“I don’t know what you’re mad about. I could’ve carried you into that nun’s cell of sleeping quarters you’ve got, and we’d be hard at it by now. Hell, I could’ve had you on the staircase. By leaving, I was trying to do the right thing. You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you? For using me to get a cheap thrill, to cheat on your girlfriend, make her jealous, whatever? No. But I do have something to thank you for.”
She flung her hand toward the house. “You opened my eyes about the house. Build it up, tear it down, the mysteries will still be there. Like freaking ghosts. But I’m going to rid myself of them.”
She pulled herself up straighter. “Your services won’t be needed after all, Mr. Burnet. The house will stay as is, indefinitely, while I look for answers somewhere else.”
She turned.
“Arden, wait. Stop. Will you wait a goddamn minute?” he shouted. “What do you mean you’ll look for answers somewhere else?”
She kept walking, went inside, and slammed the door behind her, taking great pleasure in locking him out with the hardware he’d provided.
Chapter 19
Ledge knocked. “It’s me.”
Seconds later, Crystal opened her front door and greeted him with a smile. “Well, you’ve made yourself scarce lately. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“Where’s Marty?”
“Working the three-to-eleven shift.”
She stepped aside, and he went in, saying, “Don’t bet on it being a pleasure to see me.”
“You’re in a mood?”
“And then some.”
“Does it have to do with that gash on your face?”
“That’s the tip of the iceberg.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“It is.”
He made his way into the living room, where he plopped down in the center of the sofa, laid his head back on the cushion, and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Jesus, what a mess.”
“Henry?” she asked with worry.
“Well, that, yeah. But not in particular tonight.”
She claimed the corner of the sofa and curled her legs up under her hips. “What’s going on?”
He lowered his hands and rolled his head to the side in order to look at her. Time and maturity had changed her features only slightly. She maintained the exotic—some called it bewitching—quality she’d had the first time he’d noticed her.
Fifth grade. Recess. She’d been standing off to one side of the playground, alone. She hadn’t been included in any of the horseplay or games. She hadn’t attempted to join any. She’d spent the entire twenty minutes of freedom looking confined, standing alongside the cyclone fence, shrinking against it any time another kid came near, as though afraid she would be noticed and challenged for taking up space.
Ledge had had his share of experience with that kind of social ostracism. He’d been the only kid in his grade who didn’t have at least one living parent. His uncle was raising him, and his “home” was the ell annex of a bar and pool hall. That had made him different, which meant he might just as well have had leprosy.
However, even at that age, he’d been tough enough, sizable enough, to pose a threat to the elementary school kingpins like Rusty Dyle.
But this girl with skinny legs and breasts just beginning to bud on her narrow chest appeared too timid to defend herself against a butterfly. His feelings of protectiveness began that day, although he hadn’t even known her name yet.
They were in different classrooms, but after that recess, he’d made it his business to find out that her name was Crystal Ivers. He’d kept an eye on her in the cafeteria and on the playground, ready to jump in if anybody bothered her.
No one did. She was ignored. Which in many ways was worse.
Then one windy day after dismissal, he’d spotted her chasing down the contents of her notebook, which she’d dropped on the sidewalk. He’d run to help. Between the two of them, they’d managed to collect all the scattered sheets of paper.
He’d walked over the ones he’d caught and handed them to her. She’d thanked him in a voice he could barely hear as she’d stuffed her schoolwork back into her notebook and, using both thin arms, secured it against her chest. Shyly, she’d met his gaze then given a furtive look around.
To begin a dialogue, he’d said, “You’re in Miss Henderson’s class.” Then he thought that was a dumb thing to say. Like she didn’t know whose class she was in. “My name’s Ledge. Ledge Burnet.”
She’d shot another quick look over her shoulder. “I’m not supposed