Help for the Haunted(106)

“West Shore?” I said as she opened the back door and all but pushed me outside. Emily Sanino glanced in the direction of the living room, where her husband’s feet pounded up the porch steps. “Left out of the driveway. Right at Bay Breeze, then follow it to West Shore. The firehouse will be in front of you. Across from the ocean.”

“Should I give Rose any message?”

“Message?” she said, eyes wide. “Absolutely not. Don’t say a word to her about this visit. Trust me. It’ll be better that way.”

With that, she closed the door and snapped off the light. I was left standing on the cement patio with only the moon to see by. A moment later, I heard her voice inside as she greeted her husband with all that false cheer lacing her voice once more.

I turned and walked through the alley to the street, her rushed directions blurring in my mind, along with everything else she told me. For nearly an hour, I moved through the sleepy streets of that oceanside neighborhood, making too many wrong turns before backtracking and looking up at last to see the fire department, with a pay phone out front. After dialing 411, I got the number of a taxi company. The man on the other end told me it would cost sixty dollars to get back to Dundalk. While he waited, I counted what I had, but it only totaled up to thirty-four. I asked if he could do it for half price, and the man said, “Yeah, if my driver only takes you halfway. How’s that sound?” I told him not very good then hung up. That’s when another idea occurred to me. Squinting at the buttons, I punched in a combination I hadn’t thought of in some time. After dumping in enough coins, the phone rang and a sleepy voice came on the line.

“Cora?” I said.

“Yes?”

“It’s Sylvie.”

“Sylvie? How did— Oh, RIBSPIN. That’s right. I forgot about that.”

You forgot a lot of things, I wanted to say, including me. “You told me I could call this number anytime I needed something.”

Last I’d seen Cora, she’d had on all that goopy green witch makeup, and even though it didn’t make sense, that’s how I pictured her now: lying in bed at the apartment she shared with her mother, noodly fingers brushing aside her mottled wig and gripping the receiver as her black lips formed the words, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes. And this is one of those times.”

“Sylvie, are you okay?’ she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

“I will be if you could come get me. I need a ride home.”

She fumbled with the phone. “I’m sorry. But I lent my car to Dan. You know, the Hulk’s owner. We have a bit of a free trade situation. His dog. My car. Not sure who gets the better end of the deal. Except my mom, she likes having the dog around. Says the Hulk makes her feel loved. As if I don’t give her enough love . . .”

I’d forgotten Cora’s habit of rambling, and I cut her off to say something I couldn’t keep in any longer, “I saw the two of you. Kissing, I mean.”

Silence. While I listened to the faint electric hum on the line, I stared at the fire department. Through the glass windows, I glimpsed the tops of the red trucks inside, the jumble of lights and ladders. The air felt so impossibly damp it was hard to imagine anything catching fire for miles around.

At last, Cora let out a breath. Something about the sound washed away the image of her in that witch makeup. Instead, I saw her the way I did when we first met: holding her clipboard, dressed in her carefully pressed clothing, with her ankle bracelet and that shark or dolphin tattoo, not to mention her intentions to make me dress warmer and see a doctor again about my ear. “I am not going to lie to you, Sylvie. That’s wrong, and I’ve already done plenty of wrong by you. The truth is, I never thought I’d get caught up in the sort of thing that happened with your sister. But I don’t have to tell you the way Rose can make things happen. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do,” I said, thinking of Dot, thinking of the night in Ocala when we snuck into my parents’ lecture, and thinking most of all of her call that lured us to the church that snowy night last winter.

“Well, she also has this way of making you feel like the most special person in the world when she wants to. That is, until something changes and she doesn’t make you feel that way anymore. That feeling—it was too much to take. I asked the department to switch me to a new case. I’m sorry.”

There was more hurt in my voice than expected when I told her, “You could have said good-bye.”

“I know. Again, I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I’m not always as good at things as I set out to be. But I’d like to help find a way to get you home. Tell me where you are.”

“Rehoboth, Delaware.”

“Rehoboth? Why?”

“I came to find out who has been leaving all that food on our steps.”

“I really don’t think you should be there, Sylvie. It doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’d leave whoever it is alone. Now let’s focus on getting you out of there. Maybe you should just call Rose.”

It was clear Cora would be of no help, so I told her I would then said a rushed good-bye and got off the phone. Since no part of me intended to reach out to my sister, I did what I should have in the first place and tried the number on the card Heekin had given me. His answering machine picked up. I rambled into it about where I was and what I’d learned about Emily Sanino and Saint Julia’s. In the middle of it, I realized how desperate I must have sounded, so I stopped short and hung up on that call too.