No One Will Miss Her(84)

“Earl. How are things?”

Earl shrugged, stepping aside to let him pass. “I’ve been doing all right. Yourself?”

“All good. Thanks for taking the time.”

Earl followed Bird inside. The apartment was dingy but neat. A sagging sofa along one wall was the only piece of furniture in the place, and Earl settled at one end while Bird looked around the room: there was a stack of clothing folded up in one corner, and a countertop along the front wall with a few papers stacked on top, a hot plate, a sink, and a smallish fridge. His eyes slid over the papers—insurance, it looked like, and a large white envelope with the name politano associates stamped in one corner—and bent to examine the fridge. Two pictures were pinned there with a magnet, in between a business card for an insurance adjuster and an old-timey postcard that read greetings! from asheville, n.c. One of the photos Bird had seen before, the one of Lizzie in her yellow dress, gazing back over her shoulder. In the other, she was younger, a little girl with scabby knees, sitting unsmiling on the steps of a trailer with a raggedy-looking cat in her arms.

Behind him, Earl cleared his throat, and Bird peered back.

“Nice photos,” he said.

“Ayuh. I only have the two,” Earl said.

Bird indicated the postcard. “What’s in Asheville?”

Earl’s mouth gave a funny little twitch, like he’d started to smile, then thought better of it and hauled it back in.

“Friend of mine.”

Bird waited for more explanation, but Earl just sat, letting the silence play out. Not one for small talk, Bird thought. Well, that was fine. His own father had been the same way. And there was no need to linger here. He shifted his weight to fish an envelope from his pocket.

“Well, I’ll just get to it. Like I said on the phone, victims’ compensation finally approved this. I’m sorry for the delay. It doesn’t usually take this long.”

Earl took the envelope with a nod, and set it aside without opening it.

“Appreciate it. You didn’t have to come all this way.”

Bird shrugged. “It’s better this way. Gives me a chance to check back in with the family, see how they’re getting on. Anyway, hopefully the money will be a help to you.”

Earl’s mouth twitched again and he nodded, saying, “Every little bit helps,” but Bird couldn’t help noticing that he still hadn’t bothered to look at the check. Like it didn’t really matter. It was a weird show of confidence for a guy who was living above a garage and spending his nights on a sofa. He glanced at the fridge again.

“How about your insurance, on your business? They come through for you?”

“We been back and forth on it. They tell me it takes longer when it’s arson, even if t’wasn’t you who done it.”

“You think you’ll get back what the place was worth?”

Earl did smile then, but only a little. “Hard to say. Lot of memories there. Hard to put a number on a thing like that.”

“Well, if there’s anything else I can do . . .”

“No need, Detective. I got folks looking out for me.” He pressed his lips together, nodding a little.

“That’s good,” Bird said, but Earl didn’t seem to hear him. He was still nodding.

“My Lizzie always looked out for me,” he said.

Bird nodded, too.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Earl said, “Ayuh,” and stood up.

So that was it, Bird thought. A brief conversation, all things considered, but sometimes they were like that. It wasn’t just the local law enforcement; the families of the deceased weren’t always happy to see him, either, especially not after so much time had passed. Some labored through a few minutes of pleasantries before something hardened behind their eyes and Bird found himself shooed out the door. Some never opened the door at all. He understood. Not everyone appreciated the reminder of what was lost. For some people, the only thing to do was leave the past behind, let the dead rest, and carry on without them. Earl Ouellette was doing that. Bird would do the same, although he’d make one more stop before he left. Just a quick one, at the place where they’d buried her, to say hi and goodbye and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, Lizzie.

He crossed the room, past the minifridge, his eyes drifting one last time over the postcard, the pictures. “Take care, Earl,” he said, but his gaze lingered on Lizzie’s wedding photo. Looking back over her shoulder, lips slightly parted, as if caught by surprise. The expression on her face was cautious, but her blue eyes were pale and fierce. She looked aware, awake, alive, and in the periphery of his memory, something flickered. Something familiar. A shadow shaped like a woman. Hair twisted up on her head, the flush of exertion on her cheeks. But she was walking away from him, already fading. A phantom. A ghost of a ghost.

“Take care, yourself,” Earl said. The door creaked as it swung open.

Bird stepped through, back into the warmth of the afternoon, and for one moment, he felt an unanswered question on the tip of his tongue. Something left unsaid, maybe even something important. But it was too late: the door was already closed behind him, and the sun, so hot and bright and glaring, made him feel like he needed to sneeze. He squinted, sniffed, then descended the steps to his car, opened the door, turned the ignition. A left out of the driveway, another left onto the town’s main street, and then he was flying. Past the Copper Falls ice cream shop, where a lemon-faced old woman was taking orders through a window. Past the municipal building, where Sheriff Ryan stood outside and raised a hand as the cruiser passed by. Past the hilltop church, with its shaded graveyard beside, and though Bird had planned to pause here, he didn’t. To stop by Lizzie Ouellette’s grave seemed suddenly unnecessary. An empty gesture, a knock at the door of a house where you already knew nobody was home. It was enough to have thought of it, he decided, and the cruiser picked up speed. Going, going.