Stephen White - Blinded

Tayisha’s words just faded into the night.

“Shouldn’t take long?” I asked.

“Nope.” She smiled at me in a way that made her sparkling white teeth jump out of the darkness. “My boss never hears about this, right?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Then we’re on. Where’s my baby?”

Only one other house on Holly Malone’s block seemed to be having people over for the holiday celebration. As far as Thanksgiving was concerned, this was a neighborhood of guests, not hosts.

Carmen and I took turns dozing off for the next couple of hours. On one of my turns awake I walked around the block, not so much because I expected to find anything going on as because everybody had been telling me that it was good for my heart to get my pulse up every once in a while.

I was beginning to suspect that Carmen was good for my heart, too, though the fact that she was sleeping right beside me in the car was distracting me in ways that left me uneasy. The minutes passed especially slowly as she napped, but it was okay. I spent a portion of the silent hours lost in a familiar cop reverie about evil, an evil that I felt was hovering over that South Bend neighborhood like a dark cloud in still winds.

Somewhere around six o’clock Carmen and I got confused about whose turn it was to nap. The second I opened my eyes I knew something didn’t feel exactly right. It took me longer than it should have taken to realize that she, too, was snoozing.

“Activity,” I said.

Carmen’s eyes popped open. “What, what?”

“Activity.”

The activity was the arrival of a minivan, an older Plymouth that had those tacky fake wood panels on the sides. It hadn’t been washed since water was invented. The minivan had parked right behind the little Lexus, so our view of the ensuing disembarkation was partially obscured. Still, I could tell that a small crowd was forming on the sidewalk.

“The other sister,” I said.

With some wonder in her voice, Carmen said, “My, she’s fertile. Look at the size of…”

I counted five kids congregating on the sidewalk, but anyone who was shorter than three feet or so in height probably remained invisible to me because of the angle and the intervening Lexus.

“Two adults?” I asked.

Carmen said, “Yes. One mom and one dad. One, two… five kids. Or six? What do you get?”

I counted again. “I get six. How old is Holly’s sister? She tell you that when you talked to her yesterday?”

“If this is the one I think, she’s five years older than Holly. Jeez, Sam, think-that poor woman has been pregnant almost every other day of her life since her eighteenth birthday.”

The members of Holly’s oldest sister’s brood were dressed like kids, in sharp distinction to Artie’s offspring, who were dressed as though they expected a relative to die during dinner and Artie wanted to be certain they were prepared to attend an immediate funeral.

The newly arrived posse broke ranks as they moved toward Holly’s front door. Running. Laughter. Teasing.

“Wait,” Carmen said. “I get three adults now.”

“Yep, me too. The blonde is Holly’s sister?”

“I guess,” Carmen replied. “Who’s the other one, then, the woman with the dark hair?”

I didn’t answer. Holly answered the door, and the passel of nieces and nephews funneled inside, followed by the blond woman and then the rotund brother-in-law with the big smile. Everybody got either a hug or a kiss or both. The woman with the dark hair stood patiently on that classic Craftsman-style porch holding a covered dish, waiting for her turn to arrive. Once her relatives were safely inside the house, Holly stepped out to speak with the woman. Holly’s head was tilted to one side the whole time.

After listening for about thirty seconds, Holly took the woman by the elbow and guided her farther from the door. They talked for another minute or so, their faces only a foot apart.

“A friend? Neighbor?” Carmen conjectured.

“Maybe.” I didn’t want to come to any conclusions at that point. I wanted to observe.

The covered dish finally changed hands, some final words were spoken, and the woman stepped down from the porch without a hug or kiss from Holly. She walked down the sidewalk away from the house, which was also away from me and Carmen. Holly hesitated a second at the door before she stepped back into the house. Had she looked our way before she went inside? I wasn’t sure.

I figured she figured I was close by.

I checked my cell phone to make sure it was on. It was.

“Want me to follow her?” Carmen asked.

She was talking about the covered dish lady. That didn’t surprise me. She was asking me what I wanted her to do. That did. “Don’t think so. You’re probably right. Just a neighbor.”

Carmen said, “I’m getting hungry. You?”

“Always. You think maybe we could get Holly to bring us a plate? Her turkey will come out of the oven soon. I bet they end up eating around seven, maybe a little after.”

She reached into her purse and offered me an energy bar. “You might get a plate, Sam. Not me.”

I shocked myself; I took the bar. “If I get any turkey and stuffing, I’ll share,” I said. “Promise.”

Six forty-five. Night had arrived under slate gray skies.

I said, “Turkey’s coming out of the oven right about now. I’m going to do a stroll around the block again, see if I can work up an appetite.”

It had been a joke, but Carmen missed it. She put a hand on my arm. “We wasting our time?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“How long can we last? Just the two of us, I mean? Tomorrow morning? What then?”

I’d thought about that, too. “I’m hoping something new develops with the investigation, something we can use to get the local police willing to help keep an eye on Holly. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll go talk to Holly again, see if I can get her to go stay with one of her sisters in Chicago for the weekend.”

“I know which sister I’d choose.”

“Yeah. Artie doesn’t seem likely to have a dominant good-host gene, does he?”

“I’m sorry about your holiday, Sam.”

“Company’s good, Carmen. That helps.”

She didn’t miss that I said that. Her hand was still on my arm. The pressure changed. “Sam? Before you go, call Gibbs. Do you mind?”

“I didn’t think you were that attached to Gibbs’s well-being.”

“I’m not. I was just thinking that if Gibbs has seen Sterling in Colorado, then we’re all done here, right? You and me, we can pack up and go someplace together and, you know… eat.”

My heart hiccoughed during the hesitation at the end of Carmen’s sentence. Missed a beat? Double beat? I couldn’t tell. “I can do that.” I pulled out my cell phone, fit my reading glasses on my nose, checked for Gibbs’s number in the memory, and dialed. She answered after three rings.

“Hello,” she said.

The sound of Gibbs’s voice moved me like the refrain of an old song. I knew it wasn’t right that it happened that way. But it did.

“It’s Sam. Hey, how you doing?”

“Did Alan Gregory tell you to call?”

What was that about? “Nah. Just wanted to be sure you’re safe. We haven’t talked. Where are you?”

“Vail. A motel.”

“Is it pretty?”

“Low clouds. It’s okay.”

“Here, too. Low clouds. Gray.”

“I hear the South is like that sometimes.”

She sounded cryptic. Maybe she was aggravated to be alone on the holiday in a motel. I could relate to that.

“I’m not in Georgia anymore. I drove north. I’m up in Indiana.”

“You are? Why on earth would you go to Indiana? Where?”