Home for the Haunting(15)

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Of course, that pertains to fiction, not to life. When it comes to living a tragic life versus a happy one, I know what we’d all choose. Which is what makes what happened across the street all the more tragic. The Lawrences . . . They always seemed so happy.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Sidney Lawrence killed his oldest daughter, his wife, and then himself.”

So Kobe and his gang exaggerated the details, but were otherwise on target.

“I met a few of the neighborhood children yesterday. Do you know Kobe?”

“Was he bothering you? I’d be happy to talk to him. I know his mother. No father in his life, unfortunately, which is what he really needs. So many of these kids just need their parents to be more involved in their lives, but a lot of their folks are juggling jobs, or addictions, or other problems. I know they can be bratty at times, but after years of working with them, I have concluded that without involved parents, they don’t have much of a chance at life.”

“Kobe was no bother at all. In fact, he and his friends pitched in on the cleanup at Monty’s house.”

She looked at me, askance. “What did they get in return?”

“Snacks and a T-shirt. But they were good-natured about it all. They told me a little about the, um, murders. And they mentioned one of the children escaped?”

“Two. The middle daughter apparently saw what was going on and helped her little brother to escape through a second-story window. Sidney killed himself instead of chasing after them; thank goodness for that. Can you imagine? Poor little babies. They ran over here, to our house.” There was a catch in her voice, and she cleared her throat before resuming her story. “It was a little after nine on a cold spring night in— Oh, I just realized—this Friday will be the twenty-fifth anniversary.”

The silver anniversary of a double murder-suicide. That isn’t portentous at all, is it? I thought.

“That night, the doorbell rang over and over,” Etta continued. “We thought it was some neighborhood children fooling around, so we debated whether to answer. The neighborhood was a little rough in those days, so we hesitated. But then Gerry looked out and saw . . . the poor little babies.”

“Did you know them well?”

“Of course, I knew everyone then. Though as a teacher, I wasn’t around much—spent most of the day at school. But the Lawrence family was very sweet, very steady. Or so it seemed.” She set the yellow engine down and picked up a red caboose. “I’m sorry to say I was one of those neighbors you see on the TV, saying, ‘Gee, they always seemed so nice. I never would have expected it.’ But it was true.”

“You never heard arguments, saw any sign of abuse?”

She shook her head. “But I’m not sure I would have noticed anything amiss. This is an urban neighborhood, closer than many, but we’re working people and in and out so much it’s not as though we exchange words every day. But . . . I suppose I could believe a man getting passionate enough to kill his wife—for infidelity, something that might push him over the edge—but to kill his baby girl? Sidney doted on those children. He was, according to everything I ever saw, a devoted father. That’s why he was so upset with the goings-on at the house across the street from him.”

“Which house?”

“The drug house.”

Oh, boy. First a murder house, now a drug house.

“Which was the drug house?” Etta’s house was right across the street. There were an empty lot to the right and another small bungalow to the left that didn’t look much like what I would think of as a drug house.

“It’s just an empty lot now.”

“The one where all the equipment is? I noticed some of the volunteers were clearing it out.”

“It’s just been sitting there empty this whole time, so I thought I might as well spruce it up, put in some vegetables.”

“What happened to the house that used to be there?”

She nodded. “It burned down and had to be demolished. Can’t say any of the neighbors were too upset to see it go. That wasn’t long before the Lawrence . . . incident.”

She set the train down and sighed.

“This train set belonged to Gerry, my ex-husband. The neighborhood kids used to love coming here, watching the train go round and round. All the kids back then—Dave and Linda and the others—spent many a Sunday afternoon here, hands sticky from lemonade and cookies. I keep thinking if I get it back in shape, maybe I could resurrect the tradition now that I’m retired and have more time. What do you think? Do kids today still like model trains?”