Bloodline(55)

He chuckles. “Yeah, you really sound like it. Do yourself a favor and don’t borrow trouble.”

His words echo my mom’s. “Got it. Stay cool, Benny.”

“See you on the flip side.”

I think about his research on the walk to the Purple Saucer. I decide both things can be true: Lilydale can be a haven for many and still be threatening to me.

Except hasn’t it treated me well, mostly?

I think of Ursula, telling me I must stop telling stories.

The tales need to go out, not in.

I reach the motel. The car with Florida plates is gone. I knock on the door of unit 6. No answer. When I go to the front desk, I’m relieved to see Mr. Scholl isn’t working. The young clerk tells me to check down by the Crow River. He points me in the general direction, suggests a route.

Reluctantly, I head out. I wanted to get this over with quickly.

But the day is pretty, the town buzzing (for Lilydale) with people doing their business—disappearing into the barbershop or grocery store, buying fabric, visiting the library. For a moment, I worry that I’ll miss this quaintness when Deck and I move, but then I walk down another street and find the sidewalks deserted. The sudden emptiness is unsettling. In a few more blocks, the town has dwindled, the only visible structure a large, squat building that resembles an abandoned factory. According to what the clerk told me, the Crow River is another two hundred feet behind that.

That’s where I find Kris sitting on a fallen tree.

The river flows silver and placid in front of him, the land around so forested that it feels like we’re in an unspoiled wilderness rather than six blocks from the edge of town.

“Hey,” I call. I don’t want to startle him.

He doesn’t respond, so I say it louder. “Kris!”

“Yeah,” he says. “I heard you.”

I step closer, wading through the tall vegetation. “Mind if I join you?”

“It’s a free log.”

I drop down beside him. He’s wearing the same jeans and India print shirt as the night before, his face more lined in the bright sunlight than I’d noticed.

“Don’t suppose you have that Siesta Key postcard on you?” I ask.

He yanks it from his back pocket. I take it, running my fingers along the weathered edges. “Are you okay? Were you hurt last night?”

“You mean when I was kicked out of your house? I’ve been treated worse.”

I hand the postcard back to him. “Why were you flirting with me?”

“Would you believe it’s because you’re cute?” He runs his fingers through his hair. I can see the start of a smile in the lines around his eyes.

“No,” I say. But I like the warmth between us. I like everything now that I know Deck and I are leaving Lilydale. I was fine in Minneapolis, just fine. It’s small towns that are the problem, just like my mom said.

He chuckles. “Maybe it’s that I like to live dangerously, then.”

I want to ask him what that means, but I spot a flash of metal across the water. A wristwatch catching the sun?

I stand, putting distance between Kris and me. Am I being watched again? My pulse is jittering unpleasantly. “I want to talk more about your time here. When you were Paulie.”

He’s staring across the river at the same spot. “I’ve told you everything I remember.”

“All the same,” I say, “I have a few more questions for you. For later.” When we’re in public, with witnesses. When I won’t get in trouble.

“Then I guess I’ll catch you on the flip side,” he says.

Same way Benjamin signed off only an hour ago.

I back away. The flash has not repeated.

I make my way to the library. I’m jittery, as if my behavior will decide whether Deck and I get to leave. Nobody seems to be openly staring at me today, though. I want to keep it that way. The inside of the library is approximately the size of a postage stamp. The only person inside is the librarian, who informs me that if I want to research the Aandeg case, the newspaper office houses the only records.

I’m not surprised.

I make my way to the Gazette. Dennis is out. When I ask his wife to see the archives, she tells me they’re still not accessible.

“But you said they’d be fixed.”

She shrugs. Guess I was wrong. “What’d you want to look up?”

I don’t feel like tipping my hand (my hand that consists of one dinky card: the Paulie Aandeg story), so I keep it neutral, even though I’m growing frustrated at how impossible it is to get any new information about this case. “When I saw Dr. Krause, he mentioned that there was a Minnesota Health Department survey coming through. I thought maybe I would see if there was any history of them visiting here before.”

She claps her hands. “That sounds like a wonderful article!”

Is she a little too excited that I appear to be laying off the Paulie story?

It doesn’t matter. I’m getting out of Lilydale either way.





I come to this time with a yell.

It’s fury (the Furies) fighting on my side, finally, and it raises me up, off the bathroom floor, my legs trembling only slightly this time. I hardly even need to lean on the sink. Once upright, I slowly, delicately make my way from the bathroom into the lemon-walled bedroom. Oh yes, I recognize this room.