Chapter 4 (Calm down, Dad)

Do me a favor, would you? Take yourself home, I'll cone take my car in the morning."

Mouth tight, Scott glanced at Linda as he stopped the car, having turned it to the drive that led to her home. To his left, two police men were now dragging his struggling hand cuffed father who was wearing baggy clothes and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Linda barely said 'sure' before he got out of the car, leaving the door open for her, to take his point behind the wheel.

"Calm down, Dad," he called sternly, walking toward the scene, as she got out too.

"You no good piece of shit, where have you been?" The cops were forcing Mr Buchanan down the stairs as he turned his curses on Scott. Linda trying not to listen, walked around the front of the car to the drivers side. "Think you're too important now to come over and help me out when I call you? If you were the one who walked through that door, I'd have shot you too."

Linda grimaced.

"Shut up, Dad."

Scott's voice was harsh, his body tensed, his hands curled into fists. If he remembered her existence as he crossed the yard toward the cops, he gave no sign of it. She understood. It was enough embarrassment already with her there and the cops as witnesses. This was trouble, but it was his trouble to deal with, a burden he'd been carrying for his entire life.

"What's going on?"

This question Scott directed to the cops, who were clearly doing their best to control their prisoner without resorting to violence. Linda didn't wait to hear the reply, she got into the jeep and drove off.

He was Lexington's District Attorney, but this was a different County. He had influence but no authority here. As she drove home, she wondered if he would be able to persuade them to let Mr Buchanan go. Then she wondered what the man had done to warrant the cops coming to take him away. With no kids at home to beat up and his wife long dead, there wasn't a lot he could do to attract the cops. He said something about shooting at Scott. Since that didn't happen, that means he shot someone else.

She had little doubt that Scott would deal with it, just as he'd dealt with all kinds of problems having to do with his father over the years. In the meantime, she had problems of her own, first which was the Jaguar. Taking out her phone from her purse, she called the dealership man to arrange for the car to be towed to the company to fix it. She could take the truck tomorrow. The point was she didn't want to be late for the second time. The thought of facing Scott with all these things happening to him made her grimace.

Her own home, as it came into view was the very picture of a Southern Mansion. Surrounded by waving acres of grassy fields crisscrossed with miles of four board white fences, Greystone Springs was a sky blue painted house with double porches . The size of the place meant that mortgage was outrageous, as Linda knew only too well that she now paid them. Linda was determined that her mother's last days, however many she has left, would be spent in the home she loved, without knowing about their financial burden. She was confident that when the farm was eventually sold, it would bring enough money to pay off the mortgage and every other thing. And then there would be nothing left. Whatever she was going to get after her mother dies, would be whatever she worked for and nothing more, which was not too great a news she wanted but she could deal with it. She would most likely move to Boston, where she could work as a full time attorney again rather than being stuck earning less than normal as a research assistant due to lack of jobs. Until that happens, she has to do everything she can to keep going until she could no longer pretend everything was fine. She leased the barns and fields to a nearby operation. She did her best to keep up the gardens, with a flowery path where Amy, the family's long time employee, pushed Karen everyday in her wheelchair, the yard and the house. Amy and her brother Andrew, who at sixty, stayed with them because he had worked for them for most of his adult life, too old to make a change as he said. Keeping Karen's world intact until she no longer needed it was the least Linda could do for the mother who had adored her all her life whom she adored too.

She would be sad when her mom is gone.

The thought made her throat tights, and she forced it away. She wasn't going to think about it, not until she had to.

As she pulled the Jeep into the parking lot, a glance at the parking area told her the workers were still there, repairing the damage caused by a tree that came crashing into the roof of the neighboring building during a violent thunderstorm. It wasn't too far from her home so she considered herself lucky that it wasn't hers.

"Whose car is this?"

Andrew's voice had her turning towards him. Tall, his military cut hair a reminder of youthful days in the army, his face lined from years spent working in the sun. He was on the back porch, his arms full of flowers. As determined to keep Karen from finding out the truth about the farms financial state as Linda was trying to do, Andrew had been working in the garden and bringing in flowers for her mother. Like every other person, Andrew had benefitted from Karen's kindness over the years. He was one of those who loved her dearly.

"Scott Buchanan. The Jaguar broke down again, and he gave me a ride home."

Andrew looked at the car, then at her, then lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner, she joined him on the porch.

"So where is he?"

"At his house. Scott stopped there. There was some issues with his father." No need to talk about the police being at the house. That was Scott's issue. "He'll pick it up by morning."

"What's the old man up to now?"

"The usual, drunk and angry."

"Crackhead." The term was beyond degrading but Linda said nothing about it but instead changed the topic.

"Andrew, do you remember hearing about a family that disappeared around here about, oh, thirty years ago? Their name was Garcia. A couple and two kids."

He frowned, then slowly shook his head. "Can't say that I do. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a case I came across at work. I was just curious. Well, I'm probably to take the truck to work tomorrow. Can you do without it?"

"Sure. You know where the keys are." Andrew smiled. "That's gonna be a sight to behold, you in your fancy clothes, driving to your office in an old truck."

"Hey, I have no other choice." Linda smiled back, though the thought of driving a muddy farm truck to work was a little degrading. She only hoped no one would see her get out from it.

With Linda at the front, they reached the kitchen door. Opening the door, she gestured for him to go before her.

"Those for me?"

Having acknowledged Linda's arrival with a quick smile, Amy directed the question at Andrew. Square faced and fifty five, with a short hair dyed pastel pink, Amy was now her mother's companion. She was still the housekeeper, a position she had been in before Linda was born. As Karen's health deteriorated, Amy's main task had been to take care of her, although she cooked and cleaned the house too. A nurse came sometimes to take over. Linda sometimes slept in her mom's room until her breathing got worse. At the moment Amy was preparing something that smells like chicken.

"That for me?" He asked back, glancing at the pot as he carried the flowers over to the counter. Robin made a face.

"Who'd want you at the table, definitely not me," Amy retorted, then smiled at Linda. "Miss Karen is in the living room. Mrs Craig and Mrs Peters are with her."

They were two of her mother's close friends. Linda nodded and went upstairs to freshen up. Karen now had less friends that every visit was important. Linda was grateful that they didn't forget her mother.

She discarded her suit and put on shorts and a black tee. Now that she was home, she avoided anything short and tight or too expensive out of respect for her mother's sensitivity. This beloved house where she grew up always had a calming effect on her, the worry of paying debts couldn't change that.

She felt almost as though she were part of the house, as if living there was something that grew in her bones. Her room was not too far from her mother's room. Her furniture was antique. An en-suite bathroom and a walk in closet had been fashioned out of the bedroom and the closet, with a door leading to each. Walking into the bathroom, Linda washed her hands and face. As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her hair back into a ponytail. She realized she'd left the door to her closet open. She was able to see, through the mirror, both her clothes rack and the collection of dolls she had. Growing up, she had been a girly girl, and she loved her dolls so much. Even when she was old enough to stop playing with them, she kept her favorites.

Now, as she tied her hair, her gaze ran over them absentmindedly, only to stop with a stupefied expression on Nirvana, as she named the life size doll that now stood forgotten in a corner. Nirvana had shoulder length black hair, deep bangs, and was dressed in a green velvet dress and a white lace collar.

Looking at her, Linda drew in her breath.

The missing family. The little girl.

The doll's color. Her hair style, her dress. It all made her look the same with the daughter of the Garcia family.

Anna.

The name seemed to echo through her mind.

Her gaze fixed on the doll, Linda felt her heart beat quicken and her pulse rised.

"Don't be silly. It's merely a coincidence." she scolded herself aloud to break the tension that had her spellbound for a moment. She turned toward the mirror and stepped into the closet. The windows that still remained were covered with heavy curtains. As ridiculous as she knew it was, the deep gloom made her tense. Quickly she snapped out of it, and turned on the lights, then knelt down in front of the doll that she'd happily played with for years and was now slightly afraid of it.

You're being a complete dumb ass here.

She knew, but it didn't help. She'd had Nirvana for as long as she could remember, she couldn't even remember getting her. Nirvana had always existed in the background of her life. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to race as she looked at the doll. Designed to look like a child of about four to five years of age, Nirvana had pink cheeks with blue eyes that stared blindly under briskly eyelashes. Visions of the evil doll Annabel danced in her head as she touched Nirvana. The reassuring smoothness of the cool hard plastic calmed her down. This was not Anna Garcia's somehow well preserved body, hidden all these years in her closet. It was instead her familiar well loved doll.

Wow.

Linda let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She didn't even know why she was thinking that way, but she was glad to get them off her head.

But if she recalls well, the outfit at least was similar to that of the little girl in the picture.

Trying not to be scared by the blank stare of the doll, Linda put a questioning finger along one green velvet sleeve, and rubbed the skirt between her forefingers. The velvet was of good quality. Glad that she had brought the Garcia file with her, Linda quickly stood up and retrieved it from her briefcase. Opening the folder even as she returned to squat in front of Nirvana, Linda looked from the little girl in the picture to the doll with shocked expression.

What's going on?