Right finger. “Dark outside. Too.”
“It’s dark outside and it’s hard to see. But you can see Father’s white robe and the lady’s white blouse. The other two men are wearing dark clothes.”
Another look of confusion. She pouted. “Ha-ard.”
“It’s okay, Lucy. Whatever you see is okay. Just tell me whatever you want to.”
She squinted, as if trying to focus. Tensed and sat up.
“Shovel . . . digging . . . Hairy Lip . . . Father holding the lady. Hairy Lip and the other man are digging. Digging fast, digging. Digging and digging. Digging. Father holding . . . heavy. Says “Heavy’ . . . “Hurry the hell up!’ Angry . . . puts her down. . . .”
She shook her head and sweat flew.
I dabbed her again. “Father put the lady down on the ground?”
Right finger.
“Digging . . . and digging and digging. . . . “Roll it.’ ” Her voice deepened. “Roll it, roll it!’ ”
“You’re watching it, Lucy. On the screen. You’re sa—”
Her fingernails dug into mine. The child’s voice returned. “Lady . . . gone. Lady gone! Lady gone! Lady gone!”
CHAPTER
25
She slipped into inert silence as I flipped the calendar pages back to the present.
Before I brought her completely out, I gave her posthypnotic suggestions to feel refreshed and successful and to be able to remember anything she’d seen that night while remaining relaxed.
She came out smiling and yawning. “I’m not sure what happened, but I feel pretty good.”
I had her stretch and walk around. Then I told her.
“Three men,” she said.
“You described one as having a hairy lip.”
She rubbed the rim of her water glass. “A mustache? I can’t really remember that—can’t remember anything—but that feels right. Hints of memories, distant but right. Am I making sense?”
“Perfect sense.”
“Can I go back under and try some more?”
“I think we’ve done enough.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“All right,” I said. “But promise me not to try anything by yourself before then.”
“I promise. Now can I see that picture of Karen?”
I went and got the clipping from the Shoreline Shopper.
The moment she looked at the photo her hands began to shake.
She took the paper from me, stared at it for a long time. As she began to read, her hands stilled. But the color had left her face and her freckles stood out like Braille dots.
Handing the clipping back to me, she nodded. Then she cried.
At four, I drove to the Sand Dollar. The film crew was there again and a blond beach goddess in a black thong bikini was posing on the sand with a sweating can of beer.
As I entered the restaurant, I spotted Doris Reingold at the bar. She got off her stool. “Hi, there.” After seating me near the window, she said, “Back in a jiff.”
I was the only customer in the place. The beach was unpopulated. A busboy brought me coffee and I watched the blonde smile on command, flipping her hair, turning herself slowly like a chicken on a spit.
“Good view?” said Doris, pad in hand.
“Hooray for Hollywood.”
She laughed. “Good to see you back. Early dinner? We just got in some fresh local halibut.”
“No, just a snack. What kind of pie do you have?”
“Lemme see.” She ticked her pad with her pen. “Today we’ve got apple and chocolate cream and, I think, pecan.”
“Apple with vanilla ice cream.”
She brought me a double wedge under two dollops of ice cream.
“Feel free to sit down,” I said.
She touched her gray hair. “Sure. Marvin’s not in for a while, why not?”
After pouring coffee for herself, she slid into the booth, the way she had the first time. Looking out at the blonde, she said, “Girl like that, gonna get herself one of two things: rich or in trouble.”
“Or both.” I cut into the pie.
“True,” she said. “One doesn’t eliminate the other. You have kids?”
“No, I’m not married.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. You know the definition of a bachelor? No kids—to speak of.”
We both chuckled.