The Return(8)

“Is there a lot of that around here?”

“No more than other places, I guess. But enough to keep us busy.”

“Just so you know, I don’t do drugs.”

She motioned toward the bottle I was holding. “Alcohol is a drug.”

“Even beer?”

When she smiled, I guessed she was a few years younger than me, with blond hair tacked up into a messy bun, and her eyes were so aqua colored that they could have been bottled and sold as mouthwash. That she was attractive went without saying, and better yet, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“No comment,” she finally offered.

“Would you like to come in and check out the house?”

“No, that’s all right. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry anymore. I was fond of Carl. Whenever he was selling honey at the farmers’ market, we’d visit for a while.”

I remembered sitting with my grandfather at a roadside stand every Saturday during my visits, but I had no recollection of a farmers’ market. Then again, New Bern had a lot more of everything now than it had in the past—restaurants, stores, businesses—even if it still remained a small town at heart. Alexandria, which was just a suburb in the DC area and one of many, had five or six times the population. Even there, I suspect Natalie Masterson would have turned heads.

“What can you tell me about the possible squatter?” I asked.

I didn’t really care about the squatter, but somehow I was reluctant to see her go.

“Not much more than I already told you,” she said.

“Do you think you might come up here?” I pleaded, pointing to my ear. “So I can hear you better? I was caught up in a mortar attack in Afghanistan.”

I could hear her fine, by the way; the inner workings of my ear weren’t damaged in the blast, even if the outer part had been torn from my head. It’s just that I’m not above playing the sympathy card when I need to. I retreated to my rocker, hoping she hadn’t wondered why I seemed to be able to hear her without trouble only moments before. In the porch light, I saw her eyeing my scar before she finally started up the steps. When she reached the other rocker, she angled it toward me, while also sliding it back.

“I appreciate this,” I said.

She smiled, not overly warm, but enough for me to realize she did indeed have suspicions about my hearing and was still debating whether to stay. It was also a wide enough smile to notice her white and perfectly straight teeth.

“As I was saying…”

“Are you comfortable?” I asked. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m on duty, Mr. Benson.”

“Call me Trevor. And please—start at the beginning.”

She sighed, and I could have sworn I saw the trace of an eye roll.

“There was a series of electrical storms last November, after Carl passed away. A lot of lightning, and at the trailer park down the road, one of the trailers caught fire. The fire department responded, so did I, and not long after the fire was out, one of the guys mentioned that he likes to go hunting on the far side of the creek. It was just small talk, you know?”

I nodded, remembering the burned-out husk I’d noticed my first week here.

“Anyway, I happened to bump into him a couple of weeks later, and he mentioned that he’d noticed lights in your grandfather’s house, not just once, but two or three times. Like a candle being carried past the windows. He was kind of far away and I wondered if it had been his imagination, but since it kept happening and he knew that Carl had died, he thought he should mention it.”

“When would this have been?”

“Last December, maybe midmonth? There was a week or two there when it was really cold, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if someone broke in just to stay warm. The next time I was in the area I stopped by and saw that the back door was broken and the knob had almost fallen off. I went inside and did a quick search, but the place was empty. Aside from the broken door, I didn’t find evidence that anyone had been inside. There was no trash, and the beds were made; as far as I could tell, nothing appeared to be missing. But…”

She paused, frowning at the recollection. I took a sip of beer, waiting for her to go on.

“There were a pair of used candles on the counter with blackened wicks, and a half-empty box of candles as well. I also noticed that some of the dust had been wiped away at the kitchen table, like someone had eaten there. It also seemed like someone had been using one of the recliners in the family room because there was cleared space on the neighboring side table and it was the only piece of furniture in the living room that wasn’t dusty. It wasn’t anything I could prove, but just in case, I found some extra boards in the barn and sealed the back door.”

“Thanks for that,” I said.

Though she nodded, I could tell something about those memories was still bothering her. She went on. “Did you happen to notice whether anything was missing when you moved in?”

I thought about it before shaking my head. “Not that I could tell. Except for the funeral in October, I hadn’t been down here in a few years. And that week is a bit hazy in my memory.”

“Was the back door intact then?”

“I went in through the front, but I’m sure I checked all the locks when I left. I think I would have noticed if the back door was damaged. I know I spent time on the back porch.”