Before She Was Found(44)

“Just a sec,” she says. Someday I’ll have enough money saved to move into a house with more than two bedrooms but until then or until Max goes off to college we’re stuck with this. I grab a brush off my dresser and start running it through my hair until she says it’s okay for me to come over to her side of the room.

“I have to brush my teeth,” she says sadly and leaves while I hang behind. Just peeking out beneath her bed is one of her sketchbooks. I feel sort of guilty looking but Violet’s drawings sometimes tell me so much more about what’s going on with her. Violet is a perfectionist when it comes to her art and the first few pages are of subjects she has drawn a million times: unicorns, peace signs, Boomer.

I have to admit she is very talented and I wish I could afford to pay for the extra art classes I know she would love. I flip to the middle of the journal and land on the first hesitant strokes of her project. The paper is smudged from the rub of an eraser and she abandons the page. This goes on for the next several pages until I can tell that she’s trying to draw a face, though I can’t tell whether the subject is male or female.

I keep turning the pages and eventually the face of young man with intense eyes is looking back at me. He has a long, straight nose and prominent cheekbones. Though he’s only drawn from the neck up, there is something old-fashioned about him. Maybe it’s the way his hair is swept away from his forehead, maybe it’s the seriousness of his expression—something that I’ve always connected with old-time portraits.

In any event, the drawing is astonishingly realistic for such a young girl to have drawn. Centered, at the bottom of the page are the initials JW. My blood runs cold.

Could this be the person pretending to be Joseph Wither? Who is he? And why is Violet sketching him? Or maybe a picture is just a picture and it has nothing to do with Joseph Wither.

“Mom,” Max calls from downstairs, “Officer Grady is here.”

Startled, I close the sketchbook and put it back beneath the bed where I found it. “Coming,” I call back and on shaky legs go into the hallway and tap on the bathroom door. “Vi, are you ready?”

Violet opens the door and, though she’s dressed, has washed her face and combed her hair, she still looks exhausted. She must have slept about as well as I did last night. Purple smudges stain the thin skin beneath her eyes and crusty sleep has collected in the corners.

I put my arm around her shoulders and she doesn’t pull away. For this I’m glad. Together we walk down the steps where Officer Grady, standing by the front door, is waiting for us. Boomer sniffs curiously at the soles of Officer Grady’s shoes and Max sits on the couch looking like he’d like to be anywhere but here.

“Morning, Beth, Violet.” He nods at us. “I heard about the vandalism. Any more problems last night?”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” I say and lead him back outside. I yank on one of the sheets and it comes floating down to reveal the graffiti.

“I’m glad you called it in,” Grady says, taking in the slash of angry words painted across the house.

“It’s scary,” I say, unable to keep my voice from shaking. “Did you find out who did it?”

“No, but we’ll stay on top of it,” Grady says as he helps me tape the sheet up again.

“I barely slept. All I can think about is what happened at the train yard and how someone is creeping around our house. I’m afraid for my kids.”

“We’ll do our best to have someone drive by your house several times throughout the day.”

“And night?” I ask hopefully.

“If it comes to that, yes,” Officer Grady assures me.

We head back inside. Officer Grady and Violet take a seat at the kitchen table and Max lingers in the entryway. I offer coffee to Officer Grady and he accepts. As I’m getting the coffee cup out of the cupboard and waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to brew I notice Officer Grady looking around the room. I try to see my kitchen through his eyes.

It’s outdated for sure with its counters and appliances courtesy of the early ’90s, but it’s clean and cheerful. Max’s and Violet’s school pictures hang on the refrigerator along with a math paper that Max got an A on and a picture of Boomer that Violet had drawn.

On the counter is the cookie jar that we hauled all the way from Algodon. It had belonged to my grandmother and had once been filled with cowboy and peanut butter cookies. Now it held store-bought sandwich cookies but Officer Grady wouldn’t know this. He eyes the pack of cigarettes and canister of pepper spray on the table and I gather them up and replace them with a steaming cup of coffee. “Any news? Have you caught anyone yet?” I ask.

He takes a cautious sip from his cup before answering. “Not yet. We’ve been canvassing the neighborhood nearest the depot and have been gathering evidence from the train yard. Hopefully, that will give us the information we need to solve who did this.”

Across from him Violet fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers, clinking them together and creating an annoying beat. I cover her hands with mine to still them and she returns the shakers to their spot in the center of the table and places her hands flat atop the table.

“Why don’t we get down to business?” Officer Grady says, reaching into his pocket for a small notebook and pen. “I have your permission, Beth, to ask Violet questions about the events of April 15 and 16, correct?”