Wreath Page 24

  Julia nodded, anxious. “She’s the new student who transferred in from Lucky this year. One of the top students in the senior class.”

  “I see her name.” The clerk frowned. “This is odd, though. We never got the official transcript from her last school, plus she’s missing the required medical records.”

  Julia winced as another piece of the mystery of Wreath fell away. “It’s probably an oversight. She’s an A student, a very bright girl.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned her,” the clerk said. “If she doesn’t get this information turned in, she can’t graduate. I need to follow up with her parents.”

  “Not parents,” Julia said. “She lives with a cousin. I’ll mention it when I talk to him.”

  “Make sure you do. She can have the best grades in Rapides Parish, but she won’t graduate without straightening this out.”

  Julia exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “What’s that phone number, please?”

  The clerk looked closer at the screen, still frowning. “Apparently they didn’t have a phone when she registered,” she said, “but I have an address.” She wrote the street name and number on an index card and handed it to Julia. “Be sure Wreath stops by to see me. I’d hate for her not to get her diploma over a filing error.”

  “She’s not only counting on a diploma, but on a scholarship,” Julia said and walked out in the hall, looking down at the address on the card. She knew it was not where Wreath’s cousin lived.

  It was the address for Durham’s Fine Furnishings.

  An error had not caused the missing records.

  Something very strange was going on with Wreath Williams.

  The front door swung open, the bells ringing loudly with the force of a hard shove.

  Faye hurried from the workroom, hoping it was Wreath, who had missed work yesterday without letting her know.

  A large man was silhouetted near the plate glass window, the glare making it hard to see his features.

  “Hello, Mrs. Durham, how are you?” The voice was higher pitched than his size suggested, his hair was pulled back in a ridiculous tiny ponytail, his fingers covered with rings. “It’s me, Fred Procell.”

  “Oh Fred, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Mr. Billy,” he said. “He was one of the best men I ever worked for.”

  One of the only men Fred ever worked for, if Faye remembered correctly. Fred had been Billy’s deliveryman for about a year but had left work one day and never come back. They’d suspected he’d stolen the day’s receipts, but Billy said it wasn’t worth fooling with.

  “I was wondering if you might need a worker around here,” Fred said. “I’m looking for a job.”

  “Oh, I have help,” Faye said. “She’s …” Suddenly she shut up. Something about this man made her uneasy, and she didn’t want to discuss Wreath. “J. D. next door fills in for me from time to time, and the Nelsons from church have been good to me.”

  The hulking man studied the store, as though memorizing it. Faye wondered if it were her imagination, or if his eyes lingered on the desk drawer where she kept cash, checks, and credit card receipts.

  “Do you know of anyone who might be hiring?” he asked.

  “No. Business is slow most places these days,” she said. “You’d probably do better somewhere besides Landry.”

  “I’ve heard you’re doing well here.” He walked over to the clothing area. “Junkyard Couture. Do people buy this old stuff?”

  “Sometimes.” Faye inched toward the door. She could see J. D. on the sidewalk near the hardware store and hoped he might wander in as he so often did these days.

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll check back in with you later,” Fred said. “Maybe you’ll hear of something.”

  “Probably not.” Faye did not want him to come back in the store. He was definitely a shifty-looking sort. “I don’t hear much news around town anymore. You might check at the hardware store.”

  She felt guilty foisting him off but knew J. D. was plenty strong enough to handle him. She’d never thought about it before, but J. D.

  looked quite fit for a man his age.

  “Could I trouble you for a drink of water before I get going?” Fred asked, moving farther into the store as Faye walked toward the door. She couldn’t think of a way to turn him down without showing her nervousness, and she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. Which she was, although she couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “Water’s in the back.” She strode past him, leaving a wide circle between them. He seemed to notice, and something like a smirk came to his lips.

  As Faye ushered him to the rear of the store, she looked over her shoulder at the clock. It was almost time for Wreath to come in, and Faye was going to do her best to keep the man from laying eyes on the girl. A sweet, pretty young woman like Wreath didn’t need any contact with a man like Fred Procell.

  Her eyes were as watchful as his as they moved through the showroom.

  Right as they reached the rear, the back door, left unlocked during business hours since Julia had started coming over frequently, flew open. The door opened easily now, thanks to J. D. and what Wreath called his Magic Hardware Juice.

  “Faye, have you seen Wreath today?” Julia asked and then stopped so fast she nearly fell over. If the moment hadn’t been so tense, it would have been comical. “What’s he doing here?”

  Faye’s eyes widened, while the man’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do you know this man?” Mrs. Durham asked.

  “Did you say Wreath?” Fred said at the same time.

  Suddenly Faye gave a hyena-like laugh, so forced it sounded like something out of a horror movie. “No, Julia, I haven’t found you one of those old wreaths you keep hounding me for.”

  Turning to Fred Procell, who apparently had some connection with Julia, she gave an exasperated sigh. “You were asking me if people buy this old stuff, and my tenant here is one of those people who won’t let up on collecting.”

  Fred’s eyes moved from one woman to the other, and he looked like he was trying to decide whether to believe Faye or not. Julia’s expression was a blend of consternation and indignation.

  “Faye, whatever in the world …” The teacher’s voice trailed off as Faye furrowed her brow and tried to gesture with her eyes.

  Julia looked over the man’s shoulder. “Is that a new lamp?” she gushed, suddenly rushing closer to the front of the store.

  Trying to get close enough to whisper instructions, Faye followed. Fred strolled through the showroom, touching this item or that, stopping by the desk.

  “Get J. D.,” Faye hissed as softly as she could.

  “Where’s Wreath?” Julia asked under her breath.

  The shake of Faye’s head was almost imperceptible, and Fred took a step toward Julia.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Thanksgiving,” the teacher said. “I didn’t know you and Mrs. Durham were friends.”

  “I used to work here,” he said. “I’m hoping she’ll take me back on.”

  Faye looked around with feigned regret. “I told Fred that business isn’t very good in Landry these days.”

  Julia wrinkled her face for a second and then smoothed it to give Fred what appeared to be a sympathetic look. “I’m about the only person who buys Faye’s junk,” she said. “She told me she might better go back to fine furniture.”

  The door jangled again, and Faye froze, Fred whirled around, and Julia sucked in her breath.

  J. D. walked in, a potted geranium in his hands. “I brought Wreath one of those pink geraniums she was so crazy about.”

  Faye interrupted before he could continue. “J. D., do you know of anyone in town who’s hiring? You may remember Mr. Procell here. He used to work for Billy and is looking for a job.”

  J. D.’s congenial look fell away, and his eyes hardened. “I remember Fred very well. I’m surprised you’d show your face around here ag
ain.”

  “I don’t plan to be here long,” Fred said, edging toward the door. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up and then I’ll be heading out. Was hoping for a little work, but I’d best be going.”

  He pushed the door rather than pulled it, cursed, and then pulled it back against his heavy boots. Muttering, he hurried off down the street.

  Faye rushed over to J. D. and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking the plant out of his hands. “I can’t thank you enough for coming in when you did,” she said. “That man is trouble.”

  “You’re probably going to want to call the police,” Julia said and pointed to the desk. The middle drawer was standing open, the money bag unzipped. “I think you’ve been robbed.”

  The door flew open again, and Faye hoped to see Wreath walking through, safe and sound. Instead, the boy, Law Rogers, stepped in. His gaze was full of hope as he looked around the store, but it turned to dread after a moment.

  “Wreath’s not here?” he asked without his usual polite greeting.

  “I was hoping you had heard from her,” Faye said, her heart sinking.

  Law shook his head, his dark hair falling into his troubled eyes.

  Faye drew a deep breath and offered a silent prayer. For a second, she thought of the quiet days when no one came in. Now she desperately wanted Wreath to walk through the door and greet the trio who had come to help.

  “She wasn’t in class today,” Julia said. “That’s why I came over in the first place. She had a big oral report to give yesterday, and she didn’t show up then either. That’s not like her.”

  “Law, have you ever met her guardian, this cousin who lives north of town?” Faye asked as the ominous air continued to grow in the room.

  “No, ma’am,” Law said. “Wreath said he’s grouchy and doesn’t like visitors. I don’t think his family is all that keen on having her live with them.”

  “I’ve never laid eyes on him,” Julia said. “Neither have I,” Faye said.

  “This doesn’t add up,” Julia said. “Did you know she listed the store as her home address?”

  “I know she’s been getting mail here,” Faye said. “This came today.” She held up a large manila packet, addressed to Wreath Williams. The return address included the logo of a nearby community college. “She’s gotten two or three others the past several weeks.”

  Julia put her hand on her forehead. “She wants to go to college so badly,” she said. “We have to help her.”

  “We need to look for her,” J. D. said.

  Law headed for the door. “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he said.

  Chapter 35

  Wreath walked to the edge of the woods, as far from her campsite as her weak legs would carry her, and threw up. With her ragged blanket around her shoulders, she stumbled back to the Tiger Van. She wasn’t sure how much school she’d missed and hoped she could make up the class work. She hoped things were good at the store. Her throat burned, her head ached, and even her skin hurt. She wondered if this was the way Frankie had felt right before she died.

  Pulling herself up into the van, she barely managed to close the door and lie down on the hard floor, thankful for the carpet as she shivered. She heard the sound of a male voice calling her name from a long way off and thought she must be delirious. “Wreath! Where are you?”

  Sitting up, the gold-and-black-striped carpet spun around her, and she put her palms on the van floor to steady herself.

  “Answer me,” the voice called. “One way or the other, I’m going to find you.”

  Wreath groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. He had no way of knowing where she was. Maybe he would go away. She drifted back off to sleep.

  The sound of the van door roused her, and she propped herself on her elbows, blinking. The outside light hid her visitor’s face.

  “Wreath! Are you okay?” Law crawled through the middle of the bucket seats and into the back where she was. “Can you hear me?”

  “Of course I can hear you. Did you bring my assignments?”

  The boy gave a hoarse laugh. “Do you know how worried we’ve been about you? I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

  “No doctors.” Wreath feebly pushed on his chest. “I’m not sick enough for a doctor. No money …” Her voice trailed off. She looked at him, the picture of health and vigor, squatting there, and felt the first dose of hope she’d had since he’d dropped her off Sunday evening.

  “What time is it?” she asked, squinting at her watch. “What day is it, for that matter?”

  “It’s Tuesday night, and you’ve got half the town in an uproar. Why didn’t you call one of us?”

  “No phone,” she said. Short sentences seemed to be all her brain could form at the moment.

  “When was the last time you had anything to eat?”

  “No food.”

  “You don’t have any food.” Law looked around. “You’ve been starving yourself.”

  “No.” She doubted she sounded as indignant as she wanted to. “I have food but can’t eat.” She remembered the trips to the edge of the woods. “Ugh. No food.”

  “You must be dehydrated,” he said. “Let me get you some water.”

  Again he looked around, as though trying to figure out where her kitchen was in the darkness.

  “There’s a jug on the front seat,” she said, suddenly realizing her tongue felt like it was covered with one of the fake fur coats in the boutique. “Please.”

  Holding a cup to her lips, Law brushed her hair off her face, and Wreath tried to pull away. “I must look horrible,” she said.

  “I can’t lie to you.” He tried for a smile, which came out lopsided. “You look rotten. How do you feel?”

  “About like I look,” she said.

  “Do you think it’s the flu? That’s going around at school.” He felt her forehead and then took her pulse, which raced with his presence. “You don’t seem to have fever.”

  “I’m better today. For the first time since I saw you Sunday, I feel like I might actually live.”

  “Did your cousin kick you out when you got sick?”

  “My cousin? What?” Her head still felt fuzzy.

  “Why are you sleeping in this van? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you come to us for help? We’re your friends. Mrs. Durham and Miss Watson are worried about you. Mr. J. D., too. They have the police looking for you.”

  Immediately Wreath’s head cleared. “The police! They called the police because I have the flu?”

  “They didn’t know what happened to you. You didn’t show up for school or work. A man came to the school looking for you.”

  “Who?” she whispered, dismayed at how little energy she had.

  “Some big guy who used to work at Durham’s. He went by there supposedly looking for a job. He emptied the cash drawer at the store and left.”

  The flu paled at the reality of Law’s visit, and the information he piled on her. “He must be one of Frankie’s relatives or something. I’ve got to get out of here,” she said, half stumbling, half crawling to the front seat.

  She pushed hard on the door and nearly tumbled out into the junkyard. But the campsite looked ordinary, no swarms of people, no strange man.

  In recent days, spring had started to come, and the woods smelled fresh and welcoming. The air was cool, but it lacked the brittle feel of winter, and a clump of small flowers bloomed over near an old pickup.

  Suddenly her legs felt rubbery again, and she sank down into her one chair. “I’m sorry I don’t have a place for you to sit,” she said to Law, who was looking around like he’d never seen a wrecked car before. She saw his eyes move from the clothesline to the ashes from her campfire to her bird feeder hanging in a nearby tree. He even looked at the pictures on the dash of the van, visible through the open door.

  After what seemed like an hour of surveying the junkyard, he turned to Wreath, who had stretched her legs out and laid her head back on the chair, liking the feel of th
e fresh air on her face.

  “No wonder we couldn’t find your house,” Law said. “Do you even have a cousin?”

  “Maybe somewhere,” Wreath said.

  “But they don’t live anywhere near Landry, do they?”

  She thought for an instant about trying to keep the lie going but didn’t have the strength. She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t actually have any cousins.”

  Law looked around again. “So you’ve been living here, in a junkyard, all this time?”

  “ ‘Fraid so. How’d you find me?”

  “You didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. I retraced our steps, thought of every hint you’d ever dropped, and made one of your famous lists.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I spent two hours riding around with Miss Watson. We couldn’t find anyone on the road where you supposedly lived who even knew your name.”

  Wreath groaned.

  “Miss Watson’s boyfriend, that deputy guy, is looking for you, too, and Mrs. Durham and Mr. J. D. They left their stores the minute they figured out something was wrong and tackled some of the neighborhoods around school.”

  “Oh no,” Wreath said, her head in her lap.

  “When Miss Watson and I didn’t get anywhere, I got her to drop me off on that road.” He pointed toward the highway. “She’s gone to meet Shane to get more help.”

  Law reached out and touched Wreath’s dirty hair. “You scared me so badly, Wreath. I kept playing our conversation Sunday night over and over in my head, and I finally gave up and prayed.”

  “You prayed for me?”

  “Yep,” he said. “I asked God to watch over you and to help me find you. Then it dawned on me that unless you had been vaporized, you had to be somewhere in the junkyard. It was the only place we hadn’t looked.”

  He held up his arm, brandishing a long scratch. “I came through the woods. This place is huge.”

  “Tell me about it.” She couldn’t keep from smiling.

  He knelt on the ground in front of her chair and grabbed both of her hands. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”