Little Girls(49)

“I have never seen a young girl at that house. I don’t know any family by the name Evans.”

Laurie stood there with the phone to her ear, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Mrs. Genarro? Are you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Is there a problem at the house?”

“No,” she said, but her voice was small now, nearly nonexistent. “No problem.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Was there anything further?”

Laurie shook her head. She thought she saw someone’s silhouette move between the trees on the other side of the fence, but then realized it was just a leafy bough swaying in the breeze.

“Mrs. Genarro? Hello?”

“Sorry. No, I’m okay. Thank you. Good-bye.”

She hung up the phone.





Chapter 16


Ted was cursing to himself while hunched over his laptop in the parlor when Laurie came through on her way to the front hall. He didn’t even seem aware of her presence. She went out the front door and walked down the driveway. Annapolis Road was a curving band of asphalt that ran a rough parallel to the Severn River, heavily wooded and dotted with lampposts and the occasional parked car. Laurie walked next door to the rundown house on the other side of the fence. Unlike her father’s well-kept property, the front yard here was wildly overgrown and populated by a multitude of ceramic garden gnomes. The driveway was comprised of unpaved concrete slabs that had been reduced to rubble in places. The green sedan was back in the driveway, its bumper dented, its tires bald enough to let the steel bands poke through. The white car with the BGE emblem on the door was gone.

Years ago, when Laurie Genarro had been Laurie Brashear, this house had belonged to Sadie Russ and her parents. In Laurie’s youth, she had been in the house on a handful of occasions, and she recalled the dark rooms and the smell of bad meat coming from the kitchen. The Russes had been liberal and inattentive parents who would let the girls do as they pleased whenever Laurie came over to play. She recalled Sadie leaving empty dishes all over the house, clothes in every corner of her bedroom, socks and shoes left out overnight on the back porch. It looked like the same house now—even more so in its disrepair and neglect—and as she walked up the front porch and knocked on the door, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Mr. or Mrs. Russ answered her knock, though she knew they had moved away soon after their daughter had died.

The woman who answered was not Mrs. Russ, but a woman who might have proven a suitable counterpart. With short, choppy blond hair, a clear complexion, and startling green eyes, she was good-looking in a pleasant, carefree sort of way. She wore an open chambray shirt over a ribbed undershirt, loose-fitting Capri pants, and sandals. With a partial smile, the woman offered her a breathy hello. She looked to be about Laurie’s own age.

Laurie smiled and tried to appear harmless. “Hello. My name’s Laurie Genarro. My father was Myles Brashear. He lived next door.”

The woman’s mouth came together in an O while her thin yellow eyebrows drew together. “Oh, shoot. Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. Please, come in.” She stepped aside and allowed Laurie to enter. “I didn’t know your father very well, except to say hello when I saw him sitting out in the yard. That was so long ago now. He seemed like a nice man. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

The house was dim, the windows in the adjoining rooms overrun with foliage that blotted out the daylight and left the hallway as dark as an undersea chasm. The air itself tasted of some nonspecific uncleanliness. Amazingly, it was just as Laurie remembered it.

“I’m Liz Rosewood.” The woman offered her hand to Laurie and Laurie shook it. The woman had small pointy breasts beneath her ribbed undershirt and the figure of a teenaged boy. “Let’s sit inside. Do you drink tea? I’m just about to have some.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Liz Rosewood led her into a small kitchen at the back of the house. The walls and floor were done in muted earth tones and there were many papers, magazines, and unopened envelopes scattered about the counter and a nearby hutch. A wall of windows looked out on a weather-grayed deck and an untidy backyard. It was all distantly familiar. Liz Rosewood waved a hand at the small kitchen table and beckoned Laurie to sit. Laurie pulled out a chair and dropped down in it before her knees could give out. Liz went to the stove and poured two cups of hot tea.

“This is an omen,” Liz Rosewood said. “I was just telling Derrick last night that I should bake some brownies or cupcakes or something and come by your house. I felt horrible about not coming by sooner but Derrick said it would be too intrusive, considering what you poor folks are dealing with at the moment. I mean, we saw the ambulance and the police cars that night. Derrick went over to see if he could help in any way. Such a terrible thing.” She stepped to the table and set down the two steaming mugs. “Derrick is my husband.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Laurie said, pulling her hot mug in front of her. “It’s been a circus over there. We’re from Hartford, Connecticut, and we had to pick up and come down here at the last minute. It’s my husband, Ted, and our daughter, Susan. She’s ten, and was pretty upset about coming down this way for the summer.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her playing in the yard,” Liz confessed, sitting down in a chair opposite Laurie at the table.