But, of course, the window had been locked. Airtight and inescapable.
A sudden vertigo spun me around as I imagined the animal’s eyes on the sealed world outside. His claws scrabbling, his heart whirring. I sat on the edge of the bed breathe deep breathe slow and scanned the room until I found what I was looking for.
Curled in the very back of the fireplace hearth, a glove-sized lump of russet fur. The squirrel must have fallen down the chimney sometime this past winter, right into this room. Where he’d battled, lost, then crawled off to die. What a lonely end, even for a dumb, helpless creature.
Especially for a dumb, helpless creature—that’s what Mags would have said. Maggie was the ultimate bleeding heart for all animals, shelter dogs and kittens and wayward spiders. If she were here, she would have insisted on a funeral. She’d want me to do something.
After a dazed minute or two, I crept across to the fireside and knelt there. The grate was blackened, the hearth thick with fresh ash and cinders. “I’m sorry, guy,” I whispered. “That must have been a scary way to go.”
But the smell was killing me. I had to get out.
EIGHT
“What happened to you?”
I’d returned to the kitchen, my unease refocused with the express purpose of finding Isa.
“Nothing. Have you seen Isa?”
Connie, holding a basket, was about to head downstairs to the laundry room. Her shark eyes looked suspicious. “Latht I knew, thee wath playing out in the rain without a raincoat. But what’th wrong with you? You look pale ath death.”
By the view from the kitchen windows, no Isa. “If she’s still out there, I should go get her and bring her in.”
Turning, I saw them. His clothes. Pink shirt and khakis made a large, sopping wet ball on the top of the basket. My fears refreshed. “Where’d you find those?”
Connie adjusted her basket. “On the lawn. Panth might be ruined—they’re linen. Itha mutht’ve taken them out of her father’th clothet for dreth-up.”
She spoke so matter-of-factly, as if daring me to contradict her. “Connie, didn’t you see that kid out there with Isa? It wasn’t Milo.”
A pound of thunder made me jump as glasses rattled on the shelves. Connie was frowning. “Oh, tho now ith Milo playing in the rain, too?” A fleck of spit hit my cheek.
“I just said that it wasn’t Milo. It was someone else. A skinny kid, with pale eyes and reddish brown hair.”
Connie’s lips pinched, but she let her laundry basket slip-slide to the floor as she blew into her hankie. “Jutht thtop. I mean it, Jamie. Whyever would you thay that? Nobody wath out there. Nobody.” She crossed to the back kitchen door to send another frown through its Dutch window.
“I saw someone.”
“Then you need glatheth.”
“Why are you so sure I didn’t?”
She turned on me, indignant, her eyes bugged, nostrils flaring and her nose the color of ham. “You think you can give me a fright, don’t you? You know, you might be too much like Jethie for your own good. Everything ith funny, ithn’t it? Everything ith a joke. Ath if I don’t have enough to trouble me with my feet thwelled up like bread. Latht thing I need ith you trying to thcare me. Latht thing—do you hear? Between you and thith dratted rain, it’th enough to thend me back to bed till Thunday morning.” And then, in a final, grand gesture, she swanned over to a high cupboard to locate a bottle of bleach, dropping it on top of the pile of dirty clothes before hauling the basket back up on her hip. Looking so self-righteous I might have giggled, if Mags had been around. Or anyone.
“Maybe Jessie thought this place needed some laughs,” I said.
“Well, I am not a profethional comedian. I am a houthkeeper.”
“Speaking of, there’s a dead squirrel in the canopy bedroom on the third floor. He must have fallen down the chimney. He’s decomposing, it’s pretty gross. I guess you don’t get up there much?”
“I get up there regular enough,” Connie scoffed. “And I keep the chimney flueth locked tight. There hathn’t been a fire built in a Thkylark hearth in yearth.”
I didn’t bother to comment on the fresh ashes. Thankfully, right when I needed it, my pill was beginning to soften my world. I was getting lax again, unbothered by Connie’s scolding.
“But I’ll go double-check,” she said after another long pause, “when I get half a minute.” She regarded me, the skin around her eyes winced tight. “By the way, your mother rang the houth line a little while ago. I did call for you. You better recharge your phone and call her back. Or find Itha. Whichever’th your priority.”
Without waiting for my response, she turned and marched down to the basement.
After a quick ground-floor patrol—no luck—I ran upstairs, hollering Isa’s name.
My cell wasn’t dead. I’d just turned it off. I went to my bedroom to retrieve it. Inhaled. I knew why my mother was hounding me. This wouldn’t be fun, but I’d get it over quick.
“It’s me.”
“Jamie! How are you adjusting? Is the job easy to handle? Is Isa a good girl?”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s sweet. And it’s really scenic here. Like a postcard.” I looked out my window. Lighthouse. Of course. I’d bet anything Isa went there. “But, Mom, it’s raining pretty hard and I need to go—”
“Then, Jamers, I guess I better cut right to it. Dad and I think someone’s been into our prescriptions. Scads of pills have gone missing.”
“That’s odd.” Hunch confirmed.
“Honey, please be honest. Did you … borrow … any of our painkillers? I need the truth here.”
“Maybe I took a handful. For my back pain.”
“And what about my allergy meds?”
“Oh, right, and maybe four or five of those. But Tess grabbed some of Dad’s muscle relaxers for her stress fracture. I saw her with the bottle. Right before she left for Croatia.”
“A lot of Dad’s antihistamines are gone, too.”
“Probably Tess again.” My sister could handle some blame. She’d be safe at college in a couple of months anyway.
Mom, who hardly ever got mad, sounded maddish. “Those are Dad’s and my own specific doctor’s prescriptions. What are you girls thinking, treating our medicine cabinet like some kind of pharmacy buffet? I would never have thought my own daughters—wait, now Dad wants to say something.”