like the child doesn’t even exist, I thought, curiously.
My eyes floated across the field to the Appleton Farm. If I remembered correctly, Clara Appleton owned all this land. She was probably the one renting out the house to Nova.
Maybe the neighbor saw something…anything that could help me find this faceless child…
The Neighbor
CLARA
Cradling a cup of coffee in my hands, I watched Officer Ellie James through the dining room window as she stood in front of the cabin next door.
I heard Nova Nesbitt scream this morning. But still, I did nothing to help her.
My new tenant had sent me the first month’s rent and a security deposit last month, and she had arrived just yesterday as planned. It was late when she got in, much too late in my opinion, but maybe she got lost or turned around on her drive into town.
I’d been tempted to go over and talk to her, to introduce myself, but I’d refrained. Landlords are known for being nosy. I didn’t want to be like that. But it did feel strange having a neighbor again. With my oldest daughter in Texas, I’d grown accustomed to the quiet and lonesome life on the farm. Knowing that another human being was only a few strides away was a strange, yet welcome, feeling.
Last night, I’d watched the lights in the cabin pop off and on, wondering what Nova was up to. And then this morning, I’d been awake, toasting bread like I did every morning, when the jarring scream had ripped the air.
And now the police are here…
As the owner of the property, I probably should have gone over there and seen if something was wrong. That would have been the normal thing to do. Any sort of terrible thing could have happened related to the house—a fallen fan, a rusty nail…
But the last thing I wanted was contact with the police.
Hot coffee sloshed out the sides of my cup, dribbling between my fingers and down my arm. My mind drifted across the field to the old rickety barn at the back of the property. It used to house cattle and horses, back when Andy was here. But now it was empty. Well, except for one thing…
My hands shook uncontrollably until I lost my grip on the mug completely. It hit the floor with a dull thud just as I saw the young officer crossing the field straight toward my house. I wrung my now empty hands together, trying to steady the tremors.
The milky brown stain at my feet spread out like a halo around the unbroken mug. It reminded me of blood. Dark, thick, unrelenting blood…
Smoothing my favorite flannel shirt, I took a deep breath then went to the front door to meet her. Why does she want to talk to me?
I opened the door before she could knock, forcing a smile as I did. I recognized Officer Ellie James—she was the spitting image of her mother, Barbara. Barb and my late mother, Carol, used to hang around when they were younger. But I doubted that Officer James knew that fact or cared about it.
“How can I help you, officer?” I croaked, then grimaced at my own voice. After a decade of not smoking, I’d recently started up again. And it was obvious from the scratchy tone of my voice. I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat, but it felt like a fishbone was lodged in my windpipe. Probably cancer from the cigarettes already, I lamented.
“You own the cabin next door, is that right, ma’am?”
Surprisingly, Officer James looked more nervous than I felt. She was young, and pretty, too, with a soft, freckled face. But she was wearing too much makeup, in my opinion, the lines of her eyeliner drawn out in a way that reminded me of an Egyptian princess.
“I do,” I said, clearing my throat. “Everything alright over there?”
“When did Nova and Lily move in?” she asked, dodging my question.
“They came in late last night. From Tennessee. Quite a drive, you know? I was asleep. But I heard the car door, and I saw the lights go on over there.”
“Did you see anything else? A child outside? Any other cars on the property?” Officer James held a small notebook in one hand, and with her other hand, she flicked her pen open and closed.
A sudden memory fluttered through my mind, then dissolved.
“Um, yeah, I did. Woke up around one in the morning, I guess it was. A second car was out there. Thought it might be her boyfriend, or someone helping her move. Not my business, you know? But I did think it was a little late for visitors…”
“What sort of make and model was this second car?” Officer James looked alert now, and she started writing something in that notebook of hers.
“I couldn’t say. Too dark. Aren’t any flood lights out there, you know? And the porch light wasn’t on either. I heard the car pull in and the door slamming shut. Never saw a child. I guess it might have been a truck I saw…”
“Did you see anyone get out of this truck? This is important, ma’am.”
I closed my eyes, thinking. “I only looked out there for a second. Didn’t want to look like a peeping tom. I think they were wearing a hood. Like a hoodie sweatshirt. And they were carrying something. Maybe she was carrying her daughter in her arms. Not sure though. Why? Something happened?”
“Your new tenant’s daughter is missing. Please, if you see anything, or think of anything else, call me.” She snapped her notebook shut then dug around for a business card. “Oh, and we may need to come back and search your property. All this land, if it comes down to it. Right now, we’re still waiting to hear from the husband.”
I tried to keep a straight face as I nodded obediently, but my throat felt like it was closing up completely. Despite feeling like I couldn’t breathe, I was itching for a cigarette.
Officer James added, “Most likely, the husband took her. They recently split up. Divorces are so messy…” The young officer bit her lip, as though she’d said too much, then handed me a stiff business card.
“I will call you if I do. Thanks.” I closed the door, letting out a long whoosh of breath.
I listened to the sound of the patrol car pulling out as I straightened up the kitchen. Cleaning was one thing I liked to do when I got nervous. Smoking was another.
Back in the kitchen, I gathered up the mug, discovering that a small chunk of ceramic had come loose. I threw it away, then went into my bedroom to search for some sort of carpet cleaner. Anything to take my mind off smoking, and the jarring police visit.
The stain would be hard to get out. Usually, I was careful, rarely needing cleaners to fix my mistakes.
I stopped for a moment to smooth out the edges of my bedspread, my fingers trembling. My pack of Camels was tucked away in my bedside drawer, within reach.
But instead, I picked up one of the stuffed bunnies my husband made for me, squeezing it tightly to my
