She wore a short-sleeved black blouse and a black skirt. The blouse was opened at her throat, and her thin gold necklace glittered in the late-afternoon sunshine streaming through the living-room windows. The blouse looked just a little tight around her full bosom. Two small diamonds in gold settings filled her pierced earlobes. She wore a pair of black flats with no stockings.
She turned to me and held out her hands. "Zipporah, dear," she said.
I took her hands, and she pulled me to her to hug me. I hugged back, but without any enthusiasm. She kissed me on the cheek and held me a moment longer.
"What you must be going through, too," she said, holding me at arm's length and looking into my eyes. I shifted my gaze to the floor quickly, and she let go of me. Instantly, I stepped back. "Please, everyone, sit," she told my parents.
Chief Keiser rose to give his seat to my mother. The two detectives were on the sofa. I saw that Karen's mother had given them all coffee. There was a small plate of cookies on the table as well.
"Michael, Eileen, would you like some coffee?" Darlene Pearson asked.
"No, thank you, Darlene. We're fine. We've just driven back from New York City."
"New York City?" Lieutenant Cooper said, perking up.
"Yes. I took my wife and daughter to a show,
Silk Stockings,"
my father said.
"You were there overnight?"
"Yes. I had a suite at the St. Regis," my father said.
"Then I'll get right to it," Lieutenant Cooper said. "Karen Pearson called Mrs. Pearson yesterday at about four-thirty from New York City."
"Oh, dear," my mother said.
Lieutenant Cooper turned to me.
"Did you see or meet with her while you were in New York City, Zipporah?"
"She couldn't have," my mother said quickly. "She was with me all day, and at the time you mention, she and I were back in our suite preparing to dress to go to dinner and the theater."
"At no time was your daughter out of your sight?"
"At no time," my mother said firmly, forgetting about when she was in her bath. She simply assumed I had been soaking in mine, which only made me feel even more terrible. I was causing my mother to tell a lie unknowingly.
Lieutenant Cooper sat back, obviously looking disappointed. He had been hoping for a big
breakthrough. He glanced at Detective Simon, who just nodded.
"Well," Chief Keiser said, "it does look like Karen's gotten herself to New York."
"She took money, a good deal of money, when she left," her mother said, and sank back into her chair. "Still, I can't imagine where she's gone or what she's doing. We don't have any family in New York City, nor does Karen have any friends who live there. She's never been there on her own. She's never been on a subway or ridden a city bus. Children her age don't just check into hotels."
"Into decent hotels," Lieutenant Cooper corrected. "There are fleabag places a leper with half his face missing could check into in New York," he muttered.
"Or she could be sleeping in the park. Lots of homeless people do that," Detective Simon added.
Karen's mother moaned and rocked a little in her chair. She had her arms around herself as if she were trying to stop her body from falling apart. What a wonderful perfoi mance, I thought, but then I thought that no matter what she had done or ignored, she might now be drowning in regret.
She stopped rocking abruptly and looked so sharply at me I caught my breath and held it.
"Zipporah, do you have any idea where she might have gone in New York City? Did she tell you anything that would help us find her and bring her home? I can't imagine her out there by herself. She's going to get hurt for sure. You wouldn't be a good friend if you knew something about her going to New York and didn't tell us."
I glanced at my father. His eyes were fixed intensely on me the way I saw he could fix them on a witness in court. The detectives were staring at me as well, and Chief Keiser moved down so he could look directly at me.
Would my voice fail me? I actually thought I would start to speak but be unable to make a sound.
"She always talked about New York City and had some brochures about it," I began. "Karen wanted to live in a big city where there was excitement and always something to do."
Her mother smiled and shook her head. "She was so full of fantasy," she told the detectives, both of whom nodded as if they had known her as well as her mother had. "Sometimes, I felt as if I were pulling her down to reality as you would pull a kite back down to earth."
She turned back to me. "You two were as close as sisters, Zipporah. Surely, you had some idea something terrible like this might happen."
"No," I said quickly. That was so true. I wanted to shout back at her that I never thought this would happen. We were only planning to scare him off, to stop him from abusing her. Visions of all that returned, especially the way Karen had first described it to me. What was Darlene Pearson trying to do now, find a way to blame me? Was she trying to say I should have told someone so that it wouldn't have happened?
Was that true? Should I have done that? Was I really partly, maybe significantly, at fault? Was Mr. Pearson dead because of me as well as Karen?
I felt the first tears escape my lids and begin to trickle down my cheeks.
"You're making her feel as if it's her fault," my mother softly told Darlene. "She's had difficulty sleeping and functioning as it is."
"Oh, no, I don't mean that. I don't mean it's in any way your fault. Of course not. It can't possibly be your fault, Zipporah. What we're all trying to do is find Karen first and try to understand what happened and why. That's all. You know she and I were not as close as I would have liked us to be. Teenagers are so difficult these days," she explained to the detectives. "Especially teenage girls. Karen was always moody. Wasn't she, Zipporah?"
I shrugged. We're all moody, I thought, but didn't say so. Karen's mother continued as if once she had begun, she could never stop.
"I know she and Harry weren't getting along, but she and I weren't getting along all that well these days, either," she continued. "It's more difficult for a man to be raising and caring for another man's child, especially another man's teenage daughter, but Harry was a generous man. You know he bought her whatever she wanted, Zipporah. She never lacked for anything. She had her own room, clothes, everything she would need."
"Not her own phone," Detective Simon muttered, looking at me.
"What?"
"She complained about not having her phone. According to Zipporah," he explained, nodding at me. Darlene Pearson looked at me as if I had betrayed a deeply held family secret.
"She never asked either of us for her own phone," she said.
"But she wasn't permitted to talk for more than two minutes," I blurted.
"What?"
"Wait a minute," my father said. "No one kills anyone because she didn't get her own phone in her room. Let's move on here."
"I don't know what this talk about a phone is about. Harry was a generous man," Darlene Pearson recited as if it had become her mantra. "He created her college fund, too. You knew that," she told me sharply, as if I had suddenly been chosen to be Karen's attorney in court.
I was afraid of this, afraid I'd be cast in opposition to her mother and things would quickly get out of hand.
I shook my head. "She never told me about any college fund." She had never mentioned anything specific. She never used those words.
"Well, it's there. Probably never to be used now," she added. She took a deep breath.
"During this phone call from New York City," Lieutenant Cooper said, "Karen said she was going away, going down to the train station and leaving. Did she mention any other place she might like to go to?"
Again, I shrugged, and then I thought about our afternoons in the nest pretending we were in my car.
"We talked about lots of places. We thought when we had our licences and I had a car, we would take wonderful trips. We sent away for travel brochures."
"To where?"
"Everywhere," I said. "Florida, Michigan, California, Texas, even Canada."
"Canada?" her mother said, as if that was it. She looked at the detectives.
"If she tries that, it will be easier to catch her," Lieutenant Cooper assured her.
Why wasn't anyone wondering why Harry was in her room? Had they gone through the house? Did the detectives discover what was in the apartment Harry's mother had occupied? Should I suggest it, I wondered, or was I better off not saying another word?
"I think we had better be going," my father said, rising. "Even a fun trip is tiring, and we've all got to get ourselves ready for the work week. You know we're available to help you in any way we possibly tan, Darlene," he told Karen's mother.
My mother stood up, too, and, then walked to her to take her hands and embrace her.
"I'm sure I can't fully understand or appreciate how difficult all this is for you, Darlene, but if I can help you in any way, please call me."
"Yes, thank you," Karen's mother said. She looked at me again. "I'm sorry you're being put through the grinder, Zipporah. People are always saying you can't help who you have as relatives. You don't choose them, but in this case, it was unfortunate for you to have Karen as a friend, I guess."
"No, it wasn't," I said so sharply I surprised even myself.
No one spoke.
No one moved a muscle.
"She's not bad. She's not mean. This wasn't her fault," I said, and then, realizing I had said too much, I turned and rushed toward the door.
"I'm sorry," I heard my mother say. "It's a very emotional time for her, too."
No one said anything. My parents followed me out quietly. We all got into our car, and my father drove off. My parents remained strangely quiet the remainder of the trip to our house. After we pulled into the driveway and the garage, my father stood by the car and kept the garage door open. My mother paused to look at him, curious about why he was just standing there waiting for me to come around.
"Go on inside," he told her. "Zipporah," he said. "Take a walk with me."
"Why?" I asked, unable to hide my fear.
"Just do," he said firmly.
"Michael?" my mother asked.
"It's all right. We'll be in the house in a moment," he told her.
He walked to me. I turned and walked out of the garage with him. We kept walking down the driveway. Where were we going? What did he want? He paused at the road. When he looked back at the house, I held my breath. Was he looking up toward the attic? Could he possibly know? Nervously, I searched the windows. Karen wasn't peeping out. It was all dark and closed.
"What do you know about Karen's relationship with Harry Pearson that you're not telling us or anyone, for that matter, Zipporah?"
I started to shake my head.
"Why were you so sharp with Darlene Pearson in there?"
My tears were returning in force. I couldn't stand up against my father's cross-examination, and I did feel as if I were in court.
"I know you've held back on it, but you'd better tell me now, Zipporah."
I sucked in my breath.
"Well?"
"He was coming into her room at night," I said.
I could almost feel the tightness take hold in his body as he stood beside me.
"Coming into her room? You mean, to do things he shouldn't?"
"Yes."
"She told you this?"
"Yes," I said.
"Did her mother know?"
"I don't know for sure. I think so," I said. "Karen said she did."
"Why didn't Karen tell anyone else?"
"She had no one else," I said. "And she was ashamed of it. She didn't know what to do. She was afraid Harry would be arrested, and they'd lose everything, and her mother would hate her more."
"More? She thought her mother hated her?" I nodded.
"How long has that business in the bedroom been going on?"
"A while. It got worse and worse."
I was sobbing openly now, my shoulders shaking hard. I turned away from him. He put his arm around me.
"Okay," he said. "It's not a bad thing to want to protect and defend someone you love. Believe me, as I've said many times, in the end, the truth will find a way to show itself. It always does. I'm only sorry you have had to bear this secret in your heart, bear it all alone."
I couldn't stop it now. I was crying harder. He kissed away my tears and held me tighter. Then we turned toward the house.
"I'll do what I can," he promised. "Don't you worry anymore."
I looked up quickly and thought I saw the curtains in the attic move.
I don't know how my legs carried me the rest of the way into the house, but they did. When we entered, my mother was right there, waiting. She looked at my father and then at me and moved quickly to embrace me.
"What happened, Michael? Is she okay?" she asked my father.
"She'll be fine," he said. "Everything will be fine," he assured us both.
My mother kissed me, too, and then I started up the stairs to my room.
I can't do this anymore, I thought, when I reached the landing and looked at the attic stairway. It's got to end. Besides, my father will help Karen now; he'll help us both. I walked to the stairway and up to the attic door, where I took a deep breath before opening it.
I entered. "Karen?" I called.
She wasn't sitting on the sofa or waiting by the window, nor was she hiding in any dark corner. Nothing was out, not an old dress or an old hat. The attic was just the way it was before she had come.
"Karen?"
I walked in farther and then started to move around the attic. She didn't appear, step out from behind any furniture now that she knew it was only me.
"Karen?"
I stood there, looking into the shadows and waiting, but I didn't see her or hear her.
For a moment, I thought I had imagined it all. She was never there. Then I remembered what she had told me about how she could hide herself in the armoire in the corner. I went to it, paused, and opened it abruptly.
It was empty.
I spun around, looking at everything again, and then I hurried out, down the stairs and to my room. I went quickly to my copy of
The Diary of Anne Frank
and rifled through the pages, but there were no notes, no letters, no explanations at all.
My mother came up and then to my doorway. She knocked on the open door to get my attention. I turned quickly, expecting to see Karen.
"Zipporah? Were you just up in the attic?"
"Yes."
She turned and looked at the stairway. "Why?"
"It was our place, our secret place, where we confided in each other, where we became close friends."
"Oh. Yes, of course. You poor dear. Are you all right, honey?" my mother asked.
I looked at her, at the book, then back at her, and nodded.
"Yes," I said. "I'm okay now," I told her, even though I had no idea if I was or wasn't and wondered if I ever would be again.