The Replacement Child - By Christine Barber Page 0,95

said roughly as she headed into the house. She took a couple of deep breaths. She could do this.

She started calling out, “Ma’am, ma’am, I’m a medic.” It reminded her of when she and Gerald had first gone into Patsy Burke’s house. She heard an answer from the back of the mobile home. Lucy made her way past overstuffed furniture and shelves of dolls, which the woman collected. She must be the sole supporter of the Franklin Mint.

The woman lay on the bed overflowing with more dolls; their unanimated faces creeped Lucy out. The woman was in a long-sleeved nightgown, trying to draw it over her head. Lucy murmured, “Let me help you with that.”

The left side of Lily Hitts’s face was drooping, and she looked out of it. Lucy needed Gerald inside. Now.

“You know what, Lily? I think we’re going to need some help.” Lily looked panicked. Lucy continued in a soothing voice. “It’s okay. The guys outside are friends of mine. I’ll make sure you look decent.”

Lucy yelled for Gerald to come in. A second later, Gerald and the other EMT came in. The EMT took Lily’s vitals while Lucy tried to keep her calm and Gerald hooked up a heart monitor. Lily kept trying to get out of her nightgown and into a skirt and a blouse. Lucy gently kept her still. She didn’t even listen as Gerald and the EMT talked to each other, doing what needed to be done, while Lucy tried to keep Lily’s attention. Lucy tried to think of questions to ask. But all she could think of were the creepy dolls, so she asked about them. Lily was able to tell her that she had been collecting dolls for fifty years, but within a sentence or two she stopped talking and could only hold Lucy’s hand tightly. Gerald was suddenly at her side with the gurney. They moved Lily onto the stretcher, with Lucy making comforting noises the whole time. They got her out of the mobile home and into the ambulance. Lily never let go of Lucy’s hand.

“Good job,” was all Gerald said with a smile as he hopped into the ambulance. Still, Lucy smiled back, her anger at Gerald easing a little. Maybe she could do this medic thing after all. She got back into her car and smiled with pride. Then stopped. She had no right to be proud of herself. None at all. So she had helped one old lady. That didn’t make up for the other one, who had died.

Ten minutes later, Lucy was parked in front of Patsy Burke’s house. The crime-scene tape was gone, probably taken by the wind. She tried to imagine Patsy Burke’s life—listening to the scanner, calling the paper. But all she could think of was her body slumped backward over the chair, her body contorted in death. Lucy shook her head to make the image leave. She tried to remember the Patsy Burke who was in the pictures that lined the walls—smiling, joyful, alive.

But Lucy couldn’t remember what Patsy Burke looked like. Had she had full gray hair or salt-and-pepper? Had her eyes been blue or brown? It bothered Lucy that she couldn’t remember. Patsy Burke deserved to be remembered. It was Lucy’s duty to remember. She owed her that much. In truth, she owed her so much more.

Lucy drove to the Capital Tribune office even though it was her day off. She knew how she could find out if Mrs. Burke’s eyes had been brown.

Gil set the groceries on the counter, eager to get out of the Strunks’ and find Pollack. Gil glanced through the kitchen door into the living room, where Ken Strunk was sitting on a couch. Strunk jumped up quickly and rushed into the kitchen with an exaggerated, “I could have helped you with the groceries, dear. Detective Montoya needs to get going.” But Gil had seen the couch—a light blue one with dark blue swirls—an exact match with the one Sandra Paine had been photographed on.

He tried to hide his surprise, forcing his face to be impassive, knowing that Strunk was watching him closely. He walked nonchalantly into the living room, which was decorated in pastels and watercolors. The couch matched the room perfectly.

“This is an interesting couch,” was all he said.

Mrs. Strunk piped up with, “Yes. It’s one-of-a-kind. I had it made to match the picture behind it.”

Gil glanced at the picture. It looked like something Therese might have drawn with her crayons. It had