’d really enjoy spending time with them.

“Is your father home?” Stynes asked. “Would you like him to hear this?”

“He’s here,” Janet said. “But why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll decide when to get him involved.”

Stynes nodded. Fair enough.

“We arrested a man today,” he said. “His identification said his name is Justin Manning.”

The words settled over the room like an enveloping fog. No one moved or spoke. Stynes waited, watching the two Manning women. Ashleigh turned her head toward her mother as well, as though in anticipation.

“Is it him?” Janet asked.

The question-so simple, so loaded-cut to the heart of the entire matter.

Is it him?

“I’ll tell you what I do know,” Stynes said. He brought out his small notebook, flipped to the right page, and lifted his glasses so he could read the page. He knew some of the details without referencing the pad and spoke without directly referring to it. But it sometimes felt better to have the notebook there as a kind of prop. “This afternoon we received a call from St. Anne’s Elementary School. Are you familiar with it? It’s over on Roselawn Avenue.”