The Marionette

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter One - The Shop that Never Opens

In the town where Claire attends college, an antique store at one end of the old downtown strip mystifies her. The window display is arranged to catch the attention of passersby and she swears the pieces inside are moved around on occasion. The curios hint of a dedicated collector who ventured to far-off lands in a quest for exotic wonders. And never made it home again.

A blue and white cardboard sign lists their opening hours: Tues though Sat, 11:00–5:00. Yet the shop is never open. No lights ever come on. She’s never spotted anyone inside. An ornate Bavarian-style cuckoo clock hangs on the wall, forever frozen. The tiny yellow bird perches on a jutting platform, beak open wide for eternity.

The place next door, Anderson’s Tools and Hardware, also sits empty. It looks closed. The shelves and display cabinets are long gone and the blue industrial carpet is faded to a light grey where the sun strikes through the dusty window. Few businesses ever last around here. Now the café on the corner is closing. They opened less than a year ago. Claire rarely steps foot inside because their sandwiches are no better than what she can make at home. As a credit-shy student getting by on her summer job and occasional family generosity, she’s on a tight budget.

And yet she’d spend every last penny she has for one day in that antique shop.

                                                     *     *     *

The irony of the café going out of business––because people like her never came in––hit Claire harder than usual at the sight of the hand-painted newsprint taped to the window: Last week in business. Unlike the red and yellow poster board advertising Bankruptcy Sale 90% Off! Everything must go! at the Westwood Plaza furniture store on Route 105, this sign meant what it said. Maybe they’d have had more customers if the place two doors down was ever open.

Out of a misplaced sense of guilt, she went in to buy a coffee. She immediately remembered why she rarely came here. The owners never could decide whether they wanted to run a Starbucks knock-off or mimic the bistros lining side streets of Montreal or Amsterdam. The décor was replete with the sort of bric-a-brac you’d find in the clearance aisle of a Burlington Coat Factory or Marshalls. Vaguely ethnic, but generic and cheap-looking. Service was always slow, lackadaisical, and occasionally outright rude. Such a shame, she thought with a sigh, since it was locally-owned and so few places were anymore.

While waiting, she watched a couple stroll past on the sidewalk outside. The woman was petite like her with long brown hair and a freckled, squarish face. They could pass for sisters. The man was taller, with curly black hair that went past his ears, and he walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his olive green parka. He looked shockingly similar to Dave. Pain flared in her chest that she tried to gulp back down. The anniversary of his death was coming up. She dreaded going back home to face everyone this coming weekend, face questions she still had no answers for. The police had done what they could. Or so they said.

“That’ll be three-fifty.”

With a start she turned back to the cashier and nearly handed him her entire wallet.

“You okay, miss?”

Keeping her head bowed, she withdrew a five. “I’m fine thanks.” She waved for him to keep the change. Grief had a way of tearing her feet out from under her whenever she least expected it to. She sucked her breath deep into her lungs. She was not going to cry in public. Never.

She took the coffee over to the stand with all the assorted milks and creams, honeys and sweeteners, shakers full of cinnamon and powered chocolate. No wonder a medium coffee cost $3.50. She kept her focus on opening the packets of brown sugar, ensuring every tawny crystal ended up in her cup, while evicting every dark thought from her mind.

The bus was roaring past just as she stepped outside. That was okay, she reminded herself, trying to shake her gloomy mood. The next bus to campus, which went a slightly different route, took only a few minutes longer. She wouldn’t be late.

Sipping her coffee, she turned her attention to her favourite store on the entire strip of Main Street. A wood sign hung over the entrance, the cracked red paint reading: Maurer and Son Antiques & Collectibles. Thanks to a childhood friend with the same surname, she knew that Maurer rhymed with flower. The first r was extraneous. When she first moved here, she’d been keen to go in and ask if they were related. She’d also wanted to ask about an ornate metal lamp of the sort sold in Turkish bazaars, half-concealed in the shadows. It would have gone beautifully in her old bedroom.

She only gave up when locals insisted the business had shut down decades ago. A shame, really. She also coveted the prominently displayed chair and sofa set carved from teak and upholstered in lush red velvet. She didn’t mind that the seat was faded to a dusty rose where the sun hit. Not that she had anywhere to put new furniture in her tiny apartment. She kept most of her and Dave’s things in a storage locker at the edge of town, and she had no car.

Each time she gazed in through the glass, she tried to spot one new object among the oddities coated in powdery beige dust. Several pieces she swore had never been there before. Last year she was baffled by the appearance of a toy wooden xylophone beneath the sofa, each metal key one colour of the rainbow. Last month it was a set of Russian nesting dolls arranged in descending order on a recessed shelf high along the wall on her left, above the window in the alcove. The tiniest ones were lost in the shadows while the nearest and largest, with rosy-cheeked faces, pencil thin brows, red roses as an offering on their chests, looked as though they’d just been polished. She’d love to take those home with her.

While waiting for the bus to arrive, she continued with her game. Her attention kept going back to a stuffed red-mouthed lizard, but that wasn’t it. Nor was it the ancient leather-bound dictionary, the frightful bronze Kali statue, or the vintage Chinese checkers game still in the original box.

Then, she saw it, behind the left foot of the velvet sofa. An antique pewter flask with a thick chain attached to a spherical stopper. A chill descended on her. She stooped to peer more closely. It looked just like the flask Dave had inherited from his grandfather. He used to bring it to parties as a conversation piece. She tried to think back to when she’d last seen it. She couldn’t remember packing it when she moved. But she must have.

Squealing brakes shook her out of her reverie. She lumbered up the steps of the idling bus, the engine droning like a giant beast. She shuddered as she swiped her card on the pad next to the driver. Whenever she’d shivered as a child, her grandmother would say someone had just walked over her grave. She kept forgetting to look up the origins of that expression, and yet she was filled with an eerie sensation she was being watched. She did her best not to glance back at the store.

She sat facing the row of buildings on the opposite side of the road where all but one, a sketchy pawn shop with rows of overpriced bicycles out front, were boarded up.

“Hey, Claire.”

She glanced up at the spidery-limbed man seated across from her. Before dropping out last winter, she and Jacob had been in the same Urban Studies course. She’d hoped to learn why so many cities had boarded up storefronts on neglected Main Streets, while the highways leading in were dotted with newly-built strip malls. She never did get an answer beyond urban sprawl.

“Are you still taking medieval history?“ she asked.

He nodded his mop of sandy blond curls. “A fascinating era. I’m amazed at how differently my ancestors lived. The food, clothing, sleeping habits, you name it. Like an alien world.”

“I’ll bet.” She liked small talk for the same reason she took her time fixing her coffee. Idle chitchat had gotten her through her first Christmas holidays without Dave. Only when conversation about the ice storm, music, or the crisis in student loans, turned to what she planned to do next, did social interaction get awkward. Thoughts of the future terrified her.

Jacob seemed to sense her mood instinctively; he craned his head forward, as if peering out through the window behind her. “Nice weather today.”

“Yeah, easy to forget it’s still only January.” Last winter had been similarly mild. Yet the coroner said Dave froze to death. What he’d been doing out in a field next to a derelict factory, she never learned. He was found with a 1.8 BAC, although he rarely drank. Her case worker pointed out, however, that could’ve been a factor in and of itself. He had no tolerance.

“It’s supposed to snow next week. Four inches expected.”

“So I heard. Guess we should enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.”

He took out his phone and began fiddling with the screen. She probably bored him. Most people found her boring. Grief had a way of isolating a person. Few people her age had much experience with death beyond losing a pet, a distant relative who’d left them some money, or a grandparent they saw only a few times a year.

Worse was being left with so many unanswered questions. It all started and ended with Jordan, the childhood friend who’d been the last to see Dave alive, and yet police had absolved him of any wrongdoing. Claire didn’t believe it.

The bus lurched to a stop outside of Westwood Plaza. Big Ted clambered aboard, the bus keeling as he came up the steps. He sat next to Jacob. There must have been a big UFC match over the weekend, since that was what they launched straight into discussing.

She was spacing out again, disturbed by the sight of that flask, when she noticed Ted leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “So … did they ever find out what happened to Dave?”

Jacob blanched. Yet she was cheered by Ted’s tactlessness; she was tired of everyone hedging around the subject, wanting to ply her with questions but not wanting to seem intrusive. Claire had never been one to parade her life on Facebook. That didn’t mean she objected to sharing anything about herself. Nor was she fragile so long as she was on guard.

She shook her head. “Only sort of. They say he was drunk when he cut through that lot and must have tripped on a rock or lost his footing when he came to a dip in the ground.”

She smiled ruefully at the way he blinked and jerked his head back in response.

“And he couldn’t get up again? I heard he didn’t have any injuries or nothing.”

“He didn’t.” It didn’t make sense to her, either. “Apparently he’d been doing shots at his friend’s place, then left for home, and they figure he got disoriented and passed out.” He’d also been found with a street drug derived from horse tranquilizer in his system, which baffled her even more. She’d never known him to do anything stronger than pot or hash.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his deep-set eyes glistening with sincerity. “That really sucks.”

“Thanks.” Yet for Dave to get lost on his way home from Jordan’s, he would have had to go in the wrong direction, cross a six-lane highway, walk through a dense thicket of evergreens, and then two miles of vacant lots in the former industrial part of town. She sighed, sensing herself coming apart like a seam with a slight tear and the threads unravelling.

“I remember that day. Been to take my little niece and the dog to the park. A super warm day. But the temperature really dropped that night. Ice was everywhere the next morning.”

“Indeed,” she said, wishing she were a better talker. Aren’t women supposed to be better at communicating? She certainly wasn’t. Then something in her brain kicked, as if shifting gears. The word niece had done it. “You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”

“Born and raised. As were my parents, as were my grandparents.”

“Wow. Don’t see much of that anymore.” She forced a chuckle. “I was wondering. What do you know about that collectibles store on Main between Elm and Pine––More-er something?”

“This weird old man used to run it. Supposedly he was kind, but a little off.”

Excitement welled in her. Why had she never thought to ask him before? “I’ve always wanted to check it out but whenever I pass by, they’re never open.”

Both he and Jacob snorted. “That store’s never been open in my lifetime.”

“Then why are all those things just left in there all these years?”

“Probably nobody to take over running the place after the old man died.”

“Such a waste, all that cool stuff just sitting in there. Some of it must be worth quite a lot.”

He hunched his mountainous shoulders and she felt herself sinking into a mire of disappointment. No one else ever seemed to sense the magical feel of that shop. “You could say that about the entire downtown,” he said. “All those old buildings left to rot. Not even tenants in the upstairs apartments. I heard they were pretty nice inside.”

An idea came to her. Depending on circumstances, it might not count as trespassing, at least on private property. “So who owns those buildings now?”

“The city, or heirs who have since moved elsewhere. I know a few were seized over unpaid back taxes sometime in the 90s. Some were sold off. I’m sure some shady deals went on. I mean, how does that convenience store next to the pizza place stay in business?”

“Money-laundering front?” Jacob asked, looking up from his phone.

Claire had wondered that too. Dave, whose uncle on his Italian side owned a restaurant in addition to their construction company, had told her about all kinds of schemes for washing illegal income. He was more circumspect about the sources of that illegal income.

Ted glanced out the window behind him and yanked on the cord above. “Either that or they bought back when buildings were dirt cheap and made a deal with the city about taxes.”

“I heard they keep rents artificially high so that businesses go to those strip malls along the highway,” Jacob said. He and Ted launched into a discussion about some local inter-generational feud.

Claire found herself disappearing up into her own head once more. She had to track down the source of that flask, assuming it was Dave’s. If he’d been drinking, he’d have had it with them. She didn’t recall it being among the personal effects police had returned. His class ring was also missing. She racked her brain; she couldn’t remember when or where she’d last seen it.

Excitement rose in her. Could she do this. She’d lived here for nearly two and a half years, and not once had she ever ventured down the alleyway running behind that block of buildings on Main. Abandoned, city-owned, absentee landlords, what harm could there be trying to sneak in? Who’d be around to catch her? If she went to police about that flask in the window, she doubted they’d bother investigating it. She had to know whether it was Dave’s. But if it was, then what?

Her conscience began chiding her and she assured it that all she planned to do (for now) was take a walk along the litter-strewn lane and see if there were any hints of life inside. A light shining out of one of the upper-story windows. Or an unlocked door leading in.  

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Two - Behind the Antique Store

Claire wasted the entire evening searching her apartment for Dave’s pewter flask. She couldn’t justify sneaking into the antique store if it was stowed in one of her cupboards. Her move the past fall had been so frenzied. She hadn’t planned on doing so until the perfect place had popped up, a tiny apartment on the top floor of a relic from the Gilded Era. She balked at the shabbiness until she glimpsed the panoramic view of the river. Then she saw that her bedroom would be in the turret, something she’d always dreamed of living in.

She checked her kitchen clock; almost midnight. Now would be the perfect time to venture along that alleyway. She hadn’t been sleeping well anyway. Nights were spent tossing and turning and then she struggled to stay alert for her lectures. She donned her rain jacket, grabbed her purse, and headed out.

A heavy fog had settled by the time she came out onto the rounded street corner. The air was still, the streetlamps producing a milky light overhead. No cars came along the parkway. She could scarcely make out the parking lot on the far side, never mind Voortman Park or the river beyond. She hopped down onto the sidewalk, turned, and headed uphill away from the river. A shadowy figure one block further up was heading in the same direction.

The figure passed under a streetlight and Claire recognized her. Fran was probably on her way to a dive bar aptly named The Broken Cue. Normally she’d hail the short, spike-haired woman for a chat, but tonight she was in the mood to be alone. She slowed her pace. The hill was steep and she struggled to catch her breath in the damp, chilly air. She passed a derelict auto body shop which still had a pair of rusted fuel pumps, rounded on top, analog slot-machine numbers from an era when five dollars filled your tank. Next was a boarded-up hotel. Painted diagonally across the brick wall in faded lettering, The Carlisle Inn. The sign jutting above the entrance with its hundreds of tiny light bulbs still intact, was forever unlit.

More signs of life appeared at the top of the hill. Main Street ran parallel to the river and the bus route provided just enough foot traffic to keep a handful of businesses afloat. A pair of teens lurked outside the late-night convenience store, furtively passing some illicit item between their furled hands. Instrumental music streamed out of a tiny speaker above the doorway, fading into the night like a shadow, the rhythmic drumbeats and atonal pipes heightening the spooky atmosphere.

Claire watched Fran turn into The Broken Cue and then waved at her through the window. Fran smiled back blankly, probably just responding to a motion apparently meant for her. All Claire was going to do, she told herself, was wander along the alley to see if any lights were on in any of the windows of that two-story brick building housing the antique store. It wasn’t her to violate any law, no matter how trivial. Even as a pre-teen, the most she’d ever done was shoplift a lipstick from a pharmacy. She still felt guilty at times.

The light turned green and she jogged across Pine. This part of Main Street was brighter, safer. Although she was somewhat new to the city, she’d adopted the local conviction that outsiders were responsible for most of the crime, lurking in doorways (even in late January), waiting for an unsuspecting victim to come along. Funny how people distrusted strangers, she mused, when most of us fall victim to people we know. She’d never liked Jordan, Dave’s oldest friend, and not just because he was the one who’d gotten Dave into messing with drugs to begin with. He was the one Dave had been drinking with on that fateful, fatal night.

Claire went first to the front of the store. Sometimes it looked so ordinary, like any other antique store in any other rundown part of middle America late at night. She gazed up at the darkened windows shrouded in mist. No telltale glow hinting at any light from within. The crenellated rooftop reminded her of castle battlements. She took a deep breath, only now aware of the tension constricting her chest.

She checked up and down the street. No one. She peered in through the store window. No lights, not even the red or green twinkle of an electronic device, or the orange glow of an exit sign. The flask was still on the floor behind the leg of the sofa. She had to see if Dave’s great-grandfather’s name was etched along the bottom. She could do this.

The shrinking array of dolls gazed down at her from their shelf, their warm smiles and proffered roses beckoning her inside. To her right, even the head of the tiny yellow cuckoo was tilted towards her, beak open as if to say, Come in, come in. As the girl who’d chickened out of cutting gym class in high school, who never called in sick for work even when she felt like death warmed over, a terrifying thrill seized her. She imagined squeezing through the crammed aisles while a siren chirruped and red and blue police car lights flashed in through the window.

She doubled back to Wyndham Close, a narrow brick-lined passage that zigzagged to the alleyway behind Main. She passed a bay window, trim painted pristine white, leftover from a failed clothing boutique. The next unit had once housed an ice cream shop. The improbable cleanness (thanks to prominently displayed video cameras and warning signs, she noticed too late) made the filth and grime of the alley that much more startling when she emerged into it. Under a lone sodium lamp the misty air was hazy, yellow, almost sulphurous. She glanced around in the smoky light for anyone lurking in the shadows. Nothing. All she could hear was the gurgling from surrounding eaves troughs and storm drains.

She crept left, keeping close to a brick wall black-laced with layers of graffiti. A rotten vegetable stench hung in the air. She stepped along the pavement, wary of mushy litter and discarded needles. A sign swaying above a cavernous entrance on her left appeared to lead into a cellar. Deliveries was written on it in the same slanted cursive as the sign out front.

She stepped closer, scrutinizing the weathered paint along the bottom. She could barely make out uss & Son and     ctibl. She ambled up to a nearby ground floor window, expecting a flicker of movement, a twitch of the curtains. Avoiding the haunted gaze of her own reflected face, she could see the entire frame was painted shut.

She returned to the rounded archway, the lower steps concealed in shadow. She fumbled in her purse for her LED flashlight. The harsh white glow bathed a set of stairs made from heavy, course-grained wood. She crept down as if she were sneaking into the cave of a slumbering dragon. The door at the bottom reminded her of ones in old churches, the wooden planks held fast by iron bands. The foundation was stone and looked far more ancient than the rest of the town. The rust-stained blocks reminded her of the old part of Savannah, where she’d gone on her first vacation with Dave. So many years ago now.

Her throat felt tight as she grasped the iron thumb latch above a round keyhole. It was locked. She pressed harder but the latch refused to give. She shone her flashlight around the entire frame in case the door was bolted elsewhere, then tried the handle one last time, even using the hard metal case of her flashlight to try forcing the latch. She felt a mix of frustration and relief when it failed to budge. She wanted to go inside and yet she was afraid to. What if she was caught?

The building did seem lived in, although she was at a loss to explain how she could sense such a thing. Perhaps all long-abandoned buildings felt haunted, as if some other presence now occupied the space. And yet she’d never believed in ghosts. Or anything remotely supernatural. Horror movies bored her.

She walked backwards up the steps, scoping the upper windows and neighbouring fire escapes for an alternative way in, wondering what tools she’d need to pick a lock such as the one beneath that latch. An awl or screwdriver should suffice. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring one. She fumbled in her purse and all she found was her house keys, which would be useless, and a pen. A cheap, plastic pen that would snap under the slightest pressure. Now that she’d come so close to daring trespass, she grew determined to find a way into the store, as if all the answers to Life’s big questions were contained within. She’d be back.

She traipsed towards Wyndham Close. That convenience store she'd passed earlier was still open. She’d been in there once or twice and recalled seeing a wall display of assorted household goods and hardware somewhere near the back. They must sell something she could use to force that lock.  

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Three - Adam

Claire must’ve had a guilty look on her face when exiting Wyndham Close because Adam, the ex-boyfriend of an old friend of hers, spotted it immediately. Although nearly thirty, he had a boyish face and wide, hazel eyes. He chuckled, his face gleaming in the dusty glare of an overhead spotlight. Strange, no lights had gone on when she’d passed by earlier. “What were you doing in there, missy?”

To her horror she started giggling uncontrollably. Nerves, she reminded herself. She shrugged. “Just exploring. There used to be a couple of boutiques along there and I was wondering if anything new might be opening up.”

“Sure, you were.” He grinned. She was such a terrible liar. A life of crime, or that of a poker champ, was never going to be an option for her. Her face was easier to read than a children’s book. They continued on the sidewalk, back along Main Street towards The Broken Cue.

“So what were you really doing in there, hm?”

She halted, deciding. Should she tell him about the flask, or no. “It was stupid.”

“Ah, come on. You can tell me.” He jerked his head in the direction of The Broken Cue. “If you’re not busy, would you like to go for a drink? It’s been ages since we hung out.”

“Okay,” she agreed, seeing the convenience store was closed now, anyway. Why not. Over the holidays everyone had told her she needed to move on with her life. At the very least, she should leave her apartment more often. Adam and Racita had broken up ages ago, a fling before Racita’s husband came along. Later, she used to chat with him whenever she ran into him at the library. Her near-violation of the law had already eroded some of that constant guilt she lived with.

She followed him into the long, narrow lounge, past pool tables covered in threadbare green felt. This time Fran waved more enthusiastically; Claire smiled and waved back. Yet again Fran was with one of those tall, beautiful women that made Claire wonder what venturing into Sapphic territory would be like.

After ordering a dark ale for himself and a cider for her, they sat. He watched her with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So. Since I’m buying this round, I figure the least you could do is spill the beans about what you were up to in that alleyway.”

Trying to sound flirty, she said, “Expecting something from your generosity, are you.” She could tell by the way his features went lax that she’d failed miserably. Dave had been her first and only boyfriend; interacting with prospective romantic partners was as alien to her as piloting an aircraft. After a quick, flustered apology, she dropped her voice. “You know that antique store that is never open, the one with the big cuckoo clock on the right hand side?”

He shrugged. “What about it?”

“I went around back to see if there was another way in.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

She felt so stupid now. She’d spent too much time alone this past year, with no one to ground her outside of her own little world. Hopefully he didn’t think she was some kind of criminal. They barely knew each other. “I was just curious. It’s sat empty for all these years and yet it has all this cool stuff inside, some of which looks like it was just put there. So I went behind to see if any lights were on in the back, or if there was car parked in the alley behind it.” She couldn’t remember if she’d seen any cars back there. She hadn’t thought to look.

“The whole block is owned by some family. They’d rather sit on vacant land than sell or let others try building anything viable in this town. The heir for that one lives in the Far East and works as an investment banker, so he doesn’t care what goes on here.”

It was probably true. Most mysteries, such as that of her late boyfriend, had mundane answers. According to those who’d investigated, that is. But how thorough were they?

“So what item piqued your interest?”

“I saw this flask that I could swear wasn’t in there a week ago. It looks exactly like one that belonged to my ex.” It was easier, sometimes, for her to see Dave as an ex, rather than admit he was dead. Ex, rather than late fiancé, invited far fewer questions, or worse, pity when she was in a mood to be cheery. In hindsight, she wished she’d said granddad.

Adam hunched his shoulders.

“It’s a really unusual one. The flask is completely round this way,” she said, making an upright circle with her thumbs and fingers, “with a spherical stopper. It’s made from pewter. His great-grandfather bought it in Belgium on his way home from fighting in World War Two.”

“Now that is strange,” he admitted. “Ever check to see if they sell online?”

“I’ve searched every variation of ‘Maurer and Sons’, or even just ‘antique’ or ‘collectibles’ or ‘vintage’ along with the name of this town, and nothing.”

“What about searching for just the object itself? Could be an agent of the owner sells on eBay or Amazon and never thought to include a geographic location or the store’s name.”

“Good point,” she said, smiling. “Racita had told me you were really smart.”

He flushed, but appeared to enjoy the compliment. Attractiveness had always confused her. Being freckled, men were either repulsed by her or, far less often, drawn like a magnet to her. She avoided the sun but always had a smattering across her face and down her arms.

She and Adam began discussing how neglected buildings and absentee owners contributed to urban decay and what could be done about it, whether it be appropriation or higher taxes, or if they should be thankful that at least that one building on that block gave the appearance of being occupied. Maybe, someday, others might follow suit.

Two glasses of cider later, her earlier embarrassment was forgotten. Similar to Dave, she rarely drank and so her tolerance was low. She felt pleasantly tipsy now. They left the bar with their arms linked together, nodding goodnight to Fran on their way out. She left her jacket open as they walked, immune to the cold even as they got closer to the waterfront.

He escorted her down the hill to the corner entrance of her building. The fog had lifted and the oily river beyond the park flowed swiftly, glinting under the streetlights. The waters summoned the phrase a conveyor belt of stars in her head, hardly poetic imagery. She wasn’t sure why she’d majored in English, except that she liked to read fiction. A degree was a degree.

Adam cleared his throat. She’d been spacing out again. “I guess this is goodnight?”

She wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet. She dreaded facing her apartment alone. Feeling brave from liquid courage, she asked, “Would you like to come up for a drink?”

“Sure,” he said without any hesitation. She took that as a sign he was interested in her.

They lumbered up the narrow staircase to the top floor. She was glad friends had convinced her to move. The apartment was freezing cold on winter nights, but it was affordable and offered such a stunning view. Even when the sky was overcast.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, she felt Dave watching her. Dave watching her fish out her key, watching her and another man about to go in through the flimsy wooden door. You shouldn’t have died and left me all alone, she thought in her hazy, semi-drunken state. There were times when his death, when his dying on her, made her angry. She felt abandoned. As though he’d wanted to die, as if he preferred leaving the earthly realm rather than face breaking up with her. A coward. She knew these were not rational thoughts. She thought them anyway, worried suppressing them would only prolong her grieving.

“Hey.” Adam massaged the nape of her neck, bringing her back to the present, kicking Dave into a past existence, an earlier book in the series that made up different episodes of her life. He’s gone, she thought with a strange detachment she’d never experienced before. And yet she dreaded losing those feelings she’d had for him, the intense, transcendent love she’d felt for him and never another. She unlocked her door and smiled weakly at Adam.

She poured them each a vodka and soda with a splash of lime concentrate. It was the only thing she had to offer apart from coffee, cream, or tap water. Her friend Carmen had left the half-bottle of Stolichnaya behind at New Year’s.

She and Adam sat at her kitchen table and clinked their glasses. Instead of taking a sip, they went straight to kissing. Mentally she pulled down a blind, shutting out any potential onlookers such as the late love of her life, or anyone else who may be judging her for finally getting together with someone new.

Soon they found their way into her bedroom, which was barely large enough for her bed, a dresser, and a narrow shelf of books. It had been so long since any man had touched her, embraced her, kissed her, filled her, their hips meeting to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts. She closed her eyes and resisted thinking about Dave.

She tried to stay in the present. Even so, her mind wandered back to that store of dusty antiques, and to what tools in her kitchen drawer might trip the lock beneath that iron latch.  

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Four - The Memorial

The weather turned bitterly cold, forcing Claire to put off trying to sneak into that shop. Assignments kept her busy and then she had to return home for a memorial to observe the anniversary of Dave’s death. Friday was dinner with her parents, then she went out with old school friends. She chose a nightclub where it was too loud to talk about Dave, or what she’d been up to since.

Saturday she spent with her sister and her baby niece and she did her best to hide how jealous she felt. That could have been her in another year. Sunday was the dreaded service. During the service at the local catholic church, her family and friends took up one side and Dave’s, the other, in a mockery of a wedding ceremony.

Afterwards, everyone retreated to the banquet hall. Claire kept close to the snack table, where she wouldn’t have to see the stands of framed photographs of Dave, mostly with family and friends. She already knew she appeared in only a few of them.

Curiously, Jordan appeared in none. She was glad her mother and Louise were here to carry the bulk of conversation with family and friends. Relations with people who’d nearly been her in-laws were chilly, distant, as if they blamed her for Dave’s death. They could barely look in her direction. Decor was kept to a minimum, as Dave would’ve liked.

Her dad came up to her side and asked, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” she said, gazing at her sister showing off her new baby. Normally she resented how Louise commanded attention, but right now she was glad for it. “It’s weird seeing everyone. It feels like only a few days have passed. And yet it feels like a totally different lifetime too.”

“Aye,” he said. “Same as when I returned home to Scotland a few years back. Childhood friends not only grown up, but looking more like their grandparents then the people I remember knowing.”

Claire's her dad had been the main one helping her pack and said, “I was wondering. Do you recall seeing Dave’s pewter flask when you helped me move?”

“You mean the round one, belonging to his old man?”

Claire flinched; she supposed it did although so far, no one in his family had asked about it.

“I can’t remember packing it for the life of me.”

“Me neither. I’m sure it’s in one of those boxes. You just have to look for it. The sooner you face those demons the better, although I suppose with your studies, you haven’t the time.” The longer she was away from home, the more keenly aware she was of her father’s lilt, the way he rolled his r’s. She’d never noticed his accent growing up.

She picked up a lemon tart and bit into it. More sour than she liked. “I know, but I’ve had so little time to …” She caught a smiling brown face approaching.

“Hello, Claire, I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“Racita! I’m glad you could make it. Thanks for coming.” They all exchanged hugs while her dad sidled off to chat with other guests.

“I ran into Dave’s mother in the bathroom,” Racita whispered. They edged into a corner draped in black and white balloon garlands. “It was so uncomfortable. And then I saw how she was staring at you when we came out, as if his death was all of your fault.”

“I know, I had the same impression. She was even worse last year.” Claire kept her eyes out for anyone on Dave’s side who might be within earshot. “In her mind, I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. I guess I shouldn’t have let him have his own friends, or hobbies, or any kind of social life without me?”

“I thought it was good that you kept a long leash.”

“What leash?” Claire asked, although Dave had sometimes complained of one if she even asked what time he’d be home. “Maybe they’re right. He would still be here if I’d been the controlling type. Not that Dave was a guy you could control. He did what he wanted to.”

“Exactly. Dave would have just sneaked out while you were sleeping if you set a curfew for him. Anyway. What about now? Are you seeing anyone?”

Claire blanched, the awkwardness of the scenario kicking in. “Kind of.”

“Don’t tell me I’m going to have to wait for your semi-annual email. Or I’ll ask Carmen.”

“She doesn’t know yet. I sort of …” She waited for one of Dave’s overly-coiffed aunts to pass by and continued, “I kind of met up with Adam last week.”

“My Adam?”

Claire shrunk at the use of the possessive, although she knew Racita only meant to differentiate that Adam from several others they knew. “We went out for drinks,” she said sheepishly. And then had sex, she thought, guilt sinking in. Twice. She should have waited. She bedded another man only days ago; no wonder Dave’s side was shunning her, as if they knew.

“Good for you!” An odd stiffness in her smile said otherwise. “Besides, I wasn’t with him very long. I started that class with Leon, and the rest is history. Adam was nice, but …” She beamed, a far-off look in her yes. “With Leon, it was meant to be. Love at first sight. What can I say?”

“So you don’t mind?”

“No, of course not, why would I? I just … it’s funny how I don’t remember that much about him. I mean, he was cute, and he worked hard and was very studious, but … until now I had forgotten about him. No chemistry, no … I don’t know. Anyway, good luck. I think it is good to not stay in the past too much. You still have your own life to live. And you should!”

“Thanks.” Claire’s throat tightened as she added to herself, I really needed to hear that from somebody, as if I were getting permission for still being alive and wanting a future. And yet she sensed Racita remembered Adam better than she wanted to, and was reluctant to tell her more.  

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Five - A Marionette’s Pose

Upon her return home, Claire barely had time to think about the flask. Essays and mid-term exams kept her busy. As did Adam. With him she experienced a newfound lust for life she never would have imagined for herself weeks earlier. She got along well with everyone in his circle. Dave’s best friend Jordan hadn’t liked her; he made no effort to hide his resentment whenever she tagged along. The rest of Dave’s friends were buddies he jammed with and Claire, being a non-musician and horribly shy, preferred staying home with a book.

Before she knew it, nearly three months had passed. When she stepped outside one sunny morning in late March, she felt spring coming in ways beyond the warm breeze and the smell of melting snow heralding the turn of the seasons. She strode to the bus stop, pondering how much her life had changed. Her time with Dave may as well be a former incarnation.

She passed by the window of the antique store without looking in, her attention drawn to the corner of Main Street and Elm. Last week, Adam had pointed out a new sign above the entrance. Corner Café. Yesterday the newsprint covering the windows was taken down. Today she spotted a black easel sign on the sidewalk reading, Come in, we’re open for business!!

Smells of bacon and brewing coffee lured Claire inside. The café was completely transformed. Tub chairs had been replaced by antique sofas. Potted plants gave the room a less boxy shape. The display case beneath the counter was full of fresh-baked goods rather than watery bean salads. Her eyes fell to a basket of cheese pastries.

She ordered one, paid for it, and came back out. She bit into the pastry, savouring the salty, sharp cheese with a hint of onion and rosemary. It was still hot, too. While depositing the paper napkin in a nearby trashcan, she glanced at the window of the antique store. The flask was gone.

She cursed under her breath. She should have snuck in when she had the chance. She’d had months. The missing flask wasn’t the only change. In the past whenever she’d noticed new objects, she convinced herself they’d simply been hidden among the clutter. In the case of the flask, perhaps her mind had blotted out any object associated with Dave until it thought she could handle it. Or she’d hallucinated it.

This was different.

Next to the rainbow xylophone mottled with spots of rust, sat a collapsed marionette. It was made of wood and around ten inches in length. She’d never seen it before. Unlike the Russian nesting dolls, high up on a shelf concealed in shadow, the gleam of the largest ones possibly a trick of the light, this newest object––and it did look new––had not been there before.

The blue paint on the legs was too bright to have been in the sun for a single season, never mind half a century. Same for the wooden feet, painted glossy black to look like shoes. A lighter, brownish black had been used for the hair, which had a reddish sheen in the sunlight.

The marionette jolted into an upright position and Claire jerked backwards, almost bumping into an elderly man passing behind her.

“Sorry,” she uttered, still staring at the marionette, lifeless again on the patch of faded grey carpet behind the glass. It lay sprawled against the xylophone now, as if it had passed out drunk over top of it. It also resembled Dave so uncannily she felt a chill spreading along each of her arms. Horror seeped into her as she lifted up on her toes. Dave had been found in a similar position in that field, half on his side, legs splayed at odd angles, his head nested in the crook of his arm.

The pose was identical to shots that had been treated as crime scene photos, until the report from the medical examiner concluded he’d died of natural causes. What if he hadn’t.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Six - Haunted

All the way on the bus ride to campus, the sight of that marionette frustrated Claire. How could a wooden puppet look so much like her late fiancé? It had barely a round nub of a nose, while Dave’s had been sharp and straight. As was Adam’s, for that matter. Dave had nearly always worn blue jeans and a black or grey t-shirt, it was practically a uniform for him, but half the men on this bus were dressed like that. Dave’s eyes had been brownish blue. She couldn’t remember what colour eyes the puppet had, or if they’d been coloured in at all.

Then there was the way it’d popped upright for a split second. As a child she’d had a toy some aunt or grandparent had bought for her while on a trip to Europe. A Bakelite deer with similarly jointed legs, that stood on a circular dais. Underneath was a large button that made the deer move up or down.

That was exactly how that marionette had moved; she was positive she’d seen no strings coming from above. At the time she’d been too startled to look more closely.

On Thursday she would, she promised herself.

Assuming it was still there.

All through her first lecture of the day it kept niggling at her. While the TA droned about narrative techniques in William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, her mind kept veering back to that window display like a car with faulty alignment. Were the red velvet sofa and chair still there, or that cuckoo clock? She couldn’t remember. Dozens of times she’d looked at the xylophone, since she’d played with the Fisher Price version as a toddler, and never once had she noticed a marionette or doll anywhere near it. Certainly not one resembling Dave.

And what had happened to his flask? She should go look for it in that storage locker already.

Never mind the storage locker, she should ask Jordan about it. Dave would’ve had it with him if they were drinking together and he could have left it behind. Jordan, who skipped Dave’s memorial and never returned her calls, texts, or emails. She’d never liked him. She dreaded having to go to his place to confront him in person, but what choice did she have?

“Are you okay, Claire?”

Claire blinked rapidly, shook her head, and gazed around the food court. She’d been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten where she was for a moment. She barely remembered leaving the lecture hall. Adam set down trays of Greek-style chicken kebabs, salad, and rice for them.

“You looked like you were on another planet just now.”

“I was.” She forced a giggle and pocketed the change he’d left on her tray. They alternated who would pay for their meals and she always guarded a seat while he waited for their food to be ready.

Guilt descended on her like a thick fog. She felt as if by even noticing a puppet that looked like her late fiancé, she was betraying her new boyfriend. Or maybe by trying to move on with her life, she was betraying her love of old. She and Dave had planned to get married as soon as the graduated, have a baby, and build their future together. Until death do us part.

“I have to go back to the office afterwards. The IT director installed the software for this new security system himself for some dumb reason. I have to figure out where exactly he screwed up in order to fix it.”

“Uh, huh.” She’d do a thorough search of her apartment first. The flask could be in that box of Dave’s personal effects the cops had given her. His wallet and all of his cards had been in there, along with his phone. She hadn’t had the heart to see if his class ring had turned up. And she never did get around to returning his key to their landlord. She probably should.

She felt robotic throughout their entire meal, nodding absently as they made plans for later that evening. “I was thinking tonight after class we could go grab a slice of pizza at Gianni’s and then head on to the Broken Cue.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” All she could think about was getting back to that store, looking in the window to see if that marionette was still there, and if she could see any strings connecting any of its joints to the ceiling above. And find out who had put it there.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Seven - Pareidolia

The marionette was still slumped against the xylophone when Claire and Adam passed by the shop window. She could see no strings or wire above. After their usual round at the Broken Cue, Adam spent the night at her place. She did her best to put Dave out of her thoughts. Unfair as it was to compare him and Dave, she couldn’t help it. Dave had been a much better cook thanks to his Italian mother. Adam lived on sandwiches. Dave had been less tidy though, leaving jeans strewn on chairs, stubble dust in the sink whenever he shaved, the toilet seat always up. She was constantly picking up after him.

When they kissed goodbye the next morning, all she could think about was returning to that storefront. She tried to stay in the present. Dave used to complain she was always off in la-la land. She bitterly regretted letting so many moments with him slip past. Adam rocked her in his arms as they stood inside the glass door of her apartment building, warm bright sunlight slanting in. “I’d give you a ride, but I have to get a guy to look at that deflating tire.”

“That’s okay, it’s getting nice enough to walk.” They stepped outside. His route home took him in the opposite direction along the parkway and into a leafy hilltop neighbourhood of rambling Queen Anne houses. Claire gave him one last kiss and hurried uphill towards Main Street. Sweat trickled down her back. As with every spring, she’d dressed too warmly, expecting a penetrating chill in the air and underestimating the heat of the sun radiating down.

A sweet scent of hyacinth hung in the air as she turned onto Main. To compensate for potholed roads and crumbling concrete planters, the city had put in daffodils, tulips, and other spring flowers. The effect was like putting garlands on a building slated to be demolished. She passed The Broken Cue and Gianni’s Pizza, then dashed across Pine street against the light.

As she drew nearer to Maurer and Sons, she felt frantic. She dreaded seeing the marionette gone as if it were never there to begin with. Relief gushed into her at the sight of it, similar to retrieving a forgotten wallet with all the cash and cards still inside. The marionette was propped against the rainbow keys of the xylophone. She scrutinized the space above it, using her body to cast the window in shade. No strings. Not even the glint of fishing wire.

She gasped; the marionette had just jerked, she was sure of it, similar to a person spasming in their sleep. Someone had to be watching her, toying with her, having observed her peering inside this shop while everyone else strode past. But who, and why? What did they want from her? The bus squealed to a stop behind her and everyone herded aboard. She’d take the later one. Now alone, she continued her vigil. Twice the marionette had moved; it would again soon enough. Several minutes crept past. She grew tense, wondering how much more time she had.

“Weird,” said a woman standing next to her. “Who moves this stuff around all the time?”

Claire’s heart fluttered in her chest. “No idea. I thought I was the only one who noticed.”

“Too bad this place is never open.” The woman’s fine, auburn hair framed stunning green eyes. She wore a chocolate brown hoodie over top a pair of dark blue jeans that showed off her slender curves. “My grandma had that exact same Chinese checkers set.”

Claire spotted the Chinese checkers game, still in the original box. It was an ancient metal set with brightly coloured marbles occupying each point in the star.

“They had this freaky voodoo-type doll in here for a bit,” she said, her voice scarcely a whisper. She seemed to be talking more to herself than Claire. Some other object in the display seemed to have captured her attention, or triggered a distant memory. “Only it was German in origin. Poppets, they’re called. The display in here seems kind of random. And yet it doesn’t. It’s hard to explain. Even that puppet looks like this guy I once went home with.”

Claire bristled until she added, “And like this guy a dated in high school for a couple of years. Maybe our brains make all these associations out of random things we see. Pareidolia, I think it’s called. Like seeing animal shapes in the clouds. This store is weird that way.”

She had a point. Claire was about to ask what meaning the game had for the woman when a car slowed behind them. A white SUV had pulled up to the curb.

“My ride. See ya!”

Claire watched her duck into the back seat. Maybe she wasn’t getting odd messages; she was reading too much into the arrangement of various random objects in the window display. And yet, that marionette had been posed exactly the same way Dave had been lying dead in that field. She regretted not taking a picture when she’d had the chance. She took one now of the marionette slumped against the green and blue keys.

Putting her phone away, she studied the frame around the giant rippled pane of leaded glass, and then the recessed doorway. She could see no cameras fixed anywhere, and yet someone had made that marionette move the instant she’d looked away. “Who are you,” she whispered. “What do you want from me?”

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Eight - The Marionette Returns

Claire had just brought out the box containing Dave’s case files when her mother called. Her sister was visiting with the baby, so she listened to the background coos with a sinking sensation. She tried not to be resentful of her sister’s charmed life, but tears came anyway. Then her father got on the line; he always knew how to cheer her up. Until he asked, “Have you thought about moving home again?”

“It’s hard to think that far ahead. I still have one more year,” she reminded him. Moving home was not an option. Everyone knew her as Claire and Dave. There, she’d still be Claire and Dave twenty years from now. At least in another city, she could build her own identity. And not be haunted by his memory everywhere she went.

“Well, I spoke to Ryan, my friend who owns the transport company. I know logistics is not the most glamorous field, but he says there’s a job waiting for you if you ever do come back. You’d get to do some marketing, maybe write the newsletters they send to customers.”

“Thanks, dad, I appreciate it. I’ll know for sure what my plans are closer to graduation.”

“Of course.” Of corlse, was how he pronounced it. “I love you, my dear Claire.”

“I love you too. Good night.”

She woke the next morning, her pillow drenched in tears. She wondered if she’d ever stop hurting, missing someone who was gone and would never come back to her. She missed home, as well. And yet she couldn’t face living there without Dave. Worse, she’d let something as stupid as a wooden puppet throw her off. Finding the answers to Dave’s death wouldn’t bring him back. And yet she had to try, she felt she owed him that much. She had all summer outside of her seasonal job to pursue leads. With classes almost over, she had no excuses.

The ringing phone helped her recover her senses. She sniffled, blew her nose, took a deep breath, and then answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, Claire, did I wake you?”

Shit! she uttered, falling back onto her bed. She’d forgotten about the class presentation due at the end of the week. “I overslept. Just give me ten minutes. I’m so, so, sorry!” Claire held the cordless phone to her ear as she threw her notebook, wallet, cell phone, and a couple of pens into her knapsack. Which class was this for, again? Romantic Lit.

“It’s okay. Phil’s held up in traffic because of some accident on the one-o-five and Liz got lost on her way here because this place isn’t on Google Maps. I’ll see you soon.”

Thankfully she’d showered last night before bed. Her hair was all fluffed out, the normally comb-straight part a zigzag, so she pulled it back into a clip. She sniffed; the jeans and t-shirt she’d worn yesterday were still clean. She threw them on, snatched up her grey hoodie from the back of her chair, slung the strap of her backpack onto one shoulder, and headed out.

When she reached the sidewalk she realized she’d forgotten her copy of Shelley poems. She’d also forgotten to put on a coat. Just as well, the sun was already beating down from a cloudless sky. She hurried uphill, cursing herself for neglecting the group project. In her rush to get to the coffee shop, the display for the antique store was a kaleidoscopic blur of yellows and reds in her peripheral vision. And yet, just as she was about to step past, she halted. She staggered backwards and eyed the patch of faded carpet next to the xylophone.

The marionette was gone.

The cuckoo clock was still there, as was the array of dolls up high on their shelf. The Arab-style metal lamp still hung above the red velvet chair. She turned and was about to head to the coffee shop when she heard a muffled clattering, of sticks knocking together. The marionette dropped down and she nearly leapt out of her skin. She held her hand to her chest to calm her fluttering heart. The jointed wooden man was staggering up to the display window.

Strings, gossamer as the threads from a spider, glinted in the sunlight. She peered up, but couldn’t see the ceiling above from this angle. A rapping on the window made her look back down. The marionette began a jig and then squatted, arms folded across the chest, legs kicking up alternately like a Russian dancer.

She eyed the surrounding pedestrians. None of them took notice. She turned back to see the marionette drop to its knees, hands pressed together in prayer. She felt immersed in a dreamlike state as its head tilted up to her, eyes drawn in an anguished expression. The eyes were painted brown with flecks of blue, same as Dave’s.

She mouthed, What do you want?

It lurched forward, body and head craning upward, hands still pressed together in front of its chest. “Forgiveness?” she rasped. It nodded furiously, then settled back down on its knees. She crouched until she was level with it. “But it was an accident.”

It turned its head from side to side. A chill sank into her as she watched its forlorn face with its uncanny resemblance to her late fiancé.

“Hey, Claire, you coming in, or what?” Phil’s voice snapped her back to the present.

“Sorry,” she said, her gaze returning to the now slumped-over marionette. She stared up again and, seeing nothing shifting in the shadows above, clambered back onto her feet. She followed her classmate into Corner Café, pledging the slip out again first chance she got. She had to find out who was operating that thing. 

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Nine - Trying to Confide

Carmen, Liz, and Jacob were already seated inside. During the entire meeting Claire kept zoning out, resisting the urge to rush to the storefront two doors down to see if the marionette had moved again. Someone inside the store had to be familiar with the circumstances surrounding Dave’s death. Maybe they were there that night. She shuddered at the thought.

“Claire.” Jacob was staring at her. He appeared to have been trying to get her attention for some time. “So what do you think of our plan?”

She had no idea what they’d just been discussing. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Carmen nudged Claire’s foot with the toe of her boot and mouthed to her, I’ll email you. She then made a sleep gesture, tilting her head and pressing her hands against her cheek, and winked. Deeply embarrassed, Claire mouthed, Thank you.

Jacob and the others, except for Carmen, packed up their things, said their good-byes, and left. Claire picked up her sausage roll. She’d taken only one bite of it so far.

“Are you okay, girl?” Carmen had long, curly hair, tendrils of which went nearly to her waist, dark at the roots and bleached at the ends from last summer’s sun. She had a wide, friendly face, the kind everyone immediately takes to. The sort of face Claire wished she had.

“I’m fine,” Claire said. “I slept badly last night. So what did I miss?”

“We’re going to act out that stormy night where they came up with all the ideas for their stories. Since they’re involved with the theatre group, Liz is going to bring period costumes for each of us and Phil’s going to bring painted screens showing the background of the seaside mansion. Liz is going to be Mary Shelley. You’ll be okay doing Lord Byron?”

“Imagine me as mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” Claire laughed, trying to force herself back to the present. She was still disturbed by that marionette and its little dance.

Carmen laughed too. “We’re not exactly typecasting this thing, huh.” She lowered her voice. “Seriously. Are you okay? You were out to lunch, girl. Are things going okay with Adam?”

“Yeah, he’s great!” She was tempted to lie, but Carmen knew her too well. They’d spent a lot of time together in first year and Carmen, too, had had to drop out the previous semester after a car accident. “Something really weird happened earlier, on my way in.”

“Phil said he saw you staring in the window of that store down the street.”

Claire blanched. They had to have been talking about her right in her presence and she’d had no idea. She really had been on Mars. “Can I show you something there?”

“Sure!” They packed their notebooks and tablets into their backpacks and strolled out of the café. The sky was overcast and the wind had picked up. She waited for Carmen to finish buttoning up her beige woollen cardigan and led her to the window of Maurer and Sons.

Claire stared anxiously around the window display. The velvet sofa and chair were still there. Those never moved. The xylophone was still poking out from underneath. The ancient metal Chinese checkers game was again propped up against the base of the wall on the right, the stuffed baby crocodile on their left. The old Bicycle playing cards were in their usual place, as were the assorted comic books spread out in a fan. The glass and metal lamp was still in the same spot.

The marionette was gone. She figured it would be.

“Never mind,” she said, frustrated. “I swear things appear and vanish in that window on an hourly basis. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone in there was messing with me.” She said so loud enough for anyone lurking inside the store to overhear.

“Who would do that to you, you’re so sweet.”

“Someone who knew Dave, maybe. Earlier I saw this puppet that looked exactly like him.”

“Come on. A puppet? That makes no sense.” Carmen checked her watch, the face of it inlaid with abalone shell that flashed silvery green and blue. “Anyway, I have to get to work.”

She wasn’t sure Carmen would be willing to accompany her to the site where Dave’s body had been found, but no harm in asking. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

“Again, work.” She sighed, smiling. “I’ll be at the store all day if you want to visit.”

“I’ll try. And if not, I’ll see you in class,” Claire said, hiding her disappointment.

Carmen pecked her cheek and Claire watched her amble down the road. One thing she’d yet to do, which various friends and family had counselled her to do, was visit the site where Dave had been found, to see it for herself. She should just get it over with. For all she knew, that arrangement in the store the other day was pointing her there. Maybe some clue lay nearby that police had missed. Or a new one had recently been planted by whoever was operating that marionette.

She began heading west, in the direction of the vacant lot where Dave’s lifeless body had been found after an anonymous tip to police. The call was later traced to a grimy payphone at the gas station next to Westwood Plaza. That was all she had ever learned of the witness’s identity. However that call had, for Claire, secured her conviction that Dave’s death had not been a natural one. Either Jordan was lying, or someone else had been with Dave that night.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Ten - Dave’s Last Steps

Claire ambled up the street, plagued by thoughts that someone inside the store was taunting her. Or they could be trying to help by giving her leads to investigate. She shouldn’t assume malicious intent. Maybe in time, he or she would reveal themselves to her. She followed Main Street to the end where it veered right, sloping uphill away from the river. Two lanes widened to four and Main became Lincoln Avenue. She passed a row of dilapidated houses long ago boarded up. The porch of the first one leaned precariously, on the verge of collapsing.

She turned left onto a road with so many potholes that the area looked as though it had sustained years of mortar attacks. All that remained of many of the old buildings were the foundations and rubble buried in yellowed weeds. Tulips sprouted out of the soil in odd places, bursts of crimson in the bleakness.

Her legs grew unsteady as she approached the derelict factories, fields of crumbled brick and broken concrete. The ruins were far more spread out than they’d appeared on maps she’d studied over the past year or so. Hard to believe this used to be the heart of town, where old textile and car parts factories once ran.

She drew nearer to an ancient two-story brick building with a jagged rooftop like the back of a sea serpent. Dave had been found in the lot just beyond. She crept around the side of the building, staying in the sun. Her skin felt flushed and hot as she braved her first look. She recognized the area instantly from photos police had taken.

Tension drained from her body at the mundane sight, a plain half acre lot partially ringed by a chain link fence. She’d expected the place to feel haunted, to sense his presence. She didn’t. This was just another litter-strewn field of patchy yellowed grass crisscrossed with old footpaths. She stared around. Standing here, she was even more baffled as to why he’d passed this way. A shortcut to nowhere.

In the distance, a building with turrets at each end piqued her curiosity. She began striding towards a vaguely Tudor-style mansion surrounded by enormous trees. She wanted to explore the other vacated factories but this looked more interesting. She sometimes dreamed of restoring a rambling old nook-and-cranny house, as her father called them. Among the desolation, the sprawling house appeared almost magical, the sunlight catching the spires like in a fairy tale. She dared not take her eyes off of it in case it disappeared on her.

She stumbled over a low wall that must have once surrounded the property. Crossing the overgrown lawn, her sense of enchantment faded like a morning mist. Up close it was just another rotting edifice. Shutters hung off their hinges, the black paint cracked and peeled. The whitewashed plaster façade was stained with mildew and covered in skeletal strands of dormant ivy. The building was probably structurally sound enough for her to venture inside, but she couldn’t face the gloom.

To her right, a pair of rutted tracks disappeared into the woods. The highway must be somewhere in that direction but she had no idea how far. She gazed at the fields to her left in the direction of the river. A trail originating somewhere behind the mansion cut across the yellowed grass like a part through thick hair. There was a newer neighbourhood just beyond the forest behind this mansion and from there, she could catch a bus home. She didn’t want to pass through a mile or two of dismal old factories again.

She followed the trail through waist-high grass. The ground was concrete hard and well-trodden, yet she saw no footprints in the soil or any litter strewn around. She veered into the woods with some trepidation. As she walked, she came no closer to anywhere civilized. Instead the woods grew thicker, and crowded with evergreens.

A foul stench filled her nostrils. She covered her nose and continued. She came upon a dip revealing a pair of rusted train tracks. She’d seen those on the map; the subdivision should be just on the other side of them. She picked her way across the rails and clambered uphill, following a path between tall, shaggy cedars. Only when she reached the top of a ridge did she realize how lost she was. She should have come upon those houses by now.

She climbed up onto a boulder and scanned the horizon. A far-off cluster of buildings to her left appeared to be the town, but which part? It could be downtown, or those apartment buildings near campus. She was totally disoriented. She studied the railway tracks below. A gravel path ran parallel. That should take her back to the river. She scrambled down the hill towards it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If she’d gone back the way she came, she’d be home by now.

The rails began curving left while the path went straight. Closer to town the tracks were buried beneath the pavement, roads laid over top like a palimpsest. In the distance she could hear the low rumble of the river. Further along, a smaller trail veered off into a clearing. On the far side was a giant willow tree, its long yellow tendrils dangling down onto the top of an odd structure partially buried in a hillock. At first glance it appeared to be a giant raised platform, four feet high at one end, roughly thirty feet wide, and forty feet in length.

Curious, she drew closer. Not a platform, but the remains of a building where one end jutted out of the uneven terrain. The foundation of a house, perhaps. The walls were constructed of old cinder blocks, roofed with giant sheets of plywood covered in black tar paper and a layer of dirt. Weeds grew like a carpet over top.

She went around to the entrance. Steps leading down had been cut into the earth and reinforced with railway ties. They ended in a flimsy door. A shiny brass padlock secured it to the frame. She covered her nose with her sleeve. A sickly stench hung in the air. She could only imagine how much worse it would smell inside.

She returned to the main path and continued along. At last she reached the bike path and the parkway that ran alongside the river. She crossed. Leaning over the railing, she looked up and down the swift-moving current to get her bearings. To her right, she spotted the speckled white bridge that led to the highway going north-south. The river bent sharply after that. She blew out a sigh of relief, only now aware of how anxious she’d grown. She wasn’t lost anymore.

Next time she ventured anywhere unfamiliar, she’d study a map of the entire area first. Wear sturdier shoes. Eat something beforehand or bring a snack. And no more shortcuts. She continued towards Voortman Park, flummoxed. What on Earth had Dave been doing in that spot? He had to have been with someone. But who? Police had eliminated everyone he knew.

Gazing around, she realized she’d been along this same path before. The summer before last, she and Dave occasionally walked along this stretch, crossing the bridge to visit a burger place on the other side of the river. One especially hot fall afternoon, they’d come upon that path and she’d been curious as to where it led. Dave followed her for about twenty yards or so into the woods and then pleaded for her to turn back. She’d wanted to continue where it was cooler under the forest canopy. But he was hungry, he’d said, and wanted to go eat, and who knew where that trail led to. Certainly not anywhere where there’d be food.

Now that she’d visited the area, she had a better understanding of the maps she’d studied online. She’d look at them again and to try to figure out what Dave may have been up to that cold winter night. There had to be something everyone had so far missed.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Eleven - Dave’s Last Night

Claire sat at her kitchen table and propped her aching feet up on her other chair. She opened her laptop and clicked on her map app. She zoomed in on the lands she’d explored to the northwest of town until she found the spires of that dilapidated mansion. The rooftop was in decent repair. That dirt road did appear to lead to the highway passing by her old neighbourhood and eventually to her university. She should have taken that route instead.

She switched to street view. The lane ended in a rusted, blue metal gate secured with a thick chain. A barbed wire fence ran alongside the ditch. She tried zooming up the rutted lane leading into the woods but the application kept flipping her around so that she was facing the commercial strip on the opposite side of the road, just a little ways up from Westwood Plaza.

She returned to the bird’s-eye view and studied the mansion. Unfortunately all the photographs had been shot in summer when the trees were in full leaf. She tried to zoom in even closer and everything blurred. Why would anyone have bothered filming in more detail, she thought bitterly. Who else had any purpose there.

She pushed her laptop aside and retrieved the bankers box from beneath her bed. The folder containing the crime scene photos lay on top. No more delaying. She spread the folder open on top of her kitchen table. Her chest felt tight, a sickening tension she’d expected to feel, but hadn’t, when she’d ventured into the vacant lot. The contents were mostly black and white stills, which she was thankful for. Death looked far more brutal in Technicolor.

Her dad had organized the pictures so that the ones of the surrounding terrain were on top and those of Dave buried underneath. The first showed only a patch of grass bisected by a stony dirt path. Plastic markers sat along each side like tents in a miniature campsite. A yellow sticky marked off a section of similar photographs, close-ups of footprints, and assorted debris such as pop cans, cigarette ends, shards of tinfoil, and crumpled gum wrappers. Keeping all the pictures together, she moved to the next stack.

And there he was. Lying sprawled in an identical position to that marionette in the shop window. She sobbed at the sight of him, lying broken and helpless. If only she’d come out to look for him. The first months after his death, she obsessed about waking and finding his side of the bed empty, somehow knowing where he lay, finding him unconscious but alive, and getting him into an ambulance in time. She’d lived so much nearer to that site back then. Filled with a sudden ache, she wished she could reach through the thick paper into the past and gently shake his shoulder to revive him.

Dave had told her he’d be jamming with Dwayne and Rob. She later learned Dave had been with Jordan and had lied about where he was going. She wasn’t surprised; he knew she disliked him and probably wanted to avoid an argument. Police established he’d been there; Jordan himself had said as much. Supposedly Dave had left by midnight. Police had taken all of Jordan’s shoes, compared the treads with every partial footprint near the site. No matches.

Another visitor confirmed Jordan was home after midnight. Alone. A forty minute walk from Jordan’s place, Claire figured, now that she’d been to the area. As much as she despised the scrawny, tattooed loser, she had to admit he’d never hurt Dave. They were childhood best friends. They let nothing come between them, even her.

Investigators speculated that after Dave fell, he never woke up again. It was unlikely he suffered, they said. No broken bones or fractures. They’d found bruising around his wrist as if someone had grabbed him and he’d torn out of their grip, but that wasn’t necessarily from the same night. The medical examiner found alcohol and traces of a drug called ketamine in his system, but not a lethal amount. Natural causes, hypothermia, was the official cause of death.

She, too, had become disoriented around that area. Maybe he had gotten lost. Tired, he may have decided to sit and rest, only to keel over from the cold. A theory that gave her no satisfaction, but what would, apart from finding him alive again, learning that the past year and three-odd months had all been a big mistake, a horrible dream?

Her phone trilled, shattering her fugue. Snapping back to the present, she closed the file. She answered, “Hi Adam,” with a grin. She was living her new life once more.

“Hey. I was wondering if you were wanting to come out tonight.”

She glanced at her clock. Half past eight. She was happy he called; she needed to get out of here. She should be calling a friend, but she had so few of them. Too few. Only when Dave was gone did she realize how much her life had revolved around his. They had done everything together. Even with Adam she was circling closer to him and only him. “Where are you?”

“I was thinking of going for a walk along the riverfront and maybe picking up a slice of pizza on the way. Feel like joining me?”

“Sounds great! Why don’t you drop by my place? I’m just doing a little tidying up.”

“I’ll see you in five.”

She bundled the folder back into the box under her bed where it would be out of sight. If only she could close up the past and pack away all her negative emotions into a folder in a box and forget about them too.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Twelve - A Little Local History

Claire greeted Adam just outside the main door of her building. The sun had set and a swollen moon was pushing through the drifting clouds. She mapped out a route that would take them past Maurer and Son Antiques & Collectibles on their way to Gianni’s Pizza. By now they’d been together for long enough that she felt she could trust him fully. If the marionette was in the window, she’d tell him the entire story. It would be the perfect way to broach the subject.

A cool breeze blew as they turned onto Main, sending last year’s fallen leaves skittering around their feet like a herd of mice. They passed Corner Café in silence. A fluorescent tube in the display case illuminated the shop, the potted dieffenbachia casting Lovecraftian shadows across the checker board floor. She exhaled audibly when they reached the window for the antique store. The marionette was lounging against the xylophone. As Claire drew nearer it shifted, as though her footsteps had disturbed its sleep. She glanced over at Adam, debating whether to call his attention to it. He was reading something on his phone. She eyed the puppet, sitting upright now and shaking its head. I’m going insane, she muttered.

“What?” Adam looked up, the screen of his phone turning his face an eerie blue.

“Nothing.” She tightened her grip on his arm. If she told him about anything about that store display he’d think she was crazy. “Let’s go. Was that Rob getting back to you? You said you’d invited him out and …”

The puppet was slumped forward again, lifeless. Adam caught her looking in the window and scowled. “That place creeps me out.”

“How come?” She felt suddenly defensive, but let it go.

“I dunno. It just does.” He pocketed his phone and they continued along the sidewalk. “Yeah, that was Rob. He can’t make it—has a final essay he kept procrastinating on that’s due at eleven in the morning. I don’t think he’s even started it yet.” On the next block was Gianni’s Pizza. He peered inside. “I don’t know about you, but I could go for a bite.”

She sniffed, taking in scents of fresh bread and oregano. She thought back on her day and all she’d eaten was a can of beef stew and a tuna sandwich. “Sounds good!”

A fresh pizza was coming out as they entered, topped with sausage, green peppers, and mushrooms. Claire’s favourite. Adam ordered two slices for each of them and they headed to a table next to a window with red and white gingham curtains that matched the tablecloth.

“Hey, guys.” Matt, who Carmen had briefly dated, invited them to join his table. A pitcher of beer sat next to a round metal tray containing a half-eaten pepperoni pizza.

“You two know each other, right?” Adam asked.

Matt nodded. He then asked what their plans were for the summer. All three would be staying in town and Claire confirmed she’d be working in the same little booth as she had the past two summers, selling crepes in Voortman Park. She picked at the thick warm crust of her pizza and tried to shake the image of the marionette from her mind. She should have alerted Adam when she had the chance. Aware she’d crawled up too much into her own head again, she tried to tune into conversation around her.

Matt was discussing a local history project he’d just handed in, the rise and fall of fortune in a town which never fully recovered from the Great Depression in the 1930s. “Although the family that owned those factories seemed to come out of it just fine.”

Curiosity piqued, Claire asked, “Are you talking about that street off Lincoln where the bus always passes by, just before the highway?”

“Yeah.” Matt added, “The entire area bounded by Lincoln Street to the east, Highway 105 to the north, and the river to the south, was owned by one family. They still own most of this town. That’s why it’s such a dump. The land could be worth millions but they just sit on it.”

“My dad thinks the city should seize that land and auction it off in parcels,” Adam said. “He knows quite a few developers who’re interested in building more student housing.”

“They also own half of the buildings along Main,” Matt added.

“Including that antique store?” Claire asked and immediately regretted it. She wasn’t yet willing to admit her obsession to anyone. And she was becoming obsessed. She could think of little else. Adam shot her a disapproving glance.

“Which one?”

“The, uh … The one up the street from here. More-er something,” she said, deliberately mispronouncing the name. “They have a metal xylophone in the window just like one I used to play with as a child. And a big cuckoo clock on one wall. And this little sofa set I really like.”

“I know the one you mean.” He shook his head. “Nah, some investment banker owns it.”

Adam was giving her an odd look, his mouth hanging open, his eyes narrowed at her as if she’d just brought up an ex-boyfriend she still sometimes hung around and had passed off as just a friend. “I’m glad to see that new coffee shop is doing well.”

Everyone agreed. “They have way better coffee,” Matt said. “That last place was terrible.”

Conversation returned to local politics, and again Claire found herself drifting off into her own world. Like many obsessions, the more she tried to force her thoughts away, the more they drew her back. She placed her hand on Adam’s thigh. He smiled at her. Good. She hadn’t upset him. Tonight they’d make love, and she’d try to shift all thoughts of Dave to the past once more. He was gone and she still had her life to live no matter how guilty she felt about surviving him. She’d put more effort into her friendships as well. She’d call Carmen first thing tomorrow.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Thirteen - A Partner in Crime

After their class presentation and a celebratory end-of-school-year lunch at The Barbecue Pit, Claire and Carmen spent the afternoon browsing through a thrift store that had recently opened. They were just coming out onto Elm Street when they spotted Sarah coming towards them. “Hey, guys, what are you up to?”

“We’re just out for a walk and a little shopping,” Carmen said, showing Sarah the copy of Luis Borges short stories she’d bought.

“Cool. I was just on my way to meet my friend Ally for lunch. You want to join us?” They followed Sarah around the corner and Claire spotted a woman with long, deep auburn hair crouching in front of the window for Maurer and Sons. She straightened up, turned to face them, and grinned. It was the same woman Claire had spoken to a few weeks back.

“I asked some friends to join us,” Sarah said. “You know Carmen already, don’t you?”

She squinted in the bright sunlight, still smiling. Only now did Claire notice how beautiful she was, with small, even teeth and full, red lips. Her wide set eyes were a luminous green in the sunlight. Those same eyes kept darting over to Claire as she spoke to Carmen and Sarah.

“Yeah, I remember. At Matt’s party a couple of months back. How are you?”

“Good,” Carmen said.

“And this is Claire, who was in my Romantics class,” Sarah said and they shook hands with each other. Her grip was firm, her fingers warm, and soft.

“I’m Allison.” Claire avoided looking at the window until Allison said, “I find it so hard to tear myself away from this place. I had a xylophone just like that as a little kid.”

“Me too,” said Claire, tensing as she braved a glance. No marionette. She wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved it was gone. She eyed the velvet sofa and matching chair, the cuckoo clock, the Kali statue, the Russian nesting dolls still arranged on the shelf in the upper left. No flask anymore. All was normal, same as it had always been, except …

“Ooh, I would love a dollhouse like that. It’s huge!” Allison had pressed herself against the window in the alcove and was peering inside. Claire stood next to her, her hands cupped around her eyes to block the sun. Deep in the shadows, she could just make out a waist-high model of a house similar to the one beyond the derelict factories. She’d forgotten about it.

Dimly aware the others were wandering off, Claire tore herself away from the window and followed them into the coffee shop. She guarded a table by the window while they went up to the counter. She felt sick with anxiety. As soon as they sat, she’d make her excuses and head out. The urge to venture into that mansion was too overwhelming for her to stay put.

Carmen was the first to join her at the table. “You’re not eating?”

“I’m not hungry.” Claire set down the paper napkin she’d been crumpling. She should hold off going to that mansion. She was falling into old habits. Neglecting friendships, letting hobbies fall to the wayside, still centering her life around Dave nearly a year and a half after his death.

Sarah and Allison squeezed in next to them and set down their assorted coffees, bagels, and muffins. Carmen and Sarah got to chatting about some boyfriend drama, leaving Claire to make small talk with Allison. Conversation went immediately to the dollhouse. Allison had had a similar one as a child. “But only one turret, with a wrap-around porch. My dad built it for me and then built the furniture that went inside of it. I think it was as much his hobby as mine.”

“Cool,” Claire said. All she had grown up with were Barbies, but her grandfather used to take her horseback riding, which she had enjoyed more anyway. Dolls were never her thing. She debated mentioning the mansion she’d seen and then said to herself, why not. She’d never have the guts to go inside on her own. “I saw a house exactly like the one in that store. It’s not far from here. I don’t think anyone lives in it, either. It just sits there empty.”

“Really.” Allison’s green eyes were afire like opals, with flecks of orange. “Where is it?”

“Just past that old industrial area, after where Main turns and becomes Lincoln. You follow the road just after that row of boarded up houses. It’s about a mile or so from there.”

“Ooh, could you take me? I have a horrible sense of direction. Even with GPS I get lost.”

“Sure,” Claire said, feeling flushed as if she’d just been asked out on a date with the cutest boy in school. Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. Adam. She’d call him later. It was okay to neglect him so long as she was making new friends. “When would you want to go?”

“Whenever you’re ready!” Allison tapped Sarah’s shoulder. “We’re thinking of exploring this old mansion. It’s only a,” she looked at Claire for confirmation, “half hour walk or so?”

Claire nodded. “Probably a little longer, depending on your pace.”

Carmen and Sarah looked at Allison as if she’d just asked them to hike up Mount Everest with her. “I don’t know if I have the time,” Sarah said anxiously, her fine blonde brows knitted.

Carmen looked down at her beige sandal-boots and banged the heels together. “I don’t have proper shoes. I can’t walk very far in these.”

“It’s okay.” Claire didn’t want a group of them anyway. One other person was enough.

“Suit yourselves!” Allison stood and pushed her chair back in. Claire stood too, patting her pockets to make sure she had her phone, wallet, and keys with her. They made tentative plans with Carmen and Sarah to hang out again, and left.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Fourteen - The Mansion

The entire way, Claire felt like a child letting a new best friend in on her deepest secret. She was happy to have Allison to herself for this trek. She had liked her immediately. Allison pointed at various decrepit buildings, saying it would be cool to film a horror movie here. She and a friend had uploaded a few clips onto Youtube, a project to do with vampires in a similar setting. Claire was glad Allison talked mostly about herself. She wasn’t ready to bring up Dave quite yet.

Just like the last time Claire had been on this walk, the mansion looked magical from a distance and appeared more dilapidated as they crossed the vast field and drew nearer.

“You’re not kidding! This place looks identical! Let’s go in!” Allison charged ahead like a soldier on order to begin the assault. Claire balked. To her horror, Allison went straight to the front door and reached for the handle as if she lived in the place. She pushed it open and looked back at Claire, still standing on the edge of the overgrown lawn.

“Well, are you coming in or not? The lock is busted and it’s obvious nobody lives here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Claire followed her into the lobby. A thick, musty stench hung in the damp air. Otherwise, it didn’t smell too bad in here. Just stale. She gazed around the chessboard marble floor. A wide staircase swept up to a minstrel gallery on the second floor. She imagined a row of ghosts lined along the railing, glaring down at the intruders. High above in the ceiling, twisted wires remained where a grand chandelier must have hung once upon a time.

A crick formed in her neck. She lowered her head. Wide corridors led from the lobby into each wing of the house, the carpets torn out, leaving floorboards pockmarked with glue.

“So where should we head first?” Allison asked, her voice echoing in the vast space.

Claire hunched her shoulders, still taking in her surroundings. The light grey and navy damask wallpaper was stained with damp, but only beginning to peel along the edges of each sheet. “I guess we could start at the top and work our way down?”

“Sounds good to me!” Allison went up the stairs first. Her legs were long and shapely under her black Capri pants. Claire followed, grasping the railing. It was quite sturdy. She took that as a sign that the roof or floors weren’t about to cave in on them. They ventured up a corridor with doors flanking each side, most of which stood ajar.

“What a waste,” Allison said, echoing Claire’s thoughts as they peered into a room on their left. Her entire apartment would fit three times in there. This mansion could house dozens.

“Nothing much left in here, huh,” Allison said from another empty room across the hall.

Claire’s phone rang, startling her. “Just my boyfriend,” she said, pocketing it again.

Allison grunted, sounding almost resentful for the intrusion. The door for a room further along was closed, the bronze knob tarnished almost to black. It took some effort for Allison to wrench it open. This room, unlike the others, was furnished. A dresser stood on the far side. A narrow cot with a flimsy metal headboard was jammed into the leftmost corner.

Claire felt possessive as Allison barged in and began working open the topmost drawer. Claire gasped as she checked the closet. A black rain jacket hung on the wooden rail inside. It looked exactly like the one Dave had lost! She sniffed, and it still smelled faintly of the sandalwood incense he used to burn in their old apartment. For a moment she was transported back to a happier time. She felt a sudden ache in her chest, a sting in her eyes.

She examined the jacket more closely. The lowest button was missing; it had to be his. He told her he’d forgotten it at The Broken Cue and when he went to retrieve it, they’d taken it to the Goodwill. Yet here it was. Dave had never mentioned this place. Surely he would have if he’d known about it. She slid the jacket aside, not wanting to call attention to it, and spied a hardcover book poking out from the shelf above. She pushed it out of sight; she’d come back alone to fetch it. She was about to go help Allison with the stuck drawer when something thudded below. Allison stiffened. “Did you hear that?”

Claire rasped, “What do you think that was?”

“I don’t know, but I think we should get out of here!” They hurriedly tiptoed back out to the staircase. Allison flew down ahead of her and then halted on the bottom step. She peered around the wall into the corridor on her right. She chuckled. “There’s no one in here. I hope you don’t think I’m some sort of crazy person. I frighten really easily sometimes.”

“That’s okay,” Claire said, slowing her descent, the tension easing from her chest. “Do you think that was just the wind making a noise, then?”

“Except I don’t remember it being that windy on our way here.”

“Is it now?”

Allison edged up to the front door, opened it a crack, and peered out. “Yeah, super windy!” She signalled for Claire to follow her out. “We should go––looks like a bad storm is coming.”

The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped with the setting sun. Low dark clouds roiled towards them. Both of them shivered as they hurried along the cracked flagstones and then through the grass, nearly tripping over the remains of the low stone wall.

“I wish I’d dressed warmer. I keep forgetting how unpredictable April can be,” Claire said, breathless from chasing after her. Once they were out of sight of the mansion, they slowed.

“I don’t know about you,” Allison said, “But that sound scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too,” she lied, droplets of cold rain spitting on her face. She’d attributed the noise to the usual creaks old houses make when they settle, but maybe Allison was right to be spooked.

The route back seemed much shorter. Soon they were on Lincoln again, nearing where it became Main Street. Claire realized how stupid she’d been to try a different way home before. With a shudder she remembered that strange platform, and the bad smell hovering in the air.

They stopped at the intersection for Maple Road. “I live just that way.” Allison jerked her head towards a rambling old house with a wooden staircase outside.

“I’m down near the river.” Claire checked the time on her phone. It was later than she thought. Too late to return and fetch that book. She was due to meet Adam at eight and she didn’t want to have to carry it around with her.

“What are you up to now?” Allison asked.

“I have to go meet my boyfriend soon.” Claire sighed, doubting Adam would be all right with her inviting anyone to join them. She wanted to, though. She liked Allison.

“Thanks for taking me to see that mansion. It was really cool. I wouldn’t have known about it otherwise. Let me know next time you want to go back there.”

They exchanged phone numbers and parted ways. Claire deliberated heading back for the book when raindrops started pelting down. She ducked under an awning, the rain hissing, thunder rumbling overhead. She’d just go meet Adam; forget about that mansion for now. She had confirmed one thing, though. Some of the objects in that window display were arranged specifically for her to see. She felt a rush of excitement knowing she wasn’t the only one inexplicably drawn to Maurer and Sons. She was drawn to Allison as well, as if the woman had all the answers she was looking for, but wasn’t aware of it yet.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Fifteen - A Solitary Hair

Adam picked Claire up in his car and he proceeded to grill her about where she’d been. Dave had never been possessive. She wasn’t used to having to account for her time to anyone. “I’d tried calling you a couple of times,” he said. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said on hearing the strain in his voice. “With people talking, and music playing, it was pretty loud in the coffee shop. I didn’t hear it ring.”

“I understand and I’m glad you’re okay. It’s just that small towns aren’t necessarily safer than larger ones. Especially towns with a transient student population. My own cousin went missing and with what happened to your … you know.”

Claire gulped, feeling the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t thought about it like that. She’d assumed he was trying to control her. Smiling, she took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”

He took her to The Bull Moose Eatery, a sports bar on the highway. Adam stayed at her place overnight, although he had to go to work at the crack of dawn. After he left, Claire packed her keys and wallet into an overlarge purse. She texted Allison, saying she wanted to return to the mansion once more. Allison replied she was busy, maybe some other time.

The weather was cool and overcast; good weather for walking, she thought as she trudged uphill towards Main. She wished she knew of a shortcut. None of the maps she’d looked at gave her a detailed enough view of the surrounding terrain. She continued past The Broken Cue and then Gianni’s Pizza, puzzling over last night’s conversation with Adam. He wasn’t normally jealous. He must have picked up some defensive note in her tone when he asked who she’d been hanging around with. She had mentioned Carmen and Sarah, but not Allison, as if she were having an illicit affair with the woman. She also wanted to avoid mentioning that mansion.

She stopped briefly in front of the antique store. No sign of the marionette resembling Dave, although she sensed it was in there somewhere, as if Dave himself were watching on. She thought she could see a faint light inside, barely a pinprick in the gloom. It came from an upstairs room in the dollhouse. She caught a slight movement beneath and her pulse quickened. The marionette resembling Dave lay supine on a miniature bed.

She gripped the strap of her purse and hurried up the road. All she could think about was searching that cot for signs of Dave as she marched past the remains of the factories. Her heart was nearly in her throat when she neared the mansion. The presence of the dollhouse was a message to her, but what was in it for Allison? She feared Dave was the clue connecting them.

The front door was still unlocked. She went straight upstairs to the closet in that bedroom, fumbled on the shelf above, and found the book. It appeared to be a journal. She stuffed it into her purse. The jacket still hung on the rail and she checked each pocket. They were empty apart from a loose key. It could be a spare key for their old apartment. After some dithering, she left the jacket, taking only the key. In her tiny place it would just be more clutter. She’d be tempted to get rid of it. Here, she could visit it like a secret shrine.

But when had Dave come to this place, and why? Assuming he was the one who’d left his jacket behind. He knew she loved rambling old houses, surely he would have brought her here if he was familiar with this place. She went to the cot. An old fleece blanket sat folded on top, next to a pair of flat, yellowed pillows. The mattress was fitted with old-fashioned sheets.

The bed looked as if it had been slept in. Though stained with damp, the pale green and yellow bedding showed little wear. Dread rising in her chest, she peered at the pillow. A solitary hair, golden blonde, caught the sunlight coming into the window. She found more long, golden blonde hairs strewn across the second pillow, with darker, wavier ones tangled among them.

She backed away from the bed, her eyes tearing. No, Dave would never… His jacket must have been stolen. The jacket could be anyone’s, the missing button a manufacturing defect.

She went to the dresser. She pulled out the middle drawer to expose the contents of the one beneath, that Allison had been struggling to open. The drawer was stuffed with wax tapers and black pillar candles, a few shorter candles in various colours, and silver candle holders to catch the melted drippings. Her fingers fumbled against loose incense cones. She gave one of them a sniff. Sandalwood. The same kind Dave had used. Anger flared in her. Her chest felt tight as her thoughts drifted to what he may have gotten up to in here. She had to leave. Before she trashed this place.

She went back down the hall. She stopped at the top of the sweeping staircase and, feeling dizzy, braced herself against the railing. Waves of vertigo went through her as she gazed down at the checker board floor below. She envisioned plummeting to her death and hoped it wasn’t a premonition. She shook the image out of her head. Too many movies. Still, she stayed close to the wall and clasped the curved banister as she came down the steps. She should never have come back here. She should just concentrate on her new life with Adam.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Sixteen - The Notebook

Claire sat on the stool inside the hut for Crepes Suzanne in a dismal mood, unable to stop obsessing over those hairs in the same room as Dave’s jacket. In first year he’d kissed a girl at a party, just once, according to his tear-stained confession. She suspected they’d gone a lot further than kissing, but let it go. That woman had been a brunette, though. She wanted to browse through the notebook but kept hesitating. She was afraid of what she’d find. If Dave had been unfaithful again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It didn’t matter now anyway.

She had just hauled her purse onto her lap when Adam dropped by. “How’s your day?”

“Pretty quiet,” she said, letting her purse drop quietly to the floor.

“I was supposed to be on water truck duty but …” He chuckled as he gazed out at the misty river. “Not needed today! So I’m heading up to the nursery to help with some shipment that came in. I should be done by about five or so. What time are you off your shift?”

Claire grew nervous as she spotted her boss approaching. She was allowed to chat with friends, but still. She didn’t like to be seen slacking off even when business was slow.

She cringed as he said within earshot of Suzanne, “So when’s your next break?”

“Break?” her boss said. “What makes you think I can afford those kinds of perks? There’s food here, a john if she needs it. She can go on her phone or read a book if she’s bored.”

He frowned, unable to tell she was joking. Claire enjoyed a lot of leeway here and both she and Suzanne knew it. “I’ll see you at eight, okay?”

He was about to lean into the booth for a kiss, thought better of it, and waved, then turned around and trotted off. Suzanne gave her a look, and then said, “I have to run to the bank. I might let you go early, depending how the weather holds. It’s not looking too promising.”

Claire watched her get into her red VW Golf and drive off. She took out the book, held it beneath the counter and opened it. The pages were filled with ciphers and assorted doodles. Ink drawings covered one sheet, of frogs or dragons or muscle-bound warriors. This definitely wasn’t Dave’s. Drawing wasn’t his forte. Jordan sometimes drew, but she doubted this was his.

In hindsight she should never have touched this book, or just taken it and the jacket to police. But then she’d have to admit she was trespassing. Too late now, she figured, continuing to leaf through. She came upon a page of handwriting, spidery and masculine. Her thoughts kept returning to those strands of blonde and black hairs tangled on the pillowcase. She flipped to the next page and peered more closely. Someone had drawn a star in pencil and then covered it in crisscrossing lines. In blue ink, they’d begun filling in the squares in a checker-board pattern. She’d seen doodles like that at Jordan’s before, on the inside of flap of a package of rolling papers he kept on his coffee table, or the notepad next to his phone.

Her cell phone rang and she crammed the book into her purse. “Hi, mom. What’s up?”

“I just read your email. I’m so happy for you! Adam sounds like a really nice guy.”

Claire noted the extended pause before her mother said his name. She’d been nervous even telling her parents about him. “He’s really nice. Things are going really well so far.”

“Does he know about Dave?” She had to ask. Claire had yet to discuss Dave with Adam.

“The whole town knows. He’s from here, so he knows everything that goes on. Besides, a former fiancé isn’t exactly a subject that comes up much in a new relationship.”

“I suppose!” To Claire’s relief, conversation moved to gossip from home. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if her mother ever suspected Dave of cheating. She promised to visit and hung up.

She resumed gazing out at the park. Fog was rolling in. A deep sense of unease seeped into her as well. She hadn’t been paying much attention to her surroundings when she’d retrieved that notebook from the house. For all she knew, someone had seen her take it. She hadn’t thought to check for security cameras. The phone on the wall rang, jangling her nerves.

“Hello, Crepe’s Suzanne, this is Claire speaking.”

“May as well close for the day. If you don’t mind, that is.” Her boss, sounding harried.

“No, I’m fine with that!” She was happy to have the extra time this afternoon, before she had to go and meet up with Adam. A new goal formed in her mind. “What about the float?”

“Just lock up, make a note of the time you finished today, and I’ll come fetch it once I’m done here. I shouldn’t be long, but you don’t have to wait for me.”

“Thanks.” Claire hung up, reeled in the awning, and locked the shutters. There was only a couple of hundred dollars in the till, but she didn’t feel comfortable just leaving it there. Then again, the park was so quiet there was no one around to steal. She heaved herself off the stool. She dreaded the thought of visiting Jordan, but she had to. She’d already put it off too long.

She took her time locking up the hut, ensuring everything was secure, and then worried if by being so thorough she was drawing attention to herself. With some reluctance, she began heading across the grass to the parking lot. She headed uphill towards Main Street, steeling herself to confront Jordan. She had to face him eventually; she may as well get it over with. If Dave had been cheating on her, he would know. Whether he’d tell her was another matter.

[themarionetteanovel]

Chapter Seventeen - Jordan’s Admission

The bus pulled to a stop at the subdivision just outside of the Westwood Plaza on Highway 105. Claire hopped off the bus, memories flooding back into her. Most of the time she’d been in a hurry, hungry, and knowing Dave was about to serve lunch or dinner. She missed his cooking. She wished she could go back to all those times and slow them down and savour them more. She walked between the square white pillars marking the entrance to Fairhaven Estates with an eerie sense of déjà vu.

She came to the corner of Foxglove Crescent, her stomach twisting into a knot. Jordan might no longer live here and the thought only just occurred to her. She and Dave used to live two streets over but she hadn’t kept in touch with any of their old neighbours. No, she was looking for excuses not to confront him or revisit her former life. She was glad Jordan’s house was closer; she had no desire to pass by the place she once called home. It would be too weird.

She ambled up the cracked walkway and rang the doorbell. She grew tense as she waited, wishing she could just get this over with. She rang again and footsteps tromped towards her.

“Who is it?” Jordan called through the door. She spotted movement in the narrow window beside it, the glass too bevelled and frosted for her to glimpse more than a silhouette.

“It’s me, Claire. I was wondering if Dave had left his flask here.”

“Don’t have it. I would of returned it if he did, you know I would.”

She hated talking to a door. “Can you come out a minute? I need to ask you something.”

“Why didn’t you just call,” he mumbled, though she could hear him removing the chain latch inside. She must have awakened him. He opened the door, looking as disheveled as ever. The stench of dirty clothes, rotten food, and stale marijuana smoke wafted out. “What’s up?”

She hoped with his being half asleep, he might answer truthfully. “I wanted to ask you a question about Dave, but I needed to ask it in person. You never answer the phone anyway.”

He hunched his bare skinny shoulders. He’d gotten a new tattoo on his chest.

“Was Dave cheating on me?”

“Wha?” He braced himself against the door frame. “No way, he’d never cheat on you.”

She didn’t believe him. The look of shock on his face was too exaggerated. “Look. He’s dead. You can tell me. I am not going to hold it against you.”

He still hesitated. Well aware of her dislike of him.

“Okay, anymore than I already hold you responsible for his death. I know, I’m being unfair, but hey, you might be off the hook in my mind entirely if I’m able to hate him instead. Please.”

He sighed and leaned out the door as if expecting someone else to drop by any minute.

“With long blonde hair.”

Another sigh, more agitated this time. She was getting warmer. She felt sick.

She said softly, “I’m not going to be angry at you. I promise. Even if you helped him do it.”

Something in his face shifted and she knew he’d done precisely that. He couldn’t even look at her as he said, “Yeah, her name was Sophie. I never learned what her last name was.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes starting to burn. “Anything else?”

He gazed off, his muscles taut as he clutched the frame of the door. “They met a couple of years back. I can’t remember exactly when.”

Years? “That’s fine.” Claire tried her best to contain her rage, knowing if she let loose on him she’d face a slamming door. Drizzle began spitting down on her, insults from the heavens.

“At first he blew her off. But then she tracked him down somehow and began pursuing him. She fell hard for him, would sometimes stalk the two of you when you were out together.”

“My God,” she whispered, shivering. She’d had no idea. Knowing Dave had initially rejected the woman diffused some of her anger. Though normally he told her about his pursuers.

“I know. Her folks live in town and she lived with them. They’re super strict, so that’s why she was nuts I guess. Day and night she came here asking about him. Told her to fuck off. And then at this party she managed to get with him.”

“Here?” she blurted, but he just nodded. She felt her legs growing weak.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t cool with it! Believe what you like, but I never had anything against you, Claire.” He looked at her with reptilian grey eyes. His pupils were pinpricks. “So they found some other place to do the nasty. And no, before you ask, I do not know where.”

That didn’t matter. She had a very good idea as to where. “Was she here that night?”

“What night?”

She wanted to slap him. Surely he wasn’t that stupid. “The night he went missing.”

“No. And neither was he.”

“What?” She felt her eyes bugging out of their sockets.

He withdrew a package of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and took a long, deep drag. After blowing out a volcanic plume of acrid smoke he said, “Yeah, I lied to the cops. What can I say? It was dumb of me and I’d appreciate it if this stays between us.”

“Of course!” Though if Claire found any clues exonerating him completely and pointing to a guilty party elsewhere, he must know she’d go straight to them. “But why did you lie, then?”

“I didn’t know he was dead when they first questioned me! He’d asked me to tell anybody who asked that he was here, so I did! I told them what I told you. That we were drinking shots until midnight and then he left to go home. So then I was fucked!”

Fair enough, Claire thought. Jordan just being extremely stupid grew more likely.

“The cops already had me pegged as a suspect because of … you know … so if I switched and told the truth they’d haul me in, right? Admitting I lied would make them even more suspicious than just sticking to my story. Which was technically Dave’s story. And it’s not like I knew where he went. To this day I have no fucking clue. I asked around!”

“Do you know if it was he with Sophie that night?”

“Doubt it.” He shook his head. “She’d split for out west by that point.”

Claire’s next goal was formulating in her mind. Track down Sophie. Or one of her friends. “And you’ve no idea what he was up to whatsoever? What was her last name, who did she—”

“Look, Claire, we were never friends, but like you said, what’s done is done and there’s no point lying to you now. If I knew, I’d tell you. And no, I don’t have that flask. I saw your emails. I would of found it by now and returned it––I know how much it meant to him and I know that either you or his family would of wanted it back.” He took another drag from his cigarette.

You could have at least said so, she thought, but bit her tongue. Though why should she. Dave was dead and there was no longer any reason whatsoever to butter him up. Still, she always shied from conflict, preferred making peace. “Thanks.”

He hunched his shoulders and she could tell he wanted her gone. A customer was probably on his or her way over. She’d managed to keep things somewhat smooth between the two of them by knowing exactly where the limits to his patience were. Her mind drew blanks when she tried to think of what else to ask him. She did not want to come back here. She couldn’t think of any. “Thanks, Jordan. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I get it. I’ve grieved for somebody before too, so I know. I was a total asshole when my dad died.”

A total asshole? She wanted to punch him. She’d been anything but, and had even invited him to partake in Dave’s funeral arrangements, not that he’d bothered to show. She wondered how different Dave’s life might have been if he’d never gone to that summer camp as a child, and formed an unbreakable bond with the only other ten-year-old misfit there. They had been growing apart in recent years, but not fast enough to save him.

“Take care,” she said, turning, the door slamming predictably behind her. She began making her way home in the spitting rain. She had expected to be devastated by the news, that she’d have to fight tears while waiting for the bus home. Instead, she felt numb. She stared out at the dreary row houses with dirty white stucco and pinkish brick, hardly able to believe she’d ever lived around here. The entire life she’d lived with Dave was gone and yet she was still alive, still mostly the same person. She tried going deeper with that thought but it was like chasing a phantom in an darkened room. Her mind went blank.

Only once she reached the stop did she remember she’d forgotten to ask him about that notebook. She was still debating going back to his place when she heard the roar of the bus’s engine. Forget it. If she told him about it, he’d probably try stealing it from her.