Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 19

Trin

“Katrina Paige. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Girl, you’ve grown up a bit.”

The wrinkled face peeking out the door of the senior’s apartment is only vaguely familiar. I probably would’ve marched right by Mrs. Thornton had I met her on the street. It shouldn’t surprise me she knows exactly who I am, though. Even growing up, it had been a well-known fact Mrs. Thornton saw everything from behind those lace curtains covering the windows of her house across the street.

Truth be told, I’d forgotten all about her until I started knocking on some doors yesterday. I found only two neighbors who were living here in 2001. Neither was able to tell me much about the house three doors down, and the people who lived at 1913 East 2nd Avenue now never heard of the name Anita Wenzel. From what I was able to find out the house had changed ownership twice before the current owners bought it.

Neither the Hendersons beside us nor Mr. Olson, across the street, remembered much about the family who lived in the house at that time. Mrs. Henderson thought she recalled seeing a couple of kids around but, according to her, the family didn’t live there very long.

It was Mr. Olson who suggested looking up Mrs. Thornton. He wasn’t very kind in his description of her—calling her the neighborhood rag—but he was able to direct me to the newish seniors’ apartment building on the south side of town where she moved.

It wasn’t that hard to find her then, her name had been listed on the board by the entrance doors. When I pushed the button beside it, I was immediately buzzed in without being asked to introduce myself.

“Mrs. Thornton. How are you?”

“I’m old, dear. Old enough my bones start creaking when I stand in the open door too long. Come on in.”

She opens the door wider and ushers me inside.

I squeeze past her into the narrow hallway, which leads to a room barely big enough to hold the furniture stuffed in there. To make it worse, most of the floor and every surface is covered with boxes and bags. It’s difficult to move around without tripping over something. The woman is a veritable hoarder and I have the urge to turn and run right back out the door. I’ve never liked confined spaces and this apartment is setting off all my triggers. She points me to the only clear spot on the couch, and I perch myself right on the edge. Luckily, the view from her window is gorgeous, so I keep my focus there.

“Can I get you something? Some tea? Water? A snifter of something? I have a nice cherry brandy.”

Christ, it’s barely eleven in the morning, a little early for alcohol, although living in this space would probably drive me to drink too.

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

I wait until she takes a seat in a chair piled with blankets and pillows.

“So how long have you lived here?” I ask her, looking for innocent small talk.

“Five years, but I’m sure you didn’t look me up to talk about that, Katrina.”

Busted.

Looks like there still isn’t much that gets past Mrs. Thornton.

“I’m doing some research on a story I’m writing. I’m a freelance journalist,” I add to explain.

“Well, I know that. Your father was always so proud when another story of yours came out. I probably read them all.”

I’m speechless. Not only that Mrs. Thornton read my stories, but that Pops apparently had. The most interest he’d show whenever we spoke on the phone was to ask where I’d be running off to next.

“Pops?” slips out.

Mrs. Thornton chuckles with a raspy sound that sets off a bout of coughing. When I jump up to grab her some water or something, she waves me back down while she catches her breath.

“Chronic bronchitis. It’s a pain in the ass but it won’t kill me,” she wheezes, following it up with, “Your father was proud of both of his daughters, although, why he didn’t lock the both of ya up, I’ll never understand. You off traipsing around the world chasing down stories, putting yourself in all kinds of danger. You sister was no better, running into burning buildings, for crying out loud. Yet your dad couldn’t hide that big goofy grin whenever he’d talk about either of you.”

The last thing I expected when I knocked on the old woman’s door was the surge of tears welling up. I had no idea Pops felt that way, and I would never have known if not for Mrs. Thornton. Pops doesn’t even know who I am anymore, although he probably would never have told me himself anyway.

What an unexpected gift this little fishing expedition turned out to be, even though it’s not why I came here.

I take a moment to compose myself.

“Thank you for telling me, it means a lot.”

She nods and looks at me thoughtfully.

“I still talk to Henry Olson from time to time. I hear your father’s mind is gone.”

Her comment may sound crass but the underlying tone is one of concern.

“Yeah. He’s very confused, which is why we moved him into a care facility last week. He seems to be doing better there.”

“Best for him and better for everyone else, I imagine.”

Oddly enough it gives me some peace to hear those words from her.

“But I got you off track. I reckon you came here for that story you say you’re working on,” she prompts me.

I decide to dive right in without too much preamble.

“It’s about the house three doors down from us. A family that lived there in 2001. I believe the woman’s name was Anita Wenzel. Does that sound familiar?”

“Sure does. They were only there for a year, maybe a year and a half. Rarely saw him, but I saw her. Mousy-looking woman, never could crack a smile. They had those two kids. A boy, I’m guessing around seven or eight. Kid was always outside riding his bike on the sidewalk. She used to come out and holler his name down the street.”

She pauses to think and I use the break to dig my notepad and a pen from my purse. Excitement has my heart step it up a notch. I may have just hit the jackpot.

“Jordan!” she suddenly spits out. “That was his name, at least I think it was. And then there was an older girl. I know she was at least sixteen because she’d drive that little blue car.”

My antennae vibrate.

“Blue car?”

She flaps her hand in front of her face as she talks.

“Yeah, one of those two-door, imported dinky toys.”

“Do you remember the girl’s name?”

“I don’t, although I’m surprised you don’t remember her, you were about the same age. Or was that your sister?”

Vic is three years younger, probably closer in age to the girl than I was. My sister would’ve been eighteen or nineteen at the time, 2001 was the year she graduated and left for college.

“That would’ve been Victoria.”

I never thought to ask Vic if she remembered the family. I’ll make sure to do that when she gets up this afternoon.

“Of course.”

“Is there anything else you might remember about the family? Any chance you know where they moved to?”

“I wouldn’t know that; they were there one day and gone the next. Of course that was after the police showed up at their door. I heard through the grapevine one of the cars got stolen. The blue one.”

“Do you remember how long after that they moved out?”

“Can’t have been more than a few weeks after.”

Interesting that they’d up and move that shortly after. I wonder if somehow those two events are connected. Also strange that neither Detective VanDyken nor I were able to find any trace of Anita Wenzel or her family, but perhaps I’ll have better luck with Jordan Wenzel. He’d have to be in his late twenties now.

Having taken up enough of Mrs. Thornton’s time, I get to my feet.

“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. You’ve helped a lot.”

“Any time. Don’t have much to do these days anyway.”

She tries to get out of the chair but I gesture her back.

“Please don’t get up. I can see myself out.”

“You come back any time.”

I give her a last wave and navigate through her living room to the hallway when I hear her call out.

“Did I mention those two kids were fosters?”

* * *

Bodhi

It’s just after one when I wake up.

I needed the sleep—I didn’t get a lot of it during my shift—but I’d hoped to have time to lure Trin here for a visit before Tuck gets off the bus. Last time I saw her was Monday. I miss her, and yet a month ago I didn’t even know she existed.

Never thought I’d be one of those guys who’d meet a woman and fall like a log. Mind over matter has always been my credo—until Katrina.

I swing my legs out of bed and grab for my phone on the nightstand, dialing her number. She picks up after the second ring.

“You’ll never guess what I found out.”

She sounds like she just won the lottery or something.

“What?”

I play her game and feel a sappy smile spread on my face at her excitement.

“I found an old neighbor who had a wealth of information. I have several hot leads now.”

“That’s awesome. You should come by and tell me all about it.”

I’m shameless. Pressing down with the heel of my hand, I try to force my suddenly wide-awake dick back into submission.

“I wish I could, but I can hear Vic getting up and I really have to ask her some questions. Why don’t you come here, stay for dinner? Tuck’ll be happy having male company.”

“Well, if it’ll make Tucker happy…” I return, heavy on the sarcasm.

“Okay, how about it would make me happy?” she lobs back, her voice soft.

“I’d say that’s a better incentive. I’ll be there soon.”

Soon turns out to be almost an hour later when I pull up along the curb in front of the house. Looks like Trin’s insurance company came through fast, her Jeep is in the driveway with a new rear window. I grab the flowers I stopped to buy from the passenger seat. I have no idea what she likes, but the florist assured me she’ll love the fall bouquet he put together.

What she told me about never having had a serious relationship before got me thinking. I may be a bit rusty in that department—I definitely haven’t bought flowers for anyone, other than my mom, in years—but I’ll for damn sure do my best to treat her right. Besides, if my mother ever found out I did less than that, she’d have my hide.

It’s Vic who opens the door. She takes a long look at the flowers in my hand, shakes her head with a smile, and steps aside to let me in.

“I’m guessing those aren’t for me.”

I doubt the question requires a response so I grin at her instead.

“She’s in the study,” Vic clarifies when I look around for Trin. “I’d forgotten how much of a terrier she can be once she gets her teeth into something. Used to drive me nuts when I was younger and she’d ignore me for hours.”

Determination and focus are good qualities to have for anyone, but I imagine that’s especially true for a journalist.

“Mind if I say hi?”

Vic steps around me.

“Good luck, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The French doors are closed but I can see Trin sitting at the desk, her shoulders hunched and her face inches from the computer screen. She doesn’t even look up when I walk in and set the vase down on the desk beside her. Good thing I’m reasonably secure in my boots or my ego might get dented.

I move behind her, put my hands on her shoulders at the base of her neck—where her muscles are visibly taut—and gently start working the tension out. It’s another few minutes before she straightens and leans her head back against my stomach.

“That feels so good,” she mumbles.

“You were hunched over your screen.”

“I know, this chair is the pits and the desk is too low.”

I lean down and put my mouth by her ear.

“You know there are simple solutions for that, right?”

She turns her face to me wearing a lazy smile.

“I’d much rather have your hands on me, working out the kinks.”

I drop a gentle kiss on her lips.

“You’re giving me ideas,” I mumble against her mouth. “I could spend hours with my hands—and other parts—working on your kinks.”

Her soft chuckle vibrates against my skin.

“I think I may have thrown up in my mouth a little.”

My head shoots up to find Vic leaning against the doorway watching us.

“Did you even notice the flowers he got you?” she directs at Trin, who immediately snaps up straight, almost clocking me in the chin.

“What are those for? They’re gorgeous.”

She gets to her feet and swings around, looping her arms around my neck. The expression on her face is a happy one. I’d like to think I had at least some part in that.

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Just as I’m bending down for another kiss, Vic pipes up.

“Okay. Yeah, still in the room, guys. I only wanted to see if there’s anything you need from the grocery store. I’m picking up steaks and some potatoes for dinner. I assume you’re staying?”

That last was addressed to me.

“Oh, but I was going to make enchiladas,” Trin mentions.

“Figure that’s not gonna happen. Not when your eyeballs are glued to your laptop.” Vic looks at me before she launches her parting words. “Better get used to my sister’s one-track mind or I don’t see this lasting.”

“I’m sorry,” Trin says the moment her sister pulls the front door shut. “I don’t mean to ignore anyone, but once my mind latches on to something I—”

“Don’t apologize. I like seeing all that passion, even when it’s not directed at me.”

“I tend to get wrapped up in what I’m doing when I’m working on a story.”

“You mentioned you found some new leads?”

I watch as her face becomes animated.

“Yes! Mrs. Thornton—she used to be the neighborhood busybody—remembers Anita Wenzel and her family, even though they only lived here for about a year. They fostered two kids, a young boy, Jordan, and an older girl, but she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Vic couldn’t remember her name either, but she remembers the girl as someone who went to her school. A bit of a loner from what she recalls.”

She plops down at the desk again and turns her laptop so I can see the screen.

“I’ve been digging through yearbooks for Durango High for 2001. Hey, you and Vic are about the same age, were probably still in school then as well.”

“Yeah, I graduated in 2001 but I was at Mountain Park. That closed down in 2009.”

“Well, shit. There goes that idea, and unfortunately I don’t have a name for the girl, other than Wenzel—which doesn’t really do me any good since she was fostered—and the only thing Vic could remember was that she was pretty with long, red hair.”

Immediately an image comes to mind of a red-haired girl on her knees in the grass, puking her guts out. I’m trying to remember when and where that was. I recall it was pretty cold out and I was worried because she wasn’t wearing a jacket. I’m pretty sure I covered her with mine. She’d been hammered, I remember that.

I jerk when it suddenly comes flooding back.

The grass was in our front yard. Our football team had won regionals earlier in the year and when my parents left for a few days I took the opportunity to throw a belated party. They were in Farmington to be with my grandpa on Dad’s side, who’d just had a stroke. They’d left Anika and me to fend for ourselves for a few days. I’d been eighteen at the time and at the height of my rebel years. It was also my graduating year and I figured we deserved to celebrate.

The girl had shown up with one of our offensive guards, JD Hawkins. Heck, I just saw the guy at the Pickled Egg not long ago. Big guy and popular with the girls, which is what started the trouble from what I recall. The idiot stuck his tongue down another girl’s throat and the redhead made a stink before drinking herself blotto.

Damn, what was her name? I remember thinking it was funny at the time.

“Bodhi? Are you okay?”

I lift my eyes to Trin when it hits me.

“Cherry. Her name was Cherry Danvers.”