Little Girls(96)

She was in the middle of toasting some bread when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Genarro, this is Detective Freeling. Is this a good time?”

“Sure, detective. Is everything all right?”

“I wanted to keep my promise,” he said. “A positive ID has been made on the body this morning. It is Tanya Albrecht. We’ve managed to locate Tanya’s sister June living out in White Marsh. She’s been notified of the discovery, although she wasn’t told about your involvement. She’s in the process of contacting the rest of her family.”

“Oh. Well . . . I guess that’s . . .”

“Yeah, I know. You were gonna say you guess that’s good, but it seems like a strange thing to say, given the circumstances.”

“I feel like I want to do something for those poor people.”

“That’s kind of you, but I’d lay low for the time being, if I were you, Mrs. Genarro. You can never tell how family members may react to this sort of thing. Yeah, it’s been about twenty-five years, but maybe you never get over something like that, you know?”

“I don’t think you do,” she admitted. “What about the other girls? The ones in the photos?”

“I’ve contacted the various police departments who worked those missing persons cases back then. As of now, I’ve only heard back from three of them. They sent over photos of the missing girls.” There was a pause before he added, “They’re a match to three of the girls found in your father’s photos.”

Laurie closed her eyes. “What about Teresa Larosche?”

“She’s still in custody, charged with second-degree murder. She hasn’t made bail. Still hasn’t asked for an attorney, either.”

“I still can’t believe it. . . .”

“Have you seen the news?”

“It’s on the news already?” she said, though she was hardly surprised.

“Don’t worry, your name wasn’t mentioned. We’re calling you ‘an anonymous source.’”

“But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?”

“I really don’t know how it’ll play out.”

“I see.”

“Anyway,” he said, sighing heavily, “I just wanted to hold up my end of the bargain. You hanging in there?”

Hadn’t Ted said something similar to her recently? She remembered thinking of those inspirational posters where the kitten dangles from the tree limb.

“Just like the cat,” she said.

Detective Freeling made a sound that approximated, “Huh?”

“I’m doing just fine, detective. Thanks for all your help.”

“Yeah. Likewise.”

She had just hung up the phone when it surprised her by ringing again.

“Detective Freeling?” she said into the receiver.

There was static over the line. It wasn’t Freeling’s telephone, but a less reliable connection. A cellular phone. Someone said something but the voice was muffled, the words incoherent.

“Hello?” she said.

The line went dead.

When she turned around, Susan was standing in the doorway. She had on baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt with a soccer ball on it. Her hair was matted and her eyes looked half-lidded.

“I was just making some toast,” Laurie offered. “Would you like some?”

“Not really hungry. My head hurts.”

“There’s ibuprofen in my purse upstairs.”

“Yeah, I found it. I already took some.”

“You know I don’t like you taking aspirin without my supervision.”

“I just took one. I’m not a dummy.” She set something down on the counter on her way to the refrigerator. “Found that in your purse, too.”

It was her wedding band.

The urge to laugh accosted her. She didn’t give into it, for fear it would begin as laughter but slowly migrate toward hysteria. She slid the ring onto her finger.

Susan opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents with disinterest. “It smells funny in here,” she said.

“Maybe some of the food has started to rot.”

“Not just in the fridge,” she said, closing the door. “The whole house.”

Laurie smelled it, too. It was like there was something behind the walls, rotting. It reminded her of the well in the front yard, and that awful smell that had risen out of it. Shaking her head, she took the toast from the toaster oven and set the slices onto a plate. “Could you get me the butter from—”

At the opposite end of the house, someone knocked three times on the front door. Had someone begun playing the trumpet in the next room, the sound wouldn’t have been less startling. Laurie slipped out of the kitchen, through the parlor, and down the hall. She glanced out one of the front windows on her way to the door and could see no car in the driveway. She opened the door to find Dora Lorton standing there. Dressed in a black square-shouldered coat and clunky black shoes, the woman looked like a widowed Italian grandmother.

“Ms. Lorton. I didn’t see your car. . . .”

“I parked it in the street. I can’t manage it up the driveway without bumping a few trees. Felix gets furious. May I come in?”