The Vanishing Season (9 page)

They rode downtown in Mrs. Boden’s Mercedes, which she kept parked in the garage so that it was shiny and perfect, black as ink. Maggie marveled at the way the car smelled and how smoothly it glided down Water Street, but she also marveled that someone could spend so much money on a car. Mrs. Boden wore a brown trench coat and pressed, emerald-green pants. Her blond hair was perfectly done, and she wore red lipstick and dark eyeliner on her catlike eyes. Pauline, on the other hand, was mismatched in a long, wrinkled maroon skirt, blue boots, and a vintage green coat she’d bought at a thrift store.

Mrs. Boden asked Maggie the standard adult questions as she drove. “How’s school going? You must be very self-disciplined to be homeschooled. What’s your best subject?” And she acted interested in everything that Maggie answered. She kept nodding, saying “I see” or “Oh, really?” or “Good for you.” But it was like they were just things to say. Pauline sat in the passenger seat looking out the window quietly.

The museum was small, but someone had put a lot of imagination into the exhibit—it consisted of several rooms through which you walked past life-size black-and-white photos of past residents of Gill Creek—dating all the way back to the time photography had been invented. Some of the photos were large, plaster cutouts—trimmed to the shape of the people they portrayed—so that their silhouettes stood in the middle of the rooms. The photos on the walls showed people in their daily lives: in front of tractors or shops, bustling down Main Street, stomping cherries at the annual Cherry Festival, the harvest queen riding in a parade.

Pauline trailed along behind her mom from photo to photo. Standing behind them, Maggie could see that Pauline emulated the way her mother tilted her head as she examined each photo, though she couldn’t seem to stop her foot from tapping, clearly restless.

“Oh, Maggie, here’s one of your house,” Mrs. Boden said, turning and waving her toward them.

Maggie came up beside her and studied the photo, surprised and excited to see the familiar white house, though it looked different in the photo . . . of course, newer. A tiny scrawl at the lower corner indicated that the date was 1887.

A woman stood in front of it in a white Victorian dress. The photo was too grainy to make out her features perfectly, but she was beaming—her teeth big and white on her tan face. She had dark-blond hair piled to the back of her head in the Victorian way, and there was something
foreign
about her. Maggie wondered if she could be the person who’d owned the cherry bracelet. Her arms sprouted goose bumps, thinking about it. The woman looked so full of life.

A tiny label to the left of the photo said: “Katherine Gustafson, 1865–1889.” She’d died young, probably not too long after the photo was taken.
How had she died?
Why did she move to the middle of nowhere?
Maggie wondered.

Maggie looked up and around to find that Pauline and her mom had wandered out of sight. She walked into the next room and the next and found them in the back-most exhibit area. Pauline was looking at a photo of a fisherman and his young son standing on a commercial fishing boat. Lines were etched deep into the man’s face.

Pauline’s mom was raking her hands through Pauline’s messy, dark hair, trying to smooth it out. Pauline kept shrugging away.

“Mom, I’m not five. You don’t need to do my hair.”

“I know, but you have such beautiful hair and all you have to do is brush it.”

Pauline sighed and gave in, letting Mrs. Boden continue to fuss at her.

“This is my great-great-grandpa, isn’t he cool?” Pauline said over her shoulder, when she saw Maggie was there, pointing to the little boy. “I like this one, because he looks so much like my dad in it.” She turned to her mom. “Doesn’t he remind you of Dad, Mommy? Same eyes.” Maggie noticed they were Pauline’s eyes too.

Her mom looked at the photo, then nodded. She looked back at Maggie and smiled, the same smile that wasn’t really happy. “Maggie, don’t you think Pauline’s too young to have a boyfriend? This kid James keeps calling her.” She was changing the subject. But Maggie didn’t want to argue with someone’s mom, even though Pauline was giving her the wide eyes of annoyance.

“I don’t even
want
to go out with him,” Pauline said.

“But are you being clear about it? Boys need things spelled out.”

“If completely ignoring him is being clear about it, then yes.”

Mrs. Boden looked at her, exasperated. “Can I help it if you’re precious to me?”

“I’m not going out with anyone, Mom. You’re like Mommie Dearest or something.” Mrs. Boden gave a tinny laugh, then turned and headed back into one of the other rooms.

“It’s actually a pretty good exhibit,” Maggie said, making conversation.

“My mom donated twenty thousand dollars to this museum,” Pauline said absently. Maggie nearly choked on her own tongue. “What, do you think that’s a crazy amount?” Pauline turned to her in surprise.

“It’s just, like, half my mom’s salary,” Maggie said.

“Oh,” Pauline said, “sorry. I’m so gauche. My mom always says that.”

They both turned back to the photo. “Don’t they all look like hardy, noble souls? You know,” Pauline said, “it’s so easy to think someone’s perfect when they’re dead.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say to that. “What was your dad like, besides funny? I remember you said he was funny.”

Pauline thought. “He looked out for me. It was, like, I was always safe because he was there.”

Pauline fished into her pocket and a moment later pulled out a little piece of paper. She peeled something off the back, then raised it to the image of the grown man holding the boy’s hand and placed it under his nose. It was a fuzzy mustache sticker. Maggie nervously peered around behind them to see if anyone was watching.

“I’m pretty sure this guy had a sense of humor. I brought a whole pack. Let’s go do the other ones,” she said. “Let’s do your lady too.”

Afterward, walking downtown, they saw the headlines in the metal newspaper vending machines, a particularly prominent one saying “Evil Among Us.”

“It’s not evil,” Maggie said, frustrated. “Someone’s probably just bonkers. Good and evil sound so nice and simple compared to messed up, crazy brain stuff.”

As they walked people looked at Pauline, especially guys. Maggie had never felt so much like the center of attention before. But Pauline seemed oblivious. She was dressed carelessly in her wrinkled, thin coat; her hair was tangled despite her mom’s finger brushing. They came to a standstill in front of a bakery, peering in through the window at all the cakes.

“
I
believe in good and evil,” Pauline said. She seemed distant, like she was thinking it through.

A cute guy around their age emerged from the bakery and turned to look over his shoulder at Pauline as he walked away.

“Pauline, do you notice how many people check you out?”

Pauline shook her head as if shaking it off. “It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t care. It’s stupid.”

Maggie couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be noticed all the time. She knew some people noticed pretty girls in a good way, and that others, like Elsa, made all sorts of negative assumptions about them—that they were conceited or bitchy or whatever other clichés went along with beauty. She guessed it was like a blessing and a curse. Still, she didn’t love the way she was invisible next to Pauline. A kernel of envy lay at the pit of her stomach, and Maggie tried to dismiss it.

“Maggie, I was thinking about what you said, about your mom’s salary. I know you’re going to college, and you’re trying to save and all that, and my family has just . . . a lot of money. My mom gives me this allowance, and I never end up spending all of it because that’s not humanly possible. I have, like, eight thousand dollars in the bank.”

Maggie looked over at her.

“I just . . . can I give it to you?” Pauline glanced up at her, looking embarrassed, then back at the cakes. “I’m not trying to be condescending or anything; I just really don’t need it. I’ll probably stick around here anyway and work for my mom. And I just . . . it’s not fair. I want you to be able to use it for school, so you can be a world leader someday or something. The world needs someone like you.”

Maggie felt her eyes start to prickle. She shook her head. “That’s . . . that’s so sweet, Pauline, but I’ll be fine. Believe me, I’ll be fine. I really appreciate you offering. So much.”

Pauline gazed back through the window. “Okay, but if you ever need it, just remember, the offer stands.”

Maggie tried to swallow the lump in her throat and followed her gaze.

Finally Maggie looked over at Pauline and widened her eyes at her. “We should get a ton of pastries. We can take photos of ourselves eating them. Then we can do an exhibit called ‘Faces of Gill Creek Eating Their Faces Off.’”

A lady walking past frowned at her; she looked like one of the museum curators.

They drove home with a bag full of napoleons and disco on the radio that Pauline had picked out and insisted on playing loudly through open windows despite the cold, with warm air blasting from the vents.

9

THE BARN WAS AFLAME AS MAGGIE AND HER PARENTS CROSSED THE PARKING lot—a block of glowing yellow squares in the dark, with twangy, lively country music escaping through the double doors. This year the town committee had turned the annual Turkey Gobble into a benefit for the families of the victims and decided to hold it at the huge, refurbished barn that sometimes doubled as a community center.

It was warm and bright inside, crowded but subdued—lots of people gathered by the dessert table and the bar, chatting and eating. As Maggie and her parents entered, the music switched to polka. Shrugging out of her coat, Maggie found Pauline and Liam hiding in a corner at the air-hockey table, completely silent. (Pauline tackled any game where she competed against him with utter seriousness.) She was wearing a headband with two wobbly turkeys attached to the ends of long, springy antennae. She didn’t look up as Maggie approached; she just bit her lip as she thrust her left hand forward over and over to knock the puck back at Liam.

“Hey,” Maggie said, leaning against the table. “You’re going to yank your arm out of its socket.” Pauline looked up, and her eyes glinted, her turkeys wobbling. Liam moved in a blur, and the puck slammed home while she was distracted.

“Game,” Liam said, and straightened up with a grin. Pauline threw her paddle onto the table.

“Nice,” Maggie said, pointing to Pauline’s head. Pauline stared at her blankly for a minute, then seemed to remember and reached up to touch an antenna. “Thanks. They were selling them at 7-Eleven for a dollar. I got you a pair too.” She reached into her giant leather bag that was slung at her back and pulled them out, then pushed them onto Maggie’s head. Maggie looked around the room—everyone else was in their holiday sweaters, slacks, blazers; dressy casual. Pauline was in jeans and a sparkly tank top.

“Well, they’re all here,” Pauline said, gazing around. “Mayor Alex”—she pointed to a woman by the drinks table—“my third-grade teacher, the guy who owns the Coffee Moose. My mom keeps trying to get me to get up there to sing something. She thinks I’m a really good singer. You know,
moms
.” Maggie’s own mom and dad were over in a corner talking to a grandmotherly type in a vest. Both of her parents were great at parties, smart and interested in everyone and charming. Her mom was even tapping her foot to the polka beat. Some people were polka’ing in the back corner, and others were waiting in line at the keg. Maggie saw Gerald from the antique store on the other side of the room and quickly looked away. A group of women was gathered by the dessert table, having an animated conversation and glancing over at Liam and shaking their heads.

“Those women are talking about you,” Maggie said, and pointed. Liam rubbed at his jaw, and a red tint crept up his cheeks; he seemed to be wincing a little.

“It’s because of his dad,” Pauline said, eyes lighting up with amusement. “He put a pumpkin carved with 666 in front of church this morning.”

“He thinks he’s being funny,” Liam said sheepishly, looking around. “But I don’t think anyone else is in on the joke.”

A guy from Pauline’s school came over and asked her to dance, and she went off with him. Maggie and Liam sat on the couch eating cake and watching her tilting around the room like a doe, leggy and beautiful. Everywhere the lights and shadows seemed to land on her.

“You look pretty,” Liam said to Maggie, looking down at her wrist. “You wore the bracelet.”

“Just trying to represent my homeys from the 1800s,” she said drily. He reached down to touch it, sliding his index finger under the delicate chain. “I love it,” she said more sincerely. She wasn’t sure why she loved it so much—because of its mystery or where it had been found in the dark, secret heart of the house—or because Liam had found it for her. She showed him the place on the back of the cherry charm where she’d found scrawled letters: two words, clearly a first and last name, too faded to read.

Maggie sensed a shift in the air, and they both looked up. She didn’t know how long Pauline had been standing there watching them. Her face was serious, and her forehead had wrinkled up—but in a moment that expression was gone, replaced by the sparkly green eyes and the smile with the spaced-apart teeth. She thrust her hand into Liam’s and pulled him up to dance, and the two went off to the middle of the floor. It surprised Maggie, but they knew how to polka. They moved through the steps woodenly, as if they’d done it a hundred times before but only with each other—the same slightly off-rhythm steps, the same wrong arm movements. They weren’t good at it, but they matched each other perfectly.

Maybe now was a good time to get some air.

Outside her toes froze through her boots almost immediately. Back in Chicago the cold gnawed at your bones, but here it seemed sharper. She saw a group of smokers across the lot, shivering and shuffling their feet as they talked, and recognized Hairica among them—she’d covered her effusive hair with a thick, wool hat. Maggie could hear that they were talking about the killer and who he might be. She approached and stood next to Hairica, acknowledging her with a friendly glance.