The Silent Girls by Eric Rickstad Read Free Book Online Page A

said, “Can I help you?”
    Gale Duffy had the gaping eyes of a frog. Her cheeks were peppered with moles, her lips plump and bunched like a guppy’s. She wore a pink Gronkowski Patriots jersey draped over a belly that suggested her idea of home cooking was frozen pizza and Eggos. The jersey fell to her knees. Barefoot, she seemed to be wearing nothing but the jersey, her toenails painted Patriots’ red and blue. She leaned against the doorjamb, hugging herself, her cleavage deepening. She seemed oblivious to it.
    “Gronk’s off to a good start, if he can remain healthy,” Rath said. “Too bad the secondary is a sieve.”
    “You lost, or just a lonely Pats fan?”
    “I’m a—”
    “A cop? You don’t look it.”
    “What do cops look like?”
    “Not you.” She peered out at the Scout, raised her eyebrows like Really?
    “I work privately,” Rath said.
    “You guys actually exist?”
    “I do.” He showed her his ID.
    “I wouldn’t know that from a Gold’s Gym card,” she said.
    “A Gold’s Gym card says Gold’s Gym on it.”
    “What do you want?” she said.
    So much for levity , Rath thought.
    “To ask you questions about Mandy,” he said.
    “What’s she done?”
    “What makes you think she’s done something?”
    “Umm. You?”
    “May I come in?”
    She groaned and pushed open the screen door.
    The house reeked of kitty litter and of the cat piss that kitty litter was supposed to cover but never did. One of many reasons Rath disliked house cats, the first reason being his allergies. Rath sneezed, his eyes weepy.
    As shoddy as the outside of the house was, the inside was staggeringly tidy. The shag carpet had deep, vacuum-wheel marks running in it like ski tracks in fresh powder.
    The couch and chairs had modern lines of bent birchwood arms and white linen fabric that lent an illusion of upscale Euro design. Rachel had similar furniture he’d helped her haul back from Ikea in Montreal. It looked good, but was cheaply made. He hadn’t expressed that to Rachel though, not wishing to dampen her enthusiasm.
    On the wall hung photos of Gale with several middle-aged women, arms draped about one another, each a tad disheveled and sweating. Easy smiles like the women were on a tropical vacation. The women’s matching T-shirts read: RACE FOR LIFE. A race for curing cancer. Under the photo was a plaque with Gale as the recipient: Hero for Life 2010.
    Bookcases were so crammed that books lay horizontally atop those arranged upright. Rath read a few spines. Edie: American Girl; Vamps and Tramps by Camille Paglia. Wonderland Avenue: Tales of Glamour and Excess; Sarah Vowell’s Take the Cannoli.
    “Those are Mandy’s,” Gale said. “She into all that. Woman empowerment, sexual revolution. ”
    “Why are her books out here? It’s your place, right?”
    “Her room’s a shoebox. And she sort of gamed me. I think she likes showing them off in case a smart guy ever comes over.”
    “Have any smart guys come over?”
    “No guys at all. Hard to believe as it is.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Have you seen her? She can wear a burlap bag, and still guys slobber and girls get pissy with envy.”
    “Do you envy her?”
    “Envy may be a sin. But. I’m only human. Imagine if you were roomies with a real slab.”
    “Slab?”
    She rolled her eyes. “What you old guys call a hunk. Like, say, Gronk. You know. If he were running around your apartment with his shirt off, showing off his build, and you’re like, you know, you. Anyway, her looks make you feel like mud. Until you get to know her.”
    “How so?”
    “She’s quiet. Private. She’s not in your face about her looks. Which can rankle some girls more. Because you know, if a good-looking girl is a witch, you can at least nail her on that. You know, she’s got it all in the looks category, but what a witch. That Mandy’s nice and seemingly oblivious to her looks makes girls go ballistic. Because how can a girl not know she’s that gorgeous?