The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane by Laird Koenig

Author:Laird Koenig [Koenig, Laird]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781608040001
Publisher: Titans of Fortune Publishing
Published: 2010-09-20T04:30:00+00:00

11

SHE FOUGHT to cover her rush of fear. She fought, too, to make some sense of what had happened. The policeman had come to this same door, but he had driven off down the lane. The shadow that flickered across the curtain had not been the officer’s. All the time Miglioriti had been drinking wine with Rynn and Mario, Hallet had been at the house. Hallet had been waiting.

The man in the doorway smoothed long strands of tangled hair over his gleaming bald head. His watery blue eyes betrayed his share of surprise at the sight of the bicycle in the hall. His eyes shot to the sitting room to find the boy in the cape.

Hallet made no move. Behind him, out in the black night, the bare branches moved in the wind, scraping and clacking together.

Rynn prayed the man could not see how her legs shook under her caftan. Usually so quick to take action, so calm, so inventive with answers, she had no move to make, nothing to say. When she heard the tap-tap of Mario’s cane, when she remembered that unlike every other night, she was not alone tonight, she blessed Mario in silence.

Mario tapped his way to stand at her side.

Hallet made the first move. Neither Rynn nor Mario knew how to stop him.

Now it was too late to shut him out.

He made no sign, no gesture, he uttered no command, but at each step he took into the hall, Rynn and Mario stumbled back. He was here. He needed to do nothing more to show them he was master of this place. At the strong scent of cologne Rynn stifled a wave of nausea.

Hallet’s hands, usually pink, now glowed an angry red from the cold, and he kneaded them together as he approached the bicycle. He stared at the machine as if such a thing had never been seen in a house.

Rynn and Mario found themselves retreating into the parlor, moving when the man moved, stumbling back when he advanced.

Not until Hallet stood on the braided rug did he stop. Here he drew the tiny tube of ointment from his pocket and slid its shine over his heavy lips. In the same way he had stared at the bicycle, he now glanced around the room, focusing first on the couch, then the rocking chair, the woodbox, the table, as if this were the first time he had looked at these things. Almost unconsciously he smoothed a wrinkle from the braided rug with his suede shoes. One step took him to the wall and the cardboard carton. The suede shoe prodded the box. Glasses clinked.

"Jelly glasses?" he asked without turning to look at the girl.

She nodded yes.

At the table he picked up one of the pewter candlesticks and a pink finger probed the still warm wax. He turned the pewter in his hand before he set it down beside the two dinner plates, the wine glasses, the stained and crumpled napkins.

"Only two for dinner?"

He unbuttoned his raincoat, stripped it off, and flung it to the surprised boy.

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