Little Girls(60)

It was a photograph of two young girls. One of them was Laurie, around age eight or so. In the photo, she wore a ribbon in her hair, a cream-colored knit sweater, and boyish corduroy pants. Beside her in the photo was Sadie Russ. Sadie was the same age as Laurie, but she looked much taller in the photograph. Sadie’s face was narrow and pale, framed in a cascade of russet hair. She wore a hand-me-down print dress that was too big on her; the hem hung almost to the tops of her feet and only a hint of a few fingertips poked from the long blousy sleeves. At first glance, it appeared that both girls were smiling at the photographer . . . but on closer inspection, she could see that Sadie’s smile looked more like a grimace.

It was irrefutable. Abigail Evans was the identical twin of the girl in the photo.





Smoot’s men showed up around five in a paneled truck with no writing on the sides. They were gruff-faced and silent as mimes, and wore little patches on the breasts of their uniforms that read W.W. SMOOT, ANTIQUITIES. They hauled both the desk and the bookcase into the back of the truck without as much as a grunt, then left before Laurie could offer them a glass of water or the folded singles she had pressed into her palm as a tip.

The following day, a middle-aged couple came by and, much to Ted’s dismay, relieved them of the old Victrola. Ted even helped them load it into the back of their truck. To Laurie, who watched him from the front windows, he looked like a pallbearer loading a coffin into the back of a hearse.

Recalling Smoot’s request of the Cutler desk’s paperwork, Laurie went into the basement to see if she could find anything in the plastic sleeve that hung from one of the wooden struts beneath the stairs. Inside the sleeve were the papers for the kitchen appliances, as well as for the water heater and furnace. There was nothing for the Cutler desk. With some reluctance, she telephoned Dora Lorton. A part of her hoped the woman wouldn’t answer.

“Yes,” came the woman’s stern, practical voice.

“Hello, Ms. Lorton, this is Laurie Genarro again, Myles Brashear’s—”

“I know who you are.”

“Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you might know if my father had kept any original paperwork for the rolltop desk in his study. A buyer was interested in—”

“If it’s not in with his personal papers, I wouldn’t know where it would be.”

“I see.” It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she had an ulterior motive for calling Dora Lorton, and it had nothing to do with the desk. Since Teresa Larosche’s sudden disappearance from the coffee shop Saturday, Laurie had tried a few times to reach the woman again by telephone. The calls usually went straight to voice mail, with the exception of one time when someone picked up the phone just to slam it back down again. “Perhaps Teresa Larosche might know? Have you spoken with her lately?”

Dora’s voice seemed to creak through the phone lines. “What is it you’re doing, Mrs. Genarro?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ms. Larosche told me about your . . . meeting. She also told me you’ve been calling her nonstop, harassing her. She said you wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“Now that’s not exactly true. . . .”

“No? I don’t see why the poor dear would have any reason to lie to me, Mrs. Genarro. Have you been calling her?”

“I tried a few times, but I wasn’t harassing her. I just wanted her to clarify some things she told me the other day, that’s all.”

“She is afraid, Mrs. Genarro. Can’t you see that?”

“I’ve already promised her there would be no lawsuit.”

“This has nothing to do with lawsuits.”

“Then what does it have to do with?”

“Leave Teresa Larosche—and me—alone,” Dora said, and hung up the phone.





Ted was talking to someone on the front porch with the door wide open. Laurie came up behind him . . . then paused when she saw that the person to whom Ted was talking was Liz Rosewood. The woman wore a thin cotton tee that looked like a man’s undershirt and faded blue jeans. She smiled at Laurie from over Ted’s shoulder.

Ted squeezed Laurie’s forearm and pulled her out onto the porch beside him. “Liz has offered to take the little bugger off our hands for a while,” he said.

“What?” Just then, Laurie saw the two girls, Susan and Abigail, streak across the front lawn, laughing and shouting.

“There’s a cute little park just up the road,” Liz Rosewood said. “Abigail and I were going to go for an hour or so, and I thought Susan might like to join us.”

“That would be great,” Ted said. “Thank you so much.”

Susan and Abigail now stood within a wedge of spindly trees on the front lawn. They spoke in quiet voices while Abigail pointed at something on the ground. When Abigail looked up, Laurie swore the girl looked straight at her.

“That does sound wonderful,” Laurie said. “In fact, would you mind if I tagged along? This house is becoming oppressive.”

Liz Rosewood’s smile widened. “Oh, please do. I’d love that.”

Ted rubbed Laurie’s back. “Great. Then I can get some work done while I’m alone.”

“Just let me put on some shoes,” Laurie said, and hurried back inside the house. Her shoes were in the laundry room where she’d left them, but she went upstairs first and went through her suitcase until she located the bottle of Excedrin she’d packed. She popped the cap and dry-swallowed two tablets. Her temples pulsed. Then she took the photo of her and Sadie and tucked it in the rear pocket of her jeans. Downstairs, she laced up her Keds and went back out onto the porch.