Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bree
The Wheeler house had peeling paint and a porch that sagged at the front steps. Nathan had driven there like a bat out of hell, but now he slowed down and cruised by.
"That was it," I said. "The one with the broken mailbox."
"I know," Nathan said. He kept driving to the far end of the block.
I grabbed the armrest of the old sedan and squeezed tight. "You're looking to see if those gunmen are around, aren't you?"
Nathan nodded and did a slow circle around the block. "So far, I don't see anything but a lower-middle-class neighborhood. Do you?"
I searched the overgrown lawns and the ramshackle detached garages. Everything looked quiet and calm. A few people shuffled to their mailboxes or got into their cars and left for work. Other than that, it was a peaceful morning.
"There are a few empty houses," I pointed out.
Nathan cruised us close by one of the for sale signs and we saw the foreclosure notices. "Empty. No signs of anyone disturbing it," he said.
I tried to relax but my nerves jumped. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should try calling her again."
Nathan shook his head and pulled the car to the curb outside the Wheeler house. "This is our best shot. What else can we do?"
I didn't want to admit it but Nathan was right. So, I shoved open my car door and stepped out into the quiet neighborhood. Nathan's creaking car door made me cringe as it broke through the peaceful morning. He slammed the door and headed over the dried lawn to the front sidewalk.
I caught up to him and grabbed his hand. "What are we going to tell her? Who should we say we are?"
Nathan squeezed my hand. "We already talked about this, Bree. It's best to be upfront. I'm never going to know anything about that photograph unless I show it to someone who might know the little girl. We have to do this."
I dragged my feet but Nathan didn't let go of my hand. He pulled me up the sagging front steps to the porch and knocked on the door. I ran my eyes slowly over the peeling paint, reluctant to get to the window.
"Maybe no one's home," I said. Then I saw the curtain move.
The thin, dirty lace dropped back into place and a long moment later the front door opened a crack. "What do you want?" a woman's voice called.
"Mrs. Wheeler?" Nathan asked. "We have a few questions about the girl in this photograph. Do you mind taking a look?"
A narrow eye peeked through the gap between the door and the chain lock. "You called last night," she said.
Nathan held up the photograph of Maggie. "Yes. This is the little girl. Do you know her?"
The woman's mouth knotted into a frown but her eyes settled on me, not the picture. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"I'm Nathan and this is Bree," Nathan said.
My stomach clenched as the woman just stared at us. Then she undid the chain and opened the door all the way.
"You're not cops," she said.
Nathan shook his head. "No, but we found this picture and think you might be able to tell us about the little girl."
The woman looked tired and disheveled. She leaned against the open door and sipped at a chipped mug of coffee. Then she crossed her arms in front of her and gave us another narrow look.
"You called me late last night and now you show up at my door." Her eyes still avoided the photograph that Nathan held up. "Not the nicest way to ask for help."
"We're sorry, we really are, but we're just passing through and you're the only lead we have," Nathan said.
The woman frowned at him. "You sure talk like a cop but you aren't one. Why should I help you?"
Nathan rolled his shoulders, a sure sign that he was losing patience. "Just take a quick look at the picture. Do you know this little girl? That's all we're asking."
She couldn't avoid the picture as Nathan doggedly held it directly in her line of sight. "I live alone. I don't have any children," she said.
"She's from around here. It's not that big of a town. You've never seen this girl?" Nathan asked.
The woman glanced at the photograph and took a step back. She looked back down the hallway, her neck stiff, and then said, "I left the stove on. I'll be right back. Wait on the porch."
"I don't like this, Nathan," I whispered. "She's acting strange, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "Some people are just naturally cagey. The important thing is getting her to look at the photograph again. I swear there was recognition in her face."
A cold knot of frustration settled in my gut. "Then how come she won't say so? I mean, she's just a little girl. Anyone should want to help as much as they can."
Nathan peeked down the hallway, and his forehead furrowed. "You're right. Any halfway decent human would at least look at the photograph and try to be helpful. I wonder if it's us or if it's the girl who's got this woman nervous."
The woman returned with a full coffee cup and what could almost have been called a smile. "It's a nice morning. Why don't we sit on the porch for a minute?"
She led the way to an ancient swing that hung from the porch roof on rusted chains. Nathan leaned against the railing, and I perched on the edge of a weathered wooden chair.
"We're sorry to barge in like this," Nathan said.
The woman smoothed back her untidy hair and looked at me. "It's a strange thing to do," she said.
I took a deep breath and hoped my voice sounded calm. "We found the photograph and have reason to believe the little girl might be in trouble. Her name's Maggie. Does that ring a bell?"
The woman glanced up and down her street, took a sip of coffee, and looked a lot friendlier than she had a few minutes ago. I wondered if maybe she'd laced her coffee with whiskey or something, but she seemed so alert.
Nathan noticed the same things and caught my glance. He nodded and stood up. "So, you don't recognize her? You've never seen the little girl before?" he asked the woman again.
"No, but let me have another look." The woman glanced off down the street again and then pretended to study the photograph.
She reached for it but Nathan pulled it back. "Sorry to bother you. Seems like we should be on our way."
The woman caught his wrist and held on. "No need to hurry. I'm brewing a fresh pot of coffee. You should come in and drink a cup."
"No, thanks. We've troubled you enough already." Nathan grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.
She jumped up and blocked our way to the sagging front steps. "Coffee's no trouble. Come on inside and sit down for a minute. You said you've been on the road; you must be exhausted."
"We're fine, thanks. Sorry again for the intrusion." Nathan moved to walk around the woman but she dodged in front of him again.
"You know, I might know that little girl. What did you say her name was again?"
"Maggie." Nathan's hand was tight on mine.
"Yeah, yeah, Maggie. Sounds like the little girl who lived just down the street. One day they stuck a for sale sign in the yard and took off for California. Little girl went with them," the woman said.
I tried to edge past the woman. "She went to California with her family. See? Now we don't have to worry anymore. Thanks so much."
"I might have their phone number or forwarding address or whatever inside." The woman continued to block our way even as Nathan pushed forward toward the sagging steps.
Far in the distance, the wail of a siren started. Another joined it from a different direction. The woman held up her hands as if she could stop us.
"You called the cops," Nathan said.
"What? No. They're always chasing someone around," the woman said. "Nothing to do with you."
Nathan let go of my hand and vaulted over the porch railing and into the dried-out flowerbed. The woman dodged over to the railing and left the way to the front steps open for me. I ran onto the front yard and sprinted toward our old sedan.
"You won't be able to get away now," the woman called from her porch.
I dove into the passenger side door just as Nathan revved the engine to life. The used car lurched forward, and Nathan pressed down hard on the gas. We screeched up the quiet street only to leave tire marks as Nathan slammed on the brakes.
One cop car rounded the corner in front of us.
Nathan whipped the old sedan around as fast as he could crank the steering wheel. Lights were flashing down a side street but we sped by before a second squad car could cut us off.
"Hang on," Nathan cried.
I grabbed the door handle and locked the doors as Nathan bumped the car up onto the dead lawn of the foreclosed house. He ripped across the overgrown gravel driveway and bounced into the alley. Then he burst through another open yard and onto the next block.
Another cop car waited on the corner, the officer out with his gun drawn. When he saw us, he started waving his hands and yelling.
Nathan's window was open as we sped by, and we both heard the police officer calling, "Nathan, stop! Nathan Walker!"
We barreled past him and the police officer aimed his gun but never fired. I watched in the rearview mirror as the cop holstered his weapon and threw his hands up in the air.
Nathan laid on the gas pedal, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He'd heard the police officer but he didn't look back.