A Lily in the Light(24)
“Carry it in, and make a list of everyone who sent something. I want to see that list every day, especially if someone sends more than one thing or if it’s really expensive or someone you don’t know. And if there’s anything without a name, like a card or a gift, and you don’t know who sent it, save it for me. The same goes for any of the stuff left outside.” Detective Ferrera looked to Andre and back. “Esme, maybe you could start the list?”
It seemed like too big of a job for someone who was only eleven, but she nodded. How wrong could she be? It was a list of names.
“Anyone who volunteers to help should also be on that list. We’ve contacted Border Patrol, the Coast Guard, and the National Guard and put out an APB with Lily’s description, and there’s also a tip line in place. We need copies of her medical and dental records. And there’s one other thing . . .”
His voice trailed off. He shifted from one foot to the other and rubbed his thumb over the frayed edge of his sweatshirt even though his gaze was level with Andre’s. A pit worked its way into Esme’s throat. He didn’t want to say what he had to next. She could feel it.
“The two suspects outside your family check out, at least for now. We need you, Cerise, and Nick to come in for a polygraph. The sooner you do it, the quicker we can move forward with other leads.”
“A lie detector test.” Andre’s voice was a flat line, but the anger spilled off him in waves so thick Esme wanted to cover her head.
“The sooner we rule out the possibility, the better. How about this afternoon?”
“Fine,” Andre snapped. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. The skin on his scalp moved with it, upward into a small tent of skin that made Esme want to puke.
“No one here has anything to hide from a bullshit science experiment,” Andre said. “Carry that shit in. Start the damn list. Do some real work.” His footsteps shook the living room. The TV rattled in its stand. His bedroom door slammed behind him. Fee-fi-fo-fum, Esme thought, the giant is angry. If Lily was here, she would have whispered it to her, and Lily would have laughed, but there was only a pile of stuff in her place.
“I’m sorry,” Madeline whispered to Detective Ferrera. Her eyes were glassy, ready to break and spill over. “He’s just upset.”
“It’s OK,” he said. The harsh lines softened around his face, and he looked as tired as everyone else did. Esme wondered if he had a family, too, if he had kids who were home watching TV or playing with toys and waiting for their dad to come home, if they ran to the door when he did and hugged him tight, if he’d rather be there with them instead of here. He shuffled toward the door, picked up the first few things in the hallway, and carried them to the table. They worked like ants until the hallway was empty and the table was full. Esme’s stomach rumbled at the waxy fruit, at the perfect Snow White apples behind cellophane. She hadn’t realized she was hungry.
“Why do we have to do this?” Esme stared at the pile of things on the table. The first card was from Father O’Brien.
“Well”—he sighed—“sometimes people do nice things because they feel guilty. Like if you had a fight with your sister, maybe you’d do something nice to make up for it. This is similar. Keeping a list tells us who might feel guilty.”
The signed names under x’s and o’s were suspects. She wished he’d just drop it all in evidence bags and carry it to the police station so she wouldn’t have to wonder about people she knew. She’d heard once that crazy people mailed exploding boxes to strangers, and now all the food, cards, and baskets felt like that too. There was a small bakery box on the table tied shut with red-and-white twine. Peppermint string. The little card was from Annette.
Esme handed the card to Detective Ferrera. “This is the psychic who came yesterday. She came for free to help.”
Detective Ferrera paused by the door. “How’d she find you?”
“Mrs. Rodriquez.”
“What’s her name?”
“Annette.” Madeline crossed the room, pulled the little tape from the recorder, and handed it to him. It might not be the right thing to do, but Esme wished she would pack the candles too and send the whole night away with it.
“I’ll listen to it,” he said, turning to leave.
Esme wondered what he would do after this. “Hey,” she called after him. “Are people mostly good or mostly bad?”
He paused by the door. She felt very small next to the pile of stuff.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She shrugged. Only days ago, she would have said mostly good, but now she wasn’t sure. He would know better. He’d seen more things. The chain lock swung on the door. He stopped it with his finger.
“Think of it this way,” he said finally. “Good people can do bad things, and bad people can do good things, so maybe it depends on the choices we make. Even good people can do bad things for good reasons.”
“Like stealing to feed hungry kids.”
“Exactly. Everyone can be both. It just depends on how we look at them. Sometimes how we look at people is decided by law or religion. Bad things wouldn’t be bad if we lived in a world where they were good, right?”
That was too much to think about. It was the kind of grown-up answer she usually wished her parents would give but didn’t want today. She just wanted a yes or no answer, something clear and uncomplicated, and he’d given her a whirling headache instead. Disappointment spilled into her hands and fingers. They felt thick and heavy as she picked up the pen and clicked it, as she opened the notebook he’d given her. She should just shut up and do what she was told, stop thinking about confusing things. Write the names. Show him the list. It was easy enough.