Linda Miller - Arizona Heat

I understood about keeping things.

“You want a beer or a soda or something?” Helen asked. She was a little nervous. Putting me on the trail of Gillian’s killer had probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I figured she was having second thoughts.

“Diet cola, if you have it,” I said.

Helen got up and pigeon-toed it into the kitchen. Her toenails glowed neon-pink.

Gillian and I exchanged looks again.

I signaled for her to leave the room.

She shook her head and sat tight in the little rocker.

“Tell me about your husband,” I said when Helen came back and handed me a cold can of soda. “I understand he was arrested for solicitation of a minor.”

“That was before I met him,” Helen said. “And he said she came on to him, that girl.”

I decided I’d never get the straight story on that from Helen, and made a mental note to look elsewhere. Like straight into Vince Erland’s eyes, when and if I got to speak to him. I did say, “Men sometimes lie about things like that.”

Helen flushed. “Vince didn’t do it,” she reiterated. “He didn’t proposition a teenage girl, and he sure as hell didn’t kill Gillian.”

“Let’s go back even further,” I said moderately, popping the top on the diet cola. Gillian’s last name was Pellway, not Erland, so there must have been an ex-husband or a boyfriend in the picture. “You were married before, right?”

Helen tested her toenails for dryness and pulled the blue foam cushions out. Set them carefully on the end table beside the old leather recliner and sat down. A dull flush rose under her ears. “Yes,” she said. “To Benny Pellway. He’s doing twenty to life in the state pen for armed robbery.”

I didn’t need to take notes. The Damn Fool’s Guide to a Photographic Memory. “He’s Gillian’s biological father?” I asked.

Helen lifted her ponytail off her neck and fixed it to the top of her head with a pink squeeze-clip. “Yes,” she said.

“Are there any other children in the family?”

Helen shook her head, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “No,” she replied. “Vince and I were talking about having a baby, though.”

“Where does Vince work?” I was miles behind the police, I knew, but I could still ask his fellow employees what kind of man he was. And it was always possible that Tucker and the others might have missed something.

“He was between jobs,” Helen said. Her chin jutted out a little way, as though she expected me to denounce Vince Erland as a bum, and she was prepared to defend him.

“How far between?” I asked.

“He worked for a furniture company, delivering couches and stuff, until about six months ago,” she said. “Then he got downsized.”

“Do you have any family pictures or albums or anything?” Except for Jesus and the disciples, the paneled walls were bare.

Helen sniffled, got up out of the chair and opened the cabinet under the TV. Brought out several framed school photos of Gillian, along with a couple of thick albums.

“I had to put them away,” she said, referring to the shots of a smiling Gillian, posing against a plain blue background.

“I understand,” I told her.

Gillian began to rock slowly in her little chair.

“It’s the oddest thing, the way that chair moves on its own sometimes,” Helen said.

“Probably a draft,” I answered, unable to look at her.

“Probably,” Helen agreed with a sigh.

I turned to the albums. There weren’t a lot of pictures, and most of them were old. In one, a couple in sixties garb stood beaming in front of what looked like the same double-wide we were sitting in.

“My mom and dad,” Helen explained, her face softening. “This was their place. It was new back then.”

I swallowed, thinking of my own dead parents. “They’re both gone?”

“Both gone,” Helen confirmed.

I flipped more pages. Helen, growing up. Helen, on horseback, then dressed for a dance, then graduating from high school. Helen, standing with a smarmy-looking guy in a wife-beater shirt and cutoff jeans, holding a baby in her arms.

Benny Pellway looked like the kind of guy who ought to be doing twenty to life in the state pen. I decided to make sure he hadn’t escaped. Shortcut: ask Tucker. The police would have checked that first thing.

After that, the snapshots were mostly of Gillian, usually sitting alone on a blanket, clutching a ragged stuffed dog.

“She always wanted a pet,” Helen said with painful regret. She’d been leaning in her recliner so she could see the pictures, too.

Gillian signed a word, and I was pretty sure it was dog.

My throat squeezed shut again. “She’s here,” I said. I hadn’t planned on saying that—it just came out of my mouth.

“What?” Helen asked, blinking.

I figured she was about to throw me out, but it was too late to backtrack. “I can see Gillian,” I said. “She’s sitting in the little rocking chair by the fireplace.”

Helen turned in that direction. Signed something.

Gillian duplicated the sign eagerly.

I love you.

I hadn’t gotten very far in my studies, but I knew that one.

My heart sort of caved in on itself.

Helen got up, walked toward the chair.

Gillian instantly vanished.

What did that mean? I wondered.

I knew Gillian wasn’t afraid of Helen Erland. She obviously liked to be with her, wanted very much to get her attention somehow. Maybe just to say goodbye.

“Is she still here?” Helen wondered softly.

“No,” I said.

Helen, standing in the middle of the living room now, turned to study me narrowly. “Are you some kind of psychic or something?”

“No.”

“But you saw my Gillian?”

I nodded. Looked up at the electric Jesus picture and had a sudden, strange urge to plug it in. “Yes.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“She doesn’t speak, but she reads my lips sometimes. And she wrote ‘Mom’ in the dust on the dashboard of my car yesterday. That’s why I came into the store. Because she wanted to see you.”

Helen’s legs buckled, and she dropped heavily to the floor, landing on her knees.

I knew she hadn’t fainted, so I stayed where I was. Waited.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.