The Girl in the Trees

  "He is coming back," Miranda insisted, pushing her small body up against the intruder's, "and he won't be happy to find you around here. He don't like anyone messing with any of his stuff. Now I got plenty of work to get done and you don't belong here, so go!"

  "Maybe he will and maybe he won't," mused Caroline, or whatever her name really was. "You go do your work. I'll just rest here a spell and think about things. I won't get in your way. And mostly I won't give you away. I could have, you know. I could have told that sheriff some story."

  Miranda took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, the way she did when confronted with a difficult problem. A million thoughts were racing across her brain. Where was the gun, for one thing, and she remembered it was up in the loft, safe and sound. What she should do next was an idea full of options. She had counted on the old woman just being some old bag lady lost in the woods, who'd be grateful enough for what she had gotten and would be on her way without further ado. Now it seemed she was wrong about that, but what could the old woman possibly want, and what kind of person was she after all? Miranda needed time and space to think about things.

  "I've got my chores to get done," she announced, "and I don't want you here when I return, is that clear?"

  "It's clear what you want," Caroline said as Miranda stomped out of the house, slamming the front door behind her. Caroline snorted and dropped herself back into the seat.

  "Nice view from here," she said to herself, as she looked out of the window at the trees and the mountains rising beyond.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bill Landis considered himself to be something of a primetime ladies man. He like proving himself over and over again. There was nothing so fine as showing off how good he could be and he lived to impress. 'Make the ladies happy, make the children happy' was his mantra, and he was pretty darn good at leg work. He had dug up all that information about Loretta and Dean in no time at all, and had been paid with some admiration from Lucky, but she wanted more. She wanted to know where her sister was now, and Bill Landis was at a dead end. There was nothing. He stalled for more time but in the end it was clear that he would have to go onsite how to get any further. His job would never pay for something like that. Lucky could never pay either. He didn't know how he was going to make it work out. He might have to make it a personal road trip. The Christmas holidays were coming up, and he did like hitting the highways on his Harley, get away from the wife and the kids.

  He was a pretty decent investigator, but not so good as a lawyer. He'd made it up to associate by diligent, competent work but would never make partner, not in his current firm or anywhere else. He'd been proud of his talents as a P.I., but grown weary of the seediness inherent in the work. Nearly all of the people he dealt with on a daily basis were small-time, snatching at any dollar they could find. In the legal world, those dollar signs were the size of billboards, and his clients were at least a step or two removed from the street. Within that world, however, competition was fierce, not just for position but for the attentions of a woman like Lucky. She'd had her children early in life and was still in her prime, and every male lawyer in the firm was paying her court. Bill had made more progress than he had a right to expect, but he was still down the line and he knew it. He didn't have much else to offer after the initial data dump, only Calvin's alleged phone number, which he'd called several times and left detailed messages, but no one had answered and no one had ever called back. The voice on the answering machine said it was Calvin, but maybe he never checked on his voice mail.

  Lucky didn't think that he checked on his email much either. After contemplating appropriate punishments, she had finally confronted her children and taken drastic, if appropriate measures. She unplugged their router and took it into the office. There was to be no more internet at all in the house for a month. If that meant they had to stay after school to use the library's computers for homework, so be it. If that meant no phone calls with friends late at night, well too bad. No online video games either. In fact, she took away their laptops as well so there was no gaming at all, no nothing at all for four weeks. The kids were reduced to having to watch television. And of course they were grounded. She meant business. Snooping into her private, personal life was not going to go without consequences. She made damn sure of that.

  She also made Grace turn over her own personal emails, so that Lucky could get equal prying. She didn't read many of them, though. She found it as boring and stupid as she remembered being fourteen herself, but she did read the notes from Miranda. It struck her how different her niece seemed from not only her own kids, but from herself, from her sister as well. Miranda sounded older and curiously studious. She wrote about things she was observing for herself and learning from what was around her. She wrote about the subtle changes she noticed in chicks as they grew from one day to the next. She wrote about the different kinds of wind and the music they played in the trees. She wrote about how the horses reacted to various birds. It was strange. Lucky couldn't remember the last time that she herself noticed a bird and knew what it was. 'Probably pigeons', she said to herself, 'or maybe a crow'. In the suburbs there was nothing to see, or there was but who saw it?

  Lucky wanted to know more. She waited impatiently for Miranda - or Calvin - to reply to her own querying email, but no response came, and as the days passed she only got more and more interested. She decided her best chance was Bill, so she let him know how grateful she'd be, how much it would mean to her personally. She turned up her smiles and accepted more invitations to lunch, hinted at maybe even a dinner sometime. Bill didn't need too much prompting. He was already planning his winter vacation.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miranda had a lot to think about. Since the sheriff's first visit, she had felt like the whole world was slowly closing in on her, only now the pace was picking up. She needed to get away from the house and clear her head, so she saddled up Wilma and hitched the hay cart to her, and set off down the path to the remnants of the winter hay pile. All her built-up tension served her well as she heaved some of the lower bales up onto the cart. She thought maybe she wouldn't need that special forklift gadget if she could just get riled up enough. That so-called Caroline Harden was doing it for her in a big way, but it wasnt just her. Lately she'd been getting a voicemail message every day from some man she didn't know. He called in the morning, he called in the afternoon and sometimes even in the evening. Every time he left the same message: "Hello, this is Bill Landis, I'm an attorney out of Fresno, trying to get in touch with Mr. Calvin Harden concering a case regarding his late daughter-in-law, Loretta Harden knee Robbins" (at least she heard it as 'knee'). I'd sure appreciate if you'd give me a call back at your earliest convenience. My number here is ..." The same message every time and there must have been twenty or thirty of them all in all. She'd deleted them one by one after listening carefully just to see if there were any variations but there weren't. It was as if he had recorded them and was just automatically playing it back.

  She didn't know what "case" could possibly involve her dead mother after all of these years, and she was sure that if Calvin were still alive he would have ignored them just as she did. He'd never made any secret of his loathing for her mom, and nothing would have interested him less than anything involving her. He probably never knew she had a twin sister, either. Miranda hadn't that until she'd come in contact with her cousins, and now their mother, her genuine aunt, was writing her emails as well. Actually, only one email, Miranda had to admit, but it made a major impression upon her. Her Aunt Lucille was very well spoken (or written, whatever you were supposed to say about that).

  "Dear Miranda," her email read, "I realize we don't know one another, but I feel, from reading your correspondence with my daughter, as if were family. You seem like a wonderful person and we would all so much love to meet you in person. You should know that I lost touch with your mother - my sister - some years before you were born. The last time I saw her her name was still Robbins an
d she still lived out here in Fresno with us. She was sixteen at the time, not much older than my Grace is now. It's so hard to believe! Loretta and I were always close - we shared a room our whole lives until then - and then, after she ran away, well, I never did see her again. We talked a couple of times on the phone. She was lost, needed money but wouldn't come home. I sent her whatever I could, but then, after that, there was nothing. I was only eighteen when I had Grace, and twenty when Lark came along, so your mother must have been twenty as well at the time of your birth. I wish I had been there for that! I wish I had known where she was."

  "We are a typical family now. I'm divorced, and the kids don't see much of their dad, who has long since re-married and had another child, a six year old boy named Bodiah. Really, that's what they named him! Anyway, we have a nice house in a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburds. The kids walk to school - it's only a few blocks away. I work part-time in a law firm as a receptionist. I like my job, and the people I work with. It keeps me on my toes, I suppose. We were hoping that you could come visit sometime. You could stay for as long as you like. We've been trying to reach your grandfather - one of the lawyers in my firm, Bill Landis, tells me he's left many voice mails - but so far we haven't had a response. It must have been difficult for him, raising a child all alone at his age. Or maybe we could come visit you, if you'd like, and if you'd tell us how we can find you. Bill says he can't find an address, but that you live on a ranch in the mountains. That sounds so exciting! Are you happy up there? I sure hope so. Please write and let me know what you think. Will you come and see us? I'll put my address below. Or maybe we will come and see you? Either way, whatever is best, whatever you want. All my love, your long-lost Aunt, Lucille."

  Miranda had memorized the note but still read it directly on the phone at least once a day since she'd gotten it. It brought out so many different feelings. She was over her initial reaction to Grace, having since decided that the girl was like all the girls she saw in the movies. In other words, nothing like her. She was afraid of such girls. Miranda herself was so shy, and what she had seen about American girls of her age was truly frightening to her. They had all these little cliques and were hung up on fashions and boys and insulted each other in very mean ways, especially the ones who weren't perfectly pretty and polished. Miranda wasn't pretty or polished, she thought, and she was so shy, she'd never fit it. She'd be the weird one, the odd duck, the one the others would tease and make fun of. She didn't want to go there. She just wanted to be left alone. If they found her and caught her and made her go with them, she'd end up in one of those schools, which as far as she knew were all filled with drugs, and crazy mass shootings by boys in black trenchcoats, and unhappy people all making each other as miserable as possible. She'd looked up about Fresno and shuddered to think of it. It sounded to her like a genuine hell, flat and hot and stretched out for miles with nothing but fast food drive-thrus and sleazy motels, where people had pit bulls behind chain-link fences, and the only thing keeping them sane was the sight of the mountains way off in the distance. She just wanted to stay where she was, and now there was this old lady.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She didn't even know who the old woman was, let alone where she came from or what she wanted. She was like a huge, scary sort of human meteor who'd come crashing out of the woods and into her life. Miranda was still pretty convinced the old woman was crazy, homeless most likely, and lost, but she sure made herself right at home. How could a person even do that? Miranda couldn't imagine being like that, just walking right into somebody's house and bossing some kid around as if she deserved it, and if she was some kind of queen. Miranda would have to do some more research on random mentally unbalanced intruders. In the meantime, she had to get rid of her somehow, but how? She was feeling strong now, heaving those hay bales onto the cart, but soon she would have to go back, and then she would have to do something.

  Do what? She couldn't find an answer to the question persistently gnawing at her. She'd already asked the woman to leave. Then told her to leave. What else could she do? She couldn't physically push the big ogress out of the house and all the way down the mountain. She had to leave on good terms as well, because maybe she'd go right to the sheriff. How could she bribe her? Miranda didn't have any money. All she had was online accounts. Maybe she could transfer some amount from the bank? Maybe she could make a deposit in some Western Union location and the woman could go pick it up? How much would she want, and wouldn't she then just come back for more? How to make it all reasonable? Miranda was terribly confused. She had to get more information.

  As she rode the horse back up the hill, and then in the barn unloading the cart, she tried to map out a plan, but all of her strategems were destined to fail. Caroline was right where she'd left her, occupying Calvin's old chair with her feet propped up onto the wood stove. Her eyes were closed but she was awake, and opened one when she heard Miranda come in.

  "What's for dinner?" she wanted to know. Miranda had decided to seize the initiative, and tried.

  "Who are you, anyway?" she demanded, as she stalked over and stood right beside her.

  "I'm your dear old auntie. Isn't that what you told the policeman? It sounds good to me," and she chuckled.

  "You're not my aunt. I'm asking you now, who are you, really?"

  "I don't see why you need to know," the old woman replied. "I'm here now, and that's how it is."

  "Nothing is what it is," Miranda said for no reason. She didn't even know what she meant. Already the woman had mixed her all up and she couldn't think straight anymore.

  "Your grandfather isn't, that's one thing for sure," the old woman mused. "How long's he been gone? My guess is, oh, at least a few months. You've been carrying on on your own. Now how do you do that? There must be some money around here. Am I right?"

  Both of her eyes were now opened wide, and staring right into Miranda's. The girl took a step back.

  "I don't have any money," she said. "You're some kind of robber, aren't you? Some kind of thief?"

  "Everybody needs money," the old woman said, ignoring the rude accusations. "What I don't get is what you are up to. Most people don't like being alone. Now me, I don't mind. I don't much like people, to tell you the truth. They've never been nothing but trouble to me. Don't you ask. It's none of your business. And you, such a young little girl, and so quiet and good. I'll bet you never caused the old man any trouble. I'll bet you did everything for him, just like maybe you were his wife, or his servant."

  "We were partners," Miranda shouted indignantly. "We shared all the work. It wasn't like that!"

  "No?" the old woman nodded. "But you definitely said 'was' so I know that I'm right. What happened? Oh, don't tell me. I can see it all in your eyes. Your grandfather died. He just went up and died. Now that wasn't so practical, was it? And him such a practical man."

  "What do you know? You don't know anything about it!" Miranda roared. "Now get out of my house and leave me alone, or I swear I'll, I swear you'll regret it."

  "Maybe I will, and maybe I won't," Caroline calmly replied. "In any case, I ain't going nowhere. Now we've settled that, I'll ask one more time. What's for dinner? What have you got?"

  "Nothing for you!" Miranda spat. "No work, no food. That's the rule."

  "Then I'll work," the old woman shrugged, and began to get up. "I'll make dinner myself if I have to. And while I'm about it, I'll make something for you. Now let's see what you've got around here. This morning I didn't see much."

  Miranda stood speechless and hopelessly enraged and she watched the old woman shuffle off to the kitchen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once again Caroline was banging around the cupboards and the small refrigerator, complaining the whole time about how little there was.

  "You must eat like a minnow," she proclaimed. "There's barely enough in here to feed a small parakeet."

  Nevertheless, she had soon pulled out some eggs and goat cheese, and muttering something about the ga
rden she'd noticed, briskly stepped out and returned with a handful of freshly grown spinach. This she washed in the sink and set to one side.

  "Next you're going to tell me you don't have any pie plates. No, don't bother. I can see for myself. But these old pottery bowls over here, they'll have to do. Now, where's your oven. What? You call that an oven?" she scoffed at the small toaster oven perched on the counter.

  "That is going to take some real doing," the muttered. By this time Miranda had quietly wandered over, curious as to what the old woman was up to.

  "No butter?" Caroline inquired, peeking back at the girl, who shook her head slowly.

  "Just vegetable oil? My god, what a ruffian you are."

  "Sometimes we have butter," Miranda began to explain, but Caroline interrupted.

  "You must be going to that store," she said, "the one that sheriff was talking about. What are they, Carters he said? I know you don't grow your own oil, not to mention this flour," she said, as she grabbed the small bag off its shelf. Miranda sighed deeply, clearly the old woman was going to exhaust her supplies in one go. Before she knew it, her guest was rolling out two small pie crusts, wrapping them inside the old ceramic bowls, and filling them with a mixture of cheese, eggs and spinach.

  "It's a sort of a quiche," the old woman explained. 'Of course if we had some butter it would be a real quiche, but you do what you can."

  She popped the two bowls into the small toaster oven and guessed at a setting.

  "We'll just have to watch it," she explained, turning around. "Or smell it, more likely, though I can't say I know the odor of perfectly baked goat cheese souffle."

  "By the way, someone called while you were out doing whatever it is that you do," she said, standing solid with her hands on her hips as if scolding her own wayward daughter.

  "What do you mean?" Miranda was puzzled, then realized she'd left her cellphone plugged in on the loft.