Crooked Little Lies (21 page)

“In Houston?”

“Yes. As long as it’s not too hot or too cold, Sky doesn’t mind staying in the car. Bo loves going down there to that library. There are so many books, and he likes to count them. He likes to ride the elevator, too. Sometimes we find a quiet corner and read aloud to each other—poetry, mostly.”

Annie listened to Charlotte in amazement. “He texted me he was there with you. He called you Ms. M.”

“There aren’t many young folks who are as respectful as Bo,” Charlotte said.

“Afterward, where did you go?” Lauren asked.

“We came here. I brought him here.” Charlotte looked only at Lauren, almost as if the sight of Annie caused her pain, and she seemed afraid now, more than she had before. “It’s our usual routine. One Friday a month, I pick him up in Hardys Walk, at the little store. We go to the library afterward, usually there in Hardys Walk. Then we have lunch and come here.”

“Really.” Lauren spoke conversationally, stirring her tea.

“Bo loves Henry David Thoreau, but I imagine you know that.” Charlotte glanced now at Annie and away. “I love Thoreau, too. Bo can quote whole passages.”

“You said you brought him here last Friday? And then what did you do?” Lauren lifted her cup as if there were all the time in the world to wait for Charlotte’s answer.

When there wasn’t. When as far as Annie was concerned they were out of time. “How long have you known him? How long has this been going on, that you pick him up and take him places? Why do you? What is he to you?” The questions shot off her tongue, sounding like accusations, making Charlotte blink.

Making her head wobble on her neck.

On a level deeper than emotion, Annie knew she was wrong to attack Charlotte; she knew the old woman felt threatened and confused by her, and she regretted it, but there wasn’t time for regret, either. “Please, please, tell me what you know.”

Charlotte poked at her hair, her fingers trembling over the cusp of her ear, then to the tortoiseshell comb that fastened her French twist. “We met at the library there in Hardys Walk a few months ago and got to talking. I asked him what he did for a living, and he said he didn’t do much, that he wanted to work, but not very many people would hire him. When I asked why, he said it was because they thought he was crazy, a—a psycho. That was the word he used. It broke my heart, that sweet boy—”

“I can imagine,” Lauren said, and she sat easily with the ensuing pause.

Somehow Annie managed to keep still, too, gripping her elbows in her opposite fists, thinking of people’s cruelty, how it hurt Bo, in ways most people couldn’t imagine and didn’t care about. Only Madeleine had ever taken a chance and offered him a real job.

“I was so upset for him, and once I got home, all I could think about was how I could help him, and I decided I would ask him to work for me, doing little jobs, like weeding the flower gardens and such.” Charlotte stopped; she fiddled with her napkin. “I understand how he feels. It isn’t the same, but when you get old, people haven’t any patience or compassion if you’re forgetful or if you get confused or repeat yourself. Even one’s own family . . .” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”

“That you brought Bo here last Friday,” Lauren reminded her softly.

“I paid him.” Charlotte sounded almost defensive. “Ten dollars an hour. He was worth every penny, too. He’s a hard worker, a bit skittish maybe, but he always gets the job done, and he was regular. As regular as rain in April.”

“What work did you have for him?”

The look Lauren shot Annie belied her conversational tone. She was wound as tightly as Annie. She just wasn’t letting Charlotte see it.

“He was going to replace a board on the porch that’s rotting. My daughter says I’m clumsy enough without—But you don’t want to hear about her.” Charlotte grimaced as if she didn’t want to hear about her daughter, either. “Anyway, last Friday, Bo was different. He was fine at first, at the library talking and laughing like always, but after he gathered all the tools and the lumber he needed to do the work, something changed. He couldn’t settle. He kept pacing. He kept saying he needed to go to the bus station, that he needed to get to California. He wanted me to take him. To the bus, I mean. He said his mother was ill and—”

“Did you? Did you take him to the bus station?” Annie bent forward.

“No, dear. That’s just the thing. I said I would. Of course, I wanted to help. I told him to wait by the car, I would get my keys, but when I went outside, he was gone. I called and called for him. I even walked to the end of the drive. It’s such a long way. Well, you know. You drove up here. I was so worn out, I nearly couldn’t make it back.”

“You don’t know where he went?” Lauren asked.

“Maybe the highway? Maybe I was too slow, and he thought he could catch a ride there. But you know how he is, he walks everywhere, just like Thoreau. It’s admirable, really.”

“By now, he could be anywhere, with anyone.” Annie pulled her cell phone from her purse. “I’ll call Sheriff Audi and tell him Bo was here. I don’t think any of the search teams came this far north.”

“But shouldn’t we alert the local police?” Lauren asked. “Someone around here might have seen Bo and reported it.”

Annie looked at her. “We could take them a flyer. Maybe put some up in town. I have a few with me.”

“I know the sheriff in town. His name is—it’s—” Charlotte frowned a moment and then brushed the air with her hands as if it were of no consequence that she couldn’t remember. She stood up, saying she had his card somewhere, that he came to see her sometimes, and something about her daughter. “They’re good friends. I think she’s asked him to keep an eye on me. It’s ridiculous, of course. I manage perfectly well on my own.”

The sense of Charlotte’s injury lingered in the air even after she left the room.

“His name is Caleb Neely,” she said when she returned. She handed a business card to Lauren. “I would have called him myself if I had known Bo was missing, but I almost never watch television.”

Lauren thanked her.

Charlotte saw them out.

Sky was lying on the front porch, and when he saw them, he got up and followed Lauren down the steps.

Annie turned to Charlotte. “I’m sorry I was rude.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell the police right away,” Charlotte said.

“Was Bo all right when you saw him on Friday? Was he acting normally? Or as normal as he gets?”

“He was himself, dear. Sweet and kind, if a bit agitated.” Charlotte studied Annie’s face. “I consider Bo my friend, you know? We’re not so different, he and I. My mind slips because I’m old, and he’s—well, sometimes his connections—” Charlotte’s voice caught, and she put her hand to her throat. “He’s very kind to me,” she added. “He’s just a lovely young man.”

Annie’s throat closed; her heart softened, and when Charlotte, seeing this evidence of understanding, of commiseration, reached out a hand, Annie felt the tremor of her fingertips on her wrist, as delicate as the dance of a sparrow’s foot. She thought how much Charlotte was like Madeleine in her care of Bo.

“You’ll let me know when you find him, that he’s safe?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes,” Annie said, and she would have turned away, but something came into Charlotte’s gaze, a clarity and a certainty that Annie hadn’t seen before, and it kept her in place.

“You will find him,” Charlotte said. “I’m convinced of it. I don’t often let on to strangers, but it’s true I have a sense about such things. I’ve had it ever since I was yay high.” She flattened her palm at a height near her hip.

Alive? Is he alive?
Annie wanted to ask, but she wouldn’t. She wasn’t sure she believed in what Charlotte was suggesting, and in any case, she didn’t think she could bear to know Charlotte’s answer.

“There’s something else,” Charlotte called after them.

They turned.

“He was carrying cash. A good deal of it in a rubber band. He showed it to me.”

“Did he say, or do you know, how much it was?” Annie asked.

“He counted it at my kitchen table; he had two one-hundred-dollar bills, five twenties, a ten and three ones. And some change.”

“Did he say where he got it?” Annie shaded her eyes.

“He’d done some work for a man. He didn’t give a name.”

Annie’s heart sank.

“It’s bad news, Bo having that much money?” Lauren nosed the SUV down the drive.

“His dad and I—the police, everyone seems to think Bo is involved with drugs.” Annie pushed her hands over her face, over her ears. She blew out a mouthful of air. “I just don’t want to believe it, but if he had over three hundred dollars—I don’t know how else he’d get that much money.” She looked at Lauren. “I haven’t ever bought a bus ticket, but I bet he has enough to get to California.”

“Yes, probably,” Lauren answered, but she seemed abruptly distracted, upset. Annie was on the verge of asking if she was all right when she said, “After my accident, while I was in physical therapy and still in a lot of pain, I—somehow I became dependent on my pain medication. I—my problem was bad enough that I got the drug—OxyContin, illegally. I’m off it now and in 12-step, nearly a year—” Lauren stopped.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.” Annie said the only thing she could think of.

“Because the detectives, Willis especially, seem to think I bought Oxy from Bo last Friday.” Lauren glanced at Annie. “They didn’t tell you?”

“I’ve only spoken to Detective Cosgrove.” Annie shifted her gaze, not wanting Lauren to see her consternation and assume Annie was judging her. She wasn’t. She was remembering yesterday, that when Lauren came back to the center with Jeff to report her car stolen, Sheriff Audi had made a real point of establishing that she was alone the weekend of Bo’s disappearance. He’d inferred Lauren could have been anywhere, doing anything. Annie didn’t want to see the correlation now between that and Lauren’s admission to having a drug habit, but it was impossible not to. “Did you buy drugs from Bo?”

“No!” Lauren was offended. “He wasn’t on anything, either. At least when I saw him, he was clear-eyed and articulate. He was fine. Fine,” she insisted.

Annie stared out at the roadside scruff. She couldn’t decide if Lauren was defending Bo or excusing him. Maybe she was lying for him. Didn’t people on drugs stick together? A sense of foreboding filled her. She regretted having accepted Lauren’s help, and yet without it, would she have found Charlotte? And if she had, could she have managed to get the information Lauren had?

Annie looked at Lauren. “I’m not very good with pain, either,” she said, and it was the closest she could come to saying she understood.

The heart of Cedar Cliff was small enough that it could be taken in with the sweep of one glance. The dozen or so storefronts arranged around the town square were mostly shuttered and wore a sour look, like a group of old men dressed in moth-eaten suits who complained of their backs and the loss of bygone days. Lauren parked in front of the old bank building where Charlotte had said they would find the sheriff’s office, and she held the door for Annie. Once inside, they paused, blinking in the sudden gloom.

Dust, unsettled by their entry, spun idly in the tarnished, late-afternoon light.

“Can I help?”

Annie peered in the direction of the woman’s voice and picked out her silhouette from the shadows in the corner, where she sat at a desk behind an old-fashioned railing. “Maybe we aren’t in the right place.” She suddenly had doubts, not that she knew what a sheriff’s office should look like, but this place was so deserted and quiet, and the woman who addressed them was reading a book, of all things—as if there were nothing pressing or urgent or criminal that required her attention.

Annie explained who she was, that Bo Laughlin was her brother and they had information for the sheriff.

The woman came to life. “I’ve heard about him on the news. I’m so sorry. Oh my goodness—” She was flustered now, shutting the book without marking her place. “Caleb?”

A man in a uniform, obviously Caleb Neely, the sheriff Charlotte had said they should speak to, came to the doorway. Annie had expected someone older, a man Sheriff Audi’s age. Sheriff Neely didn’t appear to be much older than Annie.

In a matter of minutes, introductions were made, and once Annie explained why she was there, she and Lauren were seated in the sheriff’s office.

He sat down, too, and when he asked why she thought Bo was in the area, Annie explained about finding Charlotte and what they’d learned about Charlotte’s connection to Bo.

“So,” the sheriff said when Annie paused, “he does odd jobs for Charlotte, but how did they meet? It seems odd, them knowing each other.”

Annie explained that, too, with increasing frustration. “Look, Sheriff, he was upset about his mother when he left Charlotte’s house; he might have gotten disoriented. He could be lost. He could have hurt himself. Anything might have happened.”

“Well, more likely, he caught a ride—”

“No. Bo wouldn’t get into a car with a stranger.” Annie repeated what she’d known all along. Charlotte Meany, as it turned out, was no stranger to Bo.

“Maybe not under ordinary circumstances,” the sheriff agreed, “but according to you, he was desperate to see his mama.”