Bone by Bone

Crazy Mavis.

In the old days, her mother and Mrs. Hardy had gone bird-watching in the woods. In the summers of childhood, Isabelle had sometimes accompanied them, and she had loved the conspiracy of keeping these outings a secret. Addison would never have approved of his wife befriending the town monster.

The opened letter in her hand was filled with descriptions of flight, the colors of feather and sky, and the music of the deep woods. Almost poetry. Apparently Mrs. Hardy had depths unknown and qualities that were not monstrous.

Oren paused by the closed door at the bottom of the staircase. He leaned down to the housekeeper and whispered, "I heard something."

"I'm sure you did." Ha

The judge's voice could be heard inside the small room, but the words Were unintelligible. Oren cracked the door and looked inside, asking, "Did you need something, sir?"

"He's sleeping." Ha

"He sleeps with his eyes open?"

"Just wait." After closing the bedroom door, the housekeeper produced a string of cowbells from a drawer in the glove table and hung them on the knob. She walked down the hall saying, "You'll see."

Oren followed her into the kitchen, where the table was laid out with a whiskey bottle, two empty shot glasses and an ashtray-evidence that Ha

Oren pulled out a chair for her, a habit learned in childhood. He turned his own chair around and straddled it, folding his arms across the wooden back-another habit, one learned in his years as a CID agent. This was his preferred interrogation posture. "So the old man sleeps with his eyes open- and he walks in his sleep? That's why you hang bells on his doorknob?"

"You just wait-and watch."

"And that's why you installed all those dead bolts-so he can't leave the house at night without a key."

Ha

"Printouts? You're surfing the Internet, Ha

"Oh, the judge wouldn't have one of those damned things in the house. I use the computer at the library."

"But no one in Coventry ever goes to the library."

Down the hall, the cowbells were ringing.

"You have to see this for yourself," said Ha

"You mean your medication-the prescription I filled at the drugstore, right?" Oren got up from his chair and left the kitchen. As he walked down the hall, Ha

"He won't go to a doctor," she said. "So I go. It doesn't matter much if the doctor sees him or me." She spat out the word, "Doctors. They can't agree on anything. One tells you it's not psychological-and another one says it's all in your head. And your father believes it's all in my head."

The judge stood before the front door, pulling on the knob, then jerking it. His eyes were vacant and so at odds with his urgency to get out of the house.

Ha

The old man twisted the knob with one hand and banged on the door with the other. Oren took his cue from the housekeeper, who showed no sign of alarm. This was something witnessed many times.

"Your father doesn't see the locks. The door he's looking at doesn't have any yet. I got locks on the windows, too, but he's never tried to get out that way. I don't know why. Only doors."

"The window wasn't locked when I came home last night."

"No need. I was waiting up for you. Must've fallen asleep in my chair."

Her second job as the sleepwalker's watcher would explain why the judge thought she seemed sluggish at times, and this must be why she took naps in the afternoon.

His father began to cry, and Oren came undone. He had never seen the old man in tears before, not even after Josh went missing.

"He wants to get out of here so bad," said Ha

"How long does this go on?"

You don't have to whisper," she said. "It's real hard to wake him. This can last a few minutes or half an hour, sometimes longer."

The judge gave up on the door. Oren and Ha

So spake Ha

His father had found the back door and struggled to open it. His obstacles were three strong bolts, but he never tried to undo them, not that he could-not without a key.

Ha

"And then the bones started turning up on the front porch."

"Anxiety." Ha

Oren looked up to see the judge staring at him. "Sir?"

"Don't get fooled," said Ha

"You should've told me this was going on. You didn't have to go through this alone."

"I promised your father I wouldn't worry you with this silly notion of mine-that he walks in his sleep."

The desperate need for escape was forgotten. The judge opened the refrigerator, perused its contents and pulled out a jar of pickles. Next he raided the breadbox, and then he stood at the counter, using a fork to smear one slice with the juice from the jar.

"He thinks that's mayo

"He's acting out a dream?"

"Some say yes." She riffled the papers in the stack on the table. "Others say he can't be dreaming. Sleepwalking happens in non-REM sleep." She laid one of the printed sheets in front of him. "But according to this doctor, he can sleepwalk in a dream state. When you deal with more than one medical opinion, it's always a crapshoot."

The judge sat down with them. An invisible object was cradled in one arm, and now, with great care, he set it down on the table. After lifting a latch that only he could see, he stared at the contents of a box that was not there.