“Larry, you are not being very helpful.”
Lawrence scowls. “Don’t call me Larry.”
She knows he hates Larry; that’s why she only uses it whenever he’s pissing her off.
“I’m just worried about her, is all,” Julie says, looking away from Lawrence, toward the door behind the counter that leads to the holding cells.
“You don’t even know her.” Lawrence puts a hand on Julie’s shoulder, and she looks over at him. He’s got that concerned expression because he knows her secret, knows the way she is. The two of them have been friends since she was four and he was six, running around together in Aunt Rosa’s big backyard and looking for monsters hiding in the canna lilies. When they were older he found the girlie mags she stashed under her mattress. He didn’t tell her parents. That’s how she knows she can trust him completely.
And she hates that now he’s dismissing her like some little kid.
“Yeah, do you know all the people you help?” she demands. “Isn’t that why you decided to become a cop in the first place?”
“I’m a sheriff’s deputy. And you’re right, I don’t know them. But nothing’s going to happen to this girl, as long as she keeps her distance like everyone else.” He smiles. “We have the treaties. Do you really think your dad would have you working at the exterminator’s if he thought the monsters would break them?”
Yes, Julie thinks, but she doesn’t say anything out loud.
CHAPTER
Four
CLAIRE
Claire rides her bike to Audrey’s house. They made plans to go to the beach yesterday, when Audrey called just as Claire was clearing up the dishes from dinner. The timing was perfect, and it gave Claire a cold, shuddery feeling, like Audrey had been waiting for that exact moment to call.
Which of course is ridiculous.
Claire doesn’t have any cold, shuddery feelings right now, not in this heat. There are no clouds in the sky, just the bright, searing sun. It’s a good day to go to the beach. Of course, Claire forgot to pack sunscreen. She can already feel her skin burning through her T-shirt.
Audrey’s house materializes around the bend. It’s big and sprawling, with a three-car garage and a flower garden in the front. The flower garden is filled with roses, the blossoms big and heavy. Claire doesn’t think she’s ever seen such lush roses in June before. They ought to be burned up by now.
Claire wheels her bike up the sidewalk and props it up out of the way. She rings the doorbell and waits, wiping her sweaty hands on her shorts. She has her swimsuit on under her clothes and it’s just making her hotter.
Audrey answers.
“Claire!” she cries. “I’m so glad to see you. Come in, come in.”
The house is cool and dark and has the same silent buzzing on the air that Claire always associates with museums. Audrey shuts the door and the house vibrates with its own quiet.
“You ready to go?” Audrey speaks in a normal voice, but Claire feels like they should whisper.
Claire starts to nod. “Oh no, wait,” she says, and she hopes she isn’t pitching her voice too low. “I didn’t bring sunscreen with me and Grammy didn’t have any—”
“Oh, you can borrow some of mine! No problem at all. It’s upstairs.” She gestures with one hand, and together they walk through the foyer and into the living room. It’s decorated with black and white furniture. The only spot of color is a vase of red flowers and a red abstract painting hanging on the wall.
Claire blinks. It’s not the sort of living room she would have expected to find in Indianola.
“Oh, is this your friend?” A woman breezes in. Her hair hangs in perfectly formed waves around her face. She wears a dress and an apron and pearls and high heels, exactly like a mom from an old television show.
“It is! Mother, this is Claire.” Audrey gestures toward her and Claire forces out a smile.
“Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you!” Mrs. Duchesne holds out one hand, her nails French-tipped and filed into expert ovals. Claire shakes it. “I’m so glad there’s someone new to the neighborhood for Audrey to be friends with.” She smiles so widely that Claire’s mouth hurts. “Well, you two run along. I’ve got some baking to do.”
That does not surprise Claire in the slightest.
“This way.” Audrey leads Claire up the stairs, which open up into a landing done in the same black-and-white-and-red scheme as downstairs. It makes Claire’s eyes hurt.
A little boy runs across the landing, whooshing out of one door and into another across the way, so quickly Claire isn’t sure she saw him.
“My brother,” Audrey says, but she doesn’t elaborate.
They go into a bathroom. It’s white: white tile, white shower curtain, white rugs on the floor. It looks incomplete somehow. Half-formed. And although the floor is stone tile, neither Audrey’s nor Claire’s shoes make any noise against it; sound in the bathroom is as muffled as it is in the rest of the house, with its plush white carpet. Claire feels vaguely uneasy.
Audrey pulls an orange bottle of sunscreen out of the cabinet, the color too bright against the white backdrop.
“Is this kind okay?” She holds it up to Claire. Claire nods. The orange feels like it’s burning her eyes. She doesn’t like being in this stark, silent house. The way it muffles sounds means her heartbeat is even louder, so loud it sounds like a drum.
“Great! Let’s go, then.”
Claire steps out of the bathroom immediately—then jumps. A little boy with blond hair and solemn blue eyes stands out in the hallway. He stares at Claire, unmoving like a statue.
“Oh, get out of here, Michael.” Audrey flicks her wrist and the little boy scampers off, disappearing into a nearby room. The door slams shut. Claire is glad for that: She doesn’t know why, but she has no desire to see what lies inside that room.
They go downstairs and don’t see anyone else, although Claire hears a woman’s humming coming from someplace in the back of the house. She doesn’t recognize the melody, but it sounds old-fashioned. It makes her feel weird too, kind of empty and alone and hopeless.
When Claire steps outside again, it’s like she’s been holding her breath.
After the air-conditioned chill of Audrey’s house, the sun is pleasantly warm instead of sweltering, and Claire is grateful to be outside in the natural light. She smells the sea and exhaust from the road and realizes with a jolt that she didn’t actually smell anything in Audrey’s house, which is strange. All houses have their particular scent, a residue from the people who live there. Not Audrey’s.
“You want to put your sunscreen on now?” Audrey asks.
“I’ll do it at the beach.” Claire just wants out of here. Audrey shrugs and they climb into her car and zip off. The tree-lined road dead-ends into the main street leading into town. It’s a street that Claire recognizes. The rest of the way through town is familiar—normal, even. Slowly, the weird chattery feeling from being inside Audrey’s house subsides until it seems as intangible as a bad dream.
They pull up at a stoplight. The exterminator building is on the other side of the intersection. The neon cockroach sign flickers. Claire wishes cockroaches were all she had to worry about.