If the Witness Lied (9 page)

The train crosses Rhode Island. In a minute, Smithy will be in Connecticut.

The train does not stop at her own town. She can get off in Saybrook, which comes first, or ride past her town and get off in New Haven. Either way means a fifteen- or twenty-minute drive to her house. She’ll need a ride. She has to call Cheryl.

The train is now in Connecticut. Smithy is breathing hard, as if approaching a finish line where there will be a ribbon to break.

We can be a normal family, she tells herself. Well, okay, we can be a family.

She’s smiling when the phone rings.

It’s Cheryl.

M
ADISON STEELS HERSELF TO WADE THROUGH THE CROWD OF
staring strangers at the bottom of the stairs. In their midst, Cheryl is bursting with delight. “Guess what, Madison! Smithy’s on her way home! I talked to the headmistress and just got off the phone with Smithy herself. Smithy’s on the train! She is so happy. She agrees that we’re ready for a breakthrough. She can’t wait to get here and be part of this wonderful forward motion.”

You would think that the two deserting sisters would have stayed in touch. But what they’ve done is so wrong, they can’t admit it to anyone—each other least of all. Madison, home at last, admits she’s been looking for an excuse to come back. Dad’s birthday and a stranger’s Jeep sent the message she’d been wanting—go home. Of course Smithy feels the same.

But
this
excuse? All four children in front of cameras? Recording every sad, angry, mixed-up thought? Betraying their mother and father? Admitting how they feel (how
do
they feel?) about their baby brother?

She imagines Cheryl emceeing. Making sure her new wall colors are presented in the best light. Going to the mall, shopping for the clothing in which she will parade Tristan Fountain.

Madison wants to question Cheryl, preferably using instruments of torture. Are they paying you? Or is this so much fun that you’re paying them?

The TV people balloon with delight. Today they will have their hearts’ desire—two missing sisters within camera range.

The fat old phone below the large mirror is ringing again. Cheryl snatches it up. Immediately her face distorts with anger. “Madison said what? Mrs. Griz, I apologize for that. Madison has no right to interfere. Of course the producer and I will be there, just as planned. I’m so sorry about your conversation. Trissy’s sister is at such a difficult stage.”

Trissy?

Rhymes with “prissy” and “sissy”?

For the thousandth time, Madison wonders how God could let Cheryl live instead of Mom.

Cheryl covers the phone and hisses, “How dare you, Madison? You don’t even live here!”

Mrs. Griz continues talking, so relieved she still has a chance to be on TV that she’s shouting. Everybody hears her say, “I’ve alerted the staff and we’re so excited!”

Rule: TV cameras are always welcome. That’s where power lies. In television. It comes, it records, it airs, it lasts. A little boy caught inside television has nowhere to run. And there’s nothing Madison can do.

Cheryl reenters the phone conversation. Her cheeks turn a
dull red. “Jack has already picked Tris up? Oh, yes, of course. How could I have forgotten that it’s a half day?”

Madison assumes Cheryl does not have the slightest idea what anybody’s schedule is, which is nice. If asked, Madison will also claim a half day as her own reason for showing up.

“Oh, goodness,” cries Cheryl. “I’m glancing at my cell phone, and I see there is a text message from Jack. No doubt he’s letting me know. I’ve been so busy with the television crew, I just haven’t been aware of other details. Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ll still drop by. I have the associate producer and assistant director here.”

Madison studies Angus and the bad-hair woman. Associates and assistants should be in their twenties, shouldn’t they? These two are probably in their forties. Perhaps they are not as successful as they claim.

But that will not help, because people without success
really
want to present a riveting, heartbreaking family drama. And as far as television is concerned, the Fountain story has no missing ingredients. It will be a nice career move for these two.

Coming down, her eyes averted from all those stares, Madison gets a momentary glimpse of kitchen cabinets at the far end of the hall. Her mother was the cookie maven: chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies, molasses cookies, iced cookies, spritz cookies. Her mother loved that kitchen. Lived there. Sang there. Danced. Wiped away tears and celebrated triumphs. Read library books and—

Madison is going to cry.

Slowly, as if capturing a wild animal apt to spook, the cameraman lifts his camera to his shoulder.

“Emotions are going to be very high,” says Angus, this man whose emotions are probably like a cotton shirt, just something to wear. “You know what, Maddy?”

Only Mom called her Maddy. When Mom died, Madison never wanted that nickname again.

Angus trots out his smile. It’s a rich smile, as if anybody he shares it with will become healthy, wealthy and wise. “Let’s you and I both meet Smithy at the railroad station! After all, we can get the day care anytime. And without Trissy, it’s lost any real meaning, hasn’t it? But you—the beautiful sisters, your first reunion—is it your first reunion?—I mean, think of it. The beautiful moment when you start to rebuild your family, facing tragedy with courage because you’re together.”

They are beautiful sisters, and Madison has been dreaming of the moment in which she and her sister face their tragedy with courage because they’re together. But not in front of a TV crew sniffing the air like dogs. “Gosh, it sounds like fun, but I have a dentist appointment. Bye.” She walks straight into them, and they are forced to part. In a moment she’s outdoors.

It’s drizzling. The drops feel cool and good against her feverish skin. But the tenacity of TV is not slowed by a mere damp sky. The bad-hair woman follows so closely they could share a sweater. Madison cannot go to her car and she cannot call Jack.

*   *   *

Friday creeps by. Diana has a sense of being too late; of being wrong. It’s a heavy, dark feeling. She’s been wrong and late
already today, wasting the entire morning before making the decision to interfere in Jack’s life. The brief conversation with Jack’s aunt Cheryl keeps repeating in her mind. Mrs. Rand was awfully excited about a paint event. And when Diana strapped Tris into his car seat, what was with the smug little smile? Even Cheryl can’t gloat over clutter removal.

In spite of the fact that Cheryl’s a big spacious woman, covered with attractively tailored clothing, adorned with well-chosen jewelry, she seems slimy to Diana. Diana thinks of her as a jellyfish floating on the surface, poisonous tentacles reaching down. Diana’s mother disapproves of talk like this. “That’s just plain mean, Diana. Where would those children be without Cheryl Rand?”

Better off, in Diana’s opinion. Last winter, the older three were so stunned by their father’s death and how it happened, they couldn’t even stand up straight. They stumbled around, hunched and silent. Cheryl liked to remind Smithy and Madison that the reason they didn’t have a mom, and the reason they didn’t have a dad, was sitting right there needing a fresh diaper. Oh, you have a chance to get out of here? cried Cheryl. Take it!

When Smithy asked to move in with the Murrays, Diana was thrilled.

No, said Diana’s mother gently. Life is tough, but Smithy has to stick it out at home. She still has a family, albeit one that is smaller and sadder. We Murrays will always be here for her. But Smithy can’t move out.

Diana’s mother was wrong.

Smithy moved out within days. Diana’s friendship, the years
of dolls and ice skates, slumber parties and lipsticks, was over. Instead, Diana became that handy tool, the babysitter down the block.

“Cheryl has to be doing something right,” her mother insists. “Tris is a great little guy.”

Diana does not agree. What saves Tris is a great day care and a great brother.

Diana leaves her cell on, hoping Jack will update her. But when it rings during literature, the caller ID says Reed Fountain. Diana almost faints. Is he calling from heaven?

Cell phones are not allowed in class to start with, but talking on them is absolutely forbidden. People often text, holding the phone under their desk, and some people even manage to play games, but Diana is not in this group. She gives the teacher a tight apologetic smile, whispers, “Sorry!” and scurries out of the classroom. The teacher says something, but Diana chooses not to hear. “Hello?” she says into her phone. She’s never talked to a dead man. She walks swiftly down the hall in case the teacher pursues her.

“Jack took Tris early from day care because it’s a half day,” says Cheryl in a taut, angry voice.

Diana reexamines the caller ID. It’s the Fountains’ house phone, hardly ever used. Cheryl always calls from her own cell. Cheryl has gotten rid of every other trace of Reed and Laura Fountain. She hasn’t realized that the caller ID still shows up with the dead man’s name.

In spite of the fact that it’s Cheryl, Diana feels as if Mr.
Fountain is trying to tell her something. He’s listening in, expecting something of her.

“Jack texted me,” says Cheryl peevishly. “They’re at a soccer game. But I
have
to pick them up, Diana. This is quite urgent. Who are they playing?”

There is no half day and the school does not have a Friday game schedule. They’re not playing anybody.

But it is the plus and the minus of cell phones that the caller doesn’t know the location of the other phone, so Cheryl does not know that Diana is still in class, and that Jack should be too. Diana backs Jack up. “They’ll probably be home soon. How’s the paint job going?”

“I can’t start on that yet. I have other things on my plate. Di, I’m really worried. I need to find them.”

She hates being called Di. “What are you worried about?”

“I don’t know where he is!” cries Cheryl.

Cheryl Rand never knows where Jack is. Or cares.

“You know that Jack is very difficult,” says Cheryl, who sounds as if she is crying. There seems to be somebody with her, comforting her. This is not good. Cheryl will do anything for an audience. “He keeps ganging up on me,” says Cheryl. “I can’t cope with him.”

Cheryl is showing off for somebody, and she’s doing it by slandering Jack. Who could that person be? Cheryl is friendless, as far as Diana knows. “I don’t think one person can gang up on you, Mrs. Rand. I think a gang of people has to gang up on you.”

“Fine!” shouts Cheryl Rand. “Don’t help, then!” She slams
the phone down, which you can do with a house phone. Cheryl has a very expensive smartphone, and during television ads she watches videos, checks celebrity news and comparison shops. She wouldn’t slam it around.

Diana wants to phone Jack, but what if he’s in his room, rescuing his stuff? Diana’s call will give away his position. No, wait. Jack can’t be home, because he’s got Tris. Tris does not have an indoor voice. He has only an outdoor voice. Cheryl would know all too well if Tris and Jack were upstairs.

Diana calls Jack, but it goes to voice mail. She is forced to leave a message. “Jack, Cheryl phoned me in school. She’s hunting for you. There’s something weird going down. Somebody else is in on it, but I don’t know who. Be careful, Jack. Call if I can help.”

*   *   *

“I’m Gwen!” cries the TV woman, jogging alongside Madison as if they’re on the same track team. “Madison, honey, you’re going to be a wonderful interview. You have so much personality. This program could open up a beautiful future for you, because you’re articulate and sexy and full of character. Are you interested in the film industry?”

Is this the bait they offer Cheryl? She’s “articulate, sexy and full of character?” That would be a hard sell, but maybe they offered that line to Smithy. Smithy, who crosses state lines to come home and blat on television about precious, private things.

Madison doesn’t want these people to know about her car. A car is freedom, but only if it’s a secret from the invaders. She trots
in a circle, heading instead for the backyard and taking the shortcut through the little woods to Kensington, the next street over.

“Where’s your dentist appointment?” Gwen says. “We’ll want to follow you during your everyday activities. Shall I drive you there?”

Even if Madison wanted to be on TV—especially if she wanted to be on TV—she would refuse to be filmed with her mouth open and her saliva dripping. The image is so preposterous that Madison giggles as she plunges into their neighborhood wilderness. It’s not wide, but it is long. Chesmore and Kensington are separated for the length of the creek, with enough wetlands and rock-strewn woods to support turkeys, skunks, at least one raccoon and some years a fox. Jack and his friends used to play
Survivor
here, pretending to face danger in the forest.

Madison does face danger. But it isn’t in the trees.

She avoids the path made by her father and Jack, because Gwen could just trot after her, and walks straight into the briars, letting them snag her jacket and trousers. Her sneakers sink into the little marsh, getting muddy and stained.