Henry Franks A Novel - By Peter Adam Salomon Page 0,22
Academy in Brunswick on Thursday evening to discuss the investigation into what is being called a suspicious series of murders in Glynn County. While few details were given, some guidelines were provided by the Mayor to increase public safety. The main recommendation was to utilize the Buddy System by traveling in pairs when possible.
“This is not a time for panic or overreaction,” Mayor Monroe said. “This is a time for the community to come together and resolve to rededicate ourselves to preserving the safe, family-friendly environment that makes Brunswick and the Golden Isles such a wonderful place to live and visit.”
“I’m confident in the resiliency of the people of Glynn County and in the resources which have been allocated to this situation,” Mayor Monroe stated at the end of the press conference. “I urge everyone to support our community and our local businesses by continuing to enjoy the beautiful summer we have been having.”
thirteen
“Any plans for the weekend?” Justine asked as they walked off the bus.
“Air-conditioning. You?”
“Not going to the football game tonight?”
Henry slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on it. Don’t really know what I’m going to do.”
“Well,” she said, “I was thinking today.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes.” Her ponytail bobbed with her smile. “It’s a good thing. I’d like to help.”
“Help?” Henry asked.
“The pictures, in your basement.”
“What about them?”
“Want help finding them?”
The front door stuck when he tried to open it and it took a push or two to work the key. A welcome rush of cold air blew out and Henry fumbled for the light switch.
“Now I know where you get your style,” Justine said, looking around the entranceway.
“My style?”
“All dark and moody. You dress like your house.”
“It was like this when we moved in, I think. Blame the people who lived here before.” Henry matched her laugh. “Though it is a little depressing in here.”
“No wonder you’re seeing a shrink,” she said, pushing against his forearm as they walked. When he didn’t respond, she said, “That was a joke, you know?”
In the kitchen, with a couple more windows and a little more light, he looked at her. “I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“Through here.” He led the way into the laundry room. “Wasn’t a particularly funny one, though.”
“What?”
“Your joke,” he said, hair once more falling into his face. He brushed it aside and then pulled out the rolling cart. “Perhaps ‘the interior designer was suffering from Prozac withdrawal’ would have been funnier.”
Justine shook her head, ponytail flying behind her. “Mine was better than that.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Probably not.”
Henry opened the door and picked up the flashlight he’d left on the cart, complete with fresh batteries. “The pull cord’s down here. Watch your step.”
“I have a basement too, you know,” she said, closing the door behind them and walking past him down the stairs.
The hanging bulb cast a weak light over the piles of boxes.
“Back here.” Henry led the way through the basement. “This box, it had pictures in it.” He flipped the flaps open and shone the flashlight into the empty corners. “The next day they were gone. I searched everywhere but couldn’t find them. Everything was cleaned up; even the spider webs had been swept away.”
“‘So, Justine, what did you do today?’” she said. “‘Well, Mom, I went into the creepy house next door and all the spiders were gone. It was just terrible.’”
“You only think you’re funny.”
“Nope, I have a certificate and everything. It’s official; I’m funny.” She stood there looking up at him. “I’m sorry. I can stop if you’d like.”
“Really?”
“Well,” she said, a smile teasing the edges of her lips, “I could try to stop. For you.”
He turned and worked his way to the opposite end of the room, picking a box at random to open. “I think you’re funny,” he said, not looking at her.
She popped her head up from the other side of the room. “I heard that!”
“Not deaf, but definitely funny.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” She opened a box, closed it, opened the next, working her way toward him. “Someone sick?”
“Why?”
She pulled out an unopened box of face masks. “There are lots of medical supplies in here.”
“My dad’s a doctor,” he said.
“See, that’s why you’re seeing a shrink.”
“Still not funny.”
“What kind of doctor?” She closed the box and moved on to the next one.
“Forensics.”
“Like, with dead people?”
“I guess so.”
“This really is the creepy house. Does your shrink have an opening for me?”
They worked their way from one end of the