“You’re being careful, right?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m parked instead of still driving in this mess.”
“Well, I’m parked, too, although not by choice. It appears we’re quite a pair.”
“Looks like,” Holly said, although she was slightly taken aback by where her mind went. There were all kinds of ways for a couple to pair.
“Oh, hey, the guys just drove up,” Bud said. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I promise,” Holly said. “You be careful, too. When I come home, I expect you to be there waiting and still in one piece.”
There was a long moment of silence before Bud answered. “I’ll always be here for you, Holly. Love you, honey, and stay in touch.”
“Love you, too,” Holly said. The sound of the disconnect was too sudden for her peace of mind, but at least she wasn’t cold and stuck in the snow.
She glanced up in the rearview mirror again. The ambulance was gone. Wreckers were in the act of towing away the damaged vehicles, and most of the police cars were gone. An accident had happened, and just like that, lives were forever changed. Hopefully they would live to see another day.
Happily, the rain was beginning to subside. Talking to Bud had been what she needed to regain her confidence. After a quick glance at the city map, she pulled back into traffic and continued to weave her way through the streets.
As she drove, an odd thing began to happen. Instead of constantly referring to the map, she realized she was making turns instinctively. And when she found herself on the same street where she used to live, she was stunned. She pulled to a stop at the curb only two houses down from the address she’d been looking for and then killed the engine. Her hands were shaking, and she wanted to throw up.
“God help me,” she whispered, as she gazed through the windshield to the craftsman-style dwelling with a porch spanning the front of the house. The longer she sat staring at the house, the sicker she felt.
Disgusted with herself, she either had to get out or drive away, and she had not come all this way to quit. She opened the door to get out, but her legs were shaking too hard for her to stand up. Then she thought of the guts it had taken for her mother to do what she had done. One way or another, she had to do this, so she got out of the car and started walking.
The rain-washed air had a cool, clean scent, and her own footsteps sounded loud in the quiet neighborhood as she moved ever closer to her past. Just as she started up the walk toward the house, the front door suddenly opened. She stopped.
A woman came out and started down the steps toward her car when she saw Holly standing at the end of the walk.
Not wanting to appear threatening, Holly lifted her hand and smiled as the woman came nearer.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just revisiting my childhood. I used to live here when I was a little girl.”
The woman’s expression shifted from guarded to friendly.
“I’m Holly Slade,” Holly added. “I live in Montana now, but I wanted to check out the place since I was passing through. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
“I’m Loretta Fairfield.”
Holly nodded, but her focus was on the house. “How long have you lived here?”
“We bought the house a little over eighteen years ago.”
“Who did you buy it from?” Holly asked.
“I don’t remember the name,” Loretta said, then pointed across the street. “The lady who lives in that blue house has lived here for years. She might be able to help you.”
Holly turned to look. “What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Pacino. She’s older…probably in her late sixties, maybe early seventies.”
The name didn’t ring a bell, but Holly was hoping she might recognize the woman when she saw her.
“Thanks again,” Holly said.
“Sure,” Loretta said, and got in her car and drove away.
Holly stood on the sidewalk, looking at the big blue house and trying to remember if she’d ever seen it before. Nothing about the property seemed familiar, but then again, twenty years was a long time, and she’d only been five. Not really old enough to retain a lot of memories.
It was time to see if Mrs. Pacino could help her. She crossed the street and rang the doorbell without hesitation.
A moment later she heard a small dog begin to yap, then a woman’s voice scolding. The dog quieted, and seconds later the front door opened.
“Yes? May I help you?”
Within seconds Holly had taken in the woman’s diminutive size, her white curly hair and a face wrinkled with lines that only a lifetime of laughter could create.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Holly said. “But I lived in that house across the street about twenty years ago, and I was wondering if you could answer some—”
Mrs. Pacino gasped. “Oh, dear Lord! You’re Twila’s girl, aren’t you?”
Holly tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. She managed a nod.
“I’m Ida Pacino. I used to babysit you years ago. Back then you called me Nonna. Come in! Come in!”
Holly felt weird that she had no memory of this woman. But Ida Pacino wasn’t shy. The moment they were seated, she began to chatter.
“Oh, my goodness, honey, I can’t tell you what a wonderful surprise this is for me. How’s your mother? Where do you live now? Are you married?”
“Uh…”
Ida burst into laughter. “Isn’t that just like me? I ask all these questions without waiting for an answer. So, Harriet my dear, what brings you back to the old neighborhood?”
Holly was going to have to guard her answers. There was no way she could announce the complete truth of what had happened to her when she had yet to go to the police.
“I go by Holly now, and I have to admit, I don’t remember much about my life when I was here. Twenty years is a long time to be away. And that’s part of the problem I brought with me. I have very little memory of my past. Twenty years ago my mother sent me away with some friends, with the promise that she would follow soon. Only she never came.”
Within seconds, the expression on the old woman’s face went from surprise to shock. “No! I can’t believe that. This is awful…just awful. I always wondered what happened when you and she disappeared.” She paused, then asked, “What about your father?”
“I don’t really remember him…only bits and pieces of things that I think are about him.”
“Why did you come back?”
“To get answers,” Holly said.
Ida’s eyes filled with tears. “What can I do? How can I help you?”
“I’m not sure,” Holly said. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember anything about my father? When my mother and I suddenly disappeared, what kind of explanation did he give?”
“He filed a missing persons report on the both of you. Said he went to work one morning, and when he came back you were both gone. We all felt terrible for him. I suppose the police worked the case, but nothing ever came of it that I heard. After about a year, he moved away. I have no idea where he’s at or if he’s still alive.”
Holly nodded, although she was surprised to learn about the missing persons reports. Harold Mackey was either an innocent man or the biggest faker of all time. She kept wondering what kind of guts it would take to be the serial killer an entire city was searching for and still go to the police to claim his family had gone missing. She wondered if he’d thought it was funny, almost a taunt. As if to say,
I’m right under your noses, and you still don’t know a thing.
“I don’t suppose you remember the last time you saw my mother?”
“No, not really,” Ida said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Holly said. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Of course,” Ida said. Then she gasped and slapped her legs. “Oh, wait! My goodness. You said you don’t remember much about your life here. My house used to be the place to come for Fourth of July cookouts and block parties and New Year’s Eve celebrations. I have several pictures of you and your family taken here at different times. Just give me a minute to go get the albums.”
Holly felt a little bit sick as Ida Pacino hurried out of the room. She was excited and at the same time afraid—afraid of her own reaction. Would she see something that triggered her memory? If she did, would it leave her afraid of what was to come?
Ida soon came back carrying a handful of albums, then sat down beside Holly.
“These are the ones from the years you lived here, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to go through them all to find the photos I remember.”
“That’s okay,” Holly said. “I’m not on a schedule, and I really appreciate your kindness.”
Ida impulsively cupped Holly’s chin.
“It’s not kindness. Twila and I were more than friends. We were family. I’m just sorry you don’t remember.”
Touched by the gesture, Holly managed a smile as Ida opened the first book and began scanning the pages. It took a few moments, but she quickly found the first picture of what would become many.
“Here’s one! That’s you and one of my nieces eating watermelon at one of the picnic tables. It must have been a Fourth of July party, because there are flags on the tables.”
Holly could only stare at the photo with a measure of disbelief. There was no denying it was her, but she had no memory of the occasion.
Ida pulled it out of the album and set it on the couch beside her as she turned the page. There were two more pictures, obviously taken at the same party. Ida pulled them, as well. About halfway through, she stopped again, but this time her expression saddened.
“This one is of you and Twila. Look how happy you two were. I just can’t believe your mother disappeared without a word like that. It’s not like her at all.”
Holly knew the old woman was still talking, but the words were fading into the background as she focused on the face of the woman in the picture. Her pulse quickened; her vision blurred. She could almost remember her mother’s smiling face bending over her as she was being tucked into bed. How could she have forgotten someone as important as her own mother?
Ida pulled that photo and added it to the small pile, then leafed through the rest of that album without finding any more.
“Here’s another album,” Ida said. “Let’s see what we can find in here, okay?”
Holly nodded.
Ida paused as she glanced up. “Are you all right, dear? I didn’t think about how emotional this would be for you.”
“I’m fine,” Holly said. “Please, could we continue?”
“Absolutely.”
Within thirty minutes Ida had pulled more than a dozen pictures. And then she opened the last album and began flipping through pages.
“Oh, good. Here’s one of you and your daddy.”
Holly didn’t want to look, and yet she had to.
Four
T
he moment Holly’s gaze locked onto that face, her mind went blank. The man in the photo was the same one she’d seen in her nightmares: the man at the foot of the stairs, the one who’d warned her not to tell. But tell what? What had she witnessed that had been so horrifying that it had made her forget the first five years of her life? Did it have something to do with the murders? She didn’t know how much time had elapsed before she realized Ida was still talking.
“He was a real hardworking man, but a difficult man to live with, I suppose,” Ida said. “Twila wasn’t the kind of woman to quit when the going got tough, though. I can’t say what kind of trouble lay between your mother and father, but I’m sorry for what happened to you. It makes me sad. What must you have thought, being abandoned like that?”
“I honestly can’t say what I thought, because until the death just a little while ago of the man who’d raised me, I didn’t know I’d ever lived here. Once I got here, some things seemed familiar, but I can’t say I actually remember anything.”
Ida gave Holly a quick hug.
“Bless your heart, honey. Bless your heart.” Then she gathered up the photos she’d taken out of the albums and laid them in Holly’s lap. “I want you to have these. Maybe if you look at them some more it will help you to remember.”
Holly couldn’t imagine willingly looking at the photo of her father again, but the police might want it. She took the photos and put them into her shoulder bag.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, and very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” Ida said, as she walked Holly to the door. “I would love it if you stayed in touch. Just a card or letter now and then to let me know what’s happening in your life would be wonderful.”
“Sure,” Holly said, as she stepped out onto the porch.
“So where do you go from here? Maybe your old school?” Ida asked.
The idea was intriguing. “Do you know where I went to school?”
“Of course! It was at St. Margaret of Scotland. Catholic school, of course. I remember how excited you were to start kindergarten. I think Twila had enrolled you in their preschool at one time, but Harold made her take you out.”
Holly frowned. “Really? Do you remember why?”
“I never knew, but I remember Twila was upset with him, and then, like everything else, as soon as he got his way he was fine. Anyway, everyone in this neighborhood goes to St. Margaret. It’s in the old Shaw neighborhood.”
Holly pulled the map from her purse. “Can you show me?”
Ida quickly scanned the map, circled the address with a pen Holly handed her, then gave it back.
“There you go, honey. Happy hunting.”
Holly shuddered. “Yes, hunting for my past,” she muttered, and suddenly looked over her shoulder, as if she expected her father to be standing in the yard.
As it turned out, St. Margaret of Scotland school was easy to find. Holly drove past it slowly, then circled the block and came back around again before pulling into the visitors’ parking lot. She didn’t know how much good this would be in helping her find the answers to her past, but she was willing to try anything.
The scent that greeted her as she entered the building was familiar, but not in a way that brought back memories, only in the fact that all school buildings smelled alike. It was a combination of books and chalkboards, plus the bodies of hundreds of children and whatever the cooks were making for lunch.