Introduction

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Excerpt

Prologue
Reno, Nevada, 1981

The first time Kerrie Ann disappeared was only the warning shot, as
it turned out. Lindsay was fixing them something to eat and looked up
from scraping scrambled eggs onto their plates to ask Kerrie Ann if she
wanted ketchup with hers, only to find the folding chair in which her
three-year-old sister had been sitting just moments before, swinging her
small feet in their dirty pink Keds back and forth, back and forth, in that
annoying way of hers that caused the chair's hollow aluminum frame to
squeak like a rusty hinge, empty. The only indication that she'd been there
were her stubby crayons, strewn over the tabletop next to the open Washoe
County yellow pages, where she'd been coloring an ad for pet supplies-
a cartoon dog begging for treats. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air:
Tabitha playing games on Bewitched.

“Kerrie Ann?” Lindsay kept her voice low so as not to wake their mom.
Crystal's shift ended when most people were getting up to go to work. Often
she didn't get home until the sky was light, and then she would sleep
straight through until the following evening. Crystal's one ironclad rule
was that she not be disturbed during those hours. Damn it, Linds. I bust my
ass for a few lousy dollar bills off the craps tables, and I'm supposed to wipe your
snotty little noses on top of it?

Kerrie Ann wasn't in the living room when Lindsay checked. There was
no muffled giggle from behind the sofa-an old nubby beige one that
smelled of mildew and was marred by a coffee-colored stain in the shape
of the African continent-where at night they slept toe to toe, Lindsay
with her knees tucked up to give her sister more room. No singsong voice
calling, “See if you can find me!” The only sounds were those of a car engine
firing noisily in the parking lot below and the asthmatic gurgling of
the window unit as it sluggishly stirred the hot, close air of room 22 in the
Lucky Seven Motel without doing much to cool it.

Lindsay crept to the bedroom door and cracked it open as quietly as
possible. Pale fingers of light poking through the drawn blinds traced the
outline of the figure sprawled faceup atop the unmade bed. Crystal was
still dressed in the clothes she'd worn to work the night before-tight
white jeans and a stretchy purple top with spangles sewn across the
front-her makeup smeared and her platinum hair mussed. Something
winked at Lindsay in the darkness: the toe of a patent-leather high heel
peeking like a shiny black nose from the hamster's nest of discarded clothing
on the floor beside the bed.

There was no sign of Kerrie Ann. If she'd gone in to use the bathroom,
Crystal would have been up by now, cursing a blue streak and blaming
Lindsay. Another of Crystal's rules was that they use Miss Honi's bathroom
downstairs if they had to go rather than disturb her.

Lindsay checked theirs anyway, just to be sure. But Kerrie Ann wasn't
on the toilet or playing hide-and-seek behind the shower curtain. Lindsay
was tiptoeing back across the room when her mother stirred, eyelids flickering.
She froze. But Crystal only muttered something in her sleep, then
flopped over onto her belly. Lindsay reached the door safely, easing it
shut. Leaning against the wall, she let out a slow breath. That had been a
close call. What if her mother had woken up to find Kerrie Ann missing?
You didn't want to get Crystal riled up before she'd had her coffee and first
cigarette of the day. She'd never actually hit either of them, but when she
was in one of her moods, things could get ugly very quickly. Lindsay was
only in sixth grade, but she knew every curse word there was.

She was getting that tight feeling in her stomach again, a feeling that almost
always had to do with Kerrie Ann. Before her sister had been born,
when it had been just her and Crystal, she'd managed okay. By the time she
was in kindergarten, in addition to being able to feed and dress herself, she
could read street signs, count change, and order Chinese takeout over the
phone. By third grade she was doing most of the shopping and cooking.
She was also well-versed in the facts of life, thanks to her mother's habit
of bringing home strange men: Often Lindsay would wake to muffled
thumping and moans in the bedroom or stumble into the bathroom in the
middle of the night to find a naked man taking a whiz. She'd grown to accept
it the way other children her age took it for granted that everyone had
a mommy and a daddy. Some of the men had been nice. One, a bearded,
heavyset man named Stan who was a fry cook at the all-night diner where
Crystal sometimes caught a bite to eat after work, had shown her how to
make a Western omelet. And she'd picked up a few phrases of Spanish
from a blackjack dealer named Luis.

The summer Lindsay turned nine Crystal announced that she was taking
some time off work. She grew fat, slept even more than usual, and was
in a bad mood most of the time. The following winter she went off to the
hospital. A day later she returned carrying a small, fleece-wrapped bundle.
“Meet your new sister,” she said, depositing the bundle in Lindsay's arms.
Lindsay unfolded a corner of the blanket to reveal a small, scrunched-up
face with a pair of bright blue eyes peering from its reddish folds. Eyes
that fixed on her like a homing device. She and her baby sister stared at
each other for a minute, taking each other's measure. Then the infant
stiffened and began to howl loudly enough to bring old Mr. Huff stumping
up from downstairs to see what all the commotion was about.

Life hadn't been the same since.

Now Lindsay had this whole other person to look after besides herself.
And Kerrie Ann was a handful, no doubt about it. Her baby-fine, strawberry-blond
hair was perpetually snarled, and she'd whine and cry whenever Lindsay
tried to unravel the knots using her fingers or the hairbrush. When
Kerrie Ann was a toddler, everything she could put into her mouth-dirt,
caterpillars, old chewed gum off park benches, once even a poker chip-had
gone in one end and out the other. And she'd had every childhood ailment
known to humankind, from earaches to allergic rashes to head lice.

Plus she was as slippery as a goldfish. In stores she was forever wandering
off, and by the time Lindsay would track her down, her pockets
would be stuffed with pilfered loot that Lindsay would then have to return
to the proper shelves. At the park, where Lindsay took her on nice
days when it wasn't too hot, her little sister was a blur, streaking down
slides and scampering like a monkey over the jungle gym, from which she
always had to be pried, wailing in protest, when it was time to go home.
Once she'd chased a Mr. Softee truck, crossing a busy street to get to it. She
might have been hit by a car or, if the nice lady who'd brought her back
hadn't found her, still been out there roaming the streets, a red-haired
menace to society.

Only at Miss Honi's was her sister content to stay put. Miss Honi Love,
who lived in the unit directly below theirs, looked after Kerrie Ann during
the hours when Lindsay was in school. But since she got paid only sporadically,
Crystal being forever short on cash, and since she was a goodhearted
woman who genuinely cared for the girls, it had developed over
time into something far more than a job. The way Miss Honi fussed over
Kerrie Ann, anyone would have thought she was her own little girl. And
Kerrie Ann was just as devoted to Miss Honi. Lindsay would arrive home
from school to find her little sister either playing quietly with Miss Honi's
angel collection or curled up on Miss Honi's lap in the burgundy plush
recliner in front of the TV. The two of them could sit like that for hours,
Miss Honi smoking her Pall Malls and Kerrie Ann sucking her thumb,
watching the dramas unfolding on Days of Our Lives and All My Children.

Sometimes Miss Honi told stories about what it had been like back in
the day, when she'd been a top draw at gentlemen's clubs like Diamond
Jim's and the Silver Dollar Lounge. She'd even shown them a photo of
herself back then, all creamy limbs and Cleopatra eyes, her sculpted redblond
curls piled high atop her head, wearing spike heels and a spangled
bikini bottom, a pair of tassels the only thing covering her breasts. She'd
looked like a life-size party favor.

Now she was plump and middle-aged. She often joked that she'd be
lucky to squeeze one of her big toes into that old costume of hers. She still
liked to dress up, only now it was capri slacks and frilly, low-cut blouses
that showed off her sizable bosom or sundresses with cinched waists in a
variety of exotic prints. Miss Honi was inordinately proud of her dainty
feet and owned several dozen pairs of shoes. Even relaxing at home, she
wore marabou-trimmed satin mules, which Kerrie Ann loved tottering
around in when playing dress-up.

It occurred to Lindsay that her sister might have gone to Miss Honi's.
Where else?

She let herself out the front door, easing it shut behind her. It was late,
the sun dissolving like a giant lemon drop into the far-off mountaintops,
streaking the horizon with brilliant bands of cherry and tangerine. A
handful of stars winked in the sky's deepening blue, and off in the
distance, the casinos and clubs along the strip formed their own constellation,
which cast a candy-colored glow over the streets around it. The
club where Crystal worked was but a remote star in that constellation.

From where Lindsay stood, looking out over the railing of the balcony
that wrapped around the top floor of the two-story motel, she could see
the swimming pool below. It was fenced in, but the lock on the gate had
long ago been pried open, and the manager, Mr. Boyle, hadn't bothered to
get it fixed. It wasn't unusual when she came home from school for Lindsay
to find a group of neighborhood boys gathered by the pool, drinking
beer and generally being obnoxious. No one ever went for a dip, though. If
there was one place in the U.S. of A. where you were likely to contract a
tropical disease, Crystal was fond of griping, it was the pool at the Lucky
Seven Motel.

It would also be easy for a three-year-old to fall in and drown.
Lindsay's stomach clenched as she set off in the direction of the stairway,
her bare soles slapping against concrete still warm from the sun: a girl
just shy of twelve, tall for her age with long, coltish legs brown from the
sun and the nubs of breasts showing under the faded Garfield T-shirt she
wore with her navy shorts. She walked fast, her dark brown ponytail
bouncing at the nape of her neck, the curl at the tip going from a comma to
an exclamation point with each forceful step.

She was so intent on finding her little sister that she was only dimly
aware of noises drifting from behind the sun-bleached coral doors lining
the walkway-the muttering of TV sets, a phone ringing, a mother
yelling at her kids to shut up. Kerrie Ann was a pain in the butt, but she
was her pain in the butt. She and Crystal were the only family Lindsay
had. Lindsay didn't even know who her father was, much less where he
lived. And her grandparents on her mother's side, who lived in Crystal's
hometown in Ohio, apparently wanted nothing to do with either their
wayward daughter or her illegitimate kids. Crystal hadn't seen or spoken
to anyone in her family since she'd disgraced them by running off at the
age of seventeen, when she'd been pregnant with Lindsay.

Lindsay could have found her way to Miss Honi's unit blindfolded.
The scent alone, a potent mixture of perfume and cigarettes, would have
been enough to guide her. She knocked on the door, and after a minute or
so it swung open, her sister's babysitter materializing like an oversized
nymph from the cloud of smoke that wafted forth. Miss Honi had been
to the beauty parlor that day, and her hair, the yellow-red of marigolds,
was piled atop her head in a mass of sculpted ringlets that added several
inches to her already statuesque height. She was wearing a low-cut
Hawaiian print sundress, which emphasized her ample curves, and a pair
of color-coordinated lime-green sandals whose straps were decorated
with rows of plastic daisies. The pendant on her necklace, sparkly pink
stones in the shape of an angel, nestled in the cleft between her breasts,
and a cigarette was propped decorously in the fork between two scarletnailed
fingers. It was like encountering a neon sign in the middle of
nowhere.

“Lord almighty, sugar, what's got into you? You look like you got
chased here by a rabid skunk,” she drawled, taking note of Lindsay's
flushed face and the sweat beaded on her brow. She peered past Lindsay
into the shadows beyond the porch light. “Where's my baby girl?”

Lindsay felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “I . . . I thought she
was with you.”

Miss Honi grew very still. From the TV blaring in the background came
the manic cackle of a laugh track. “Let me get this straight. You're saying
you don't know where your sister is?”

Lindsay swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I only turned my back
for a minute, I swear. She was right there.”

Miss Honi frowned. “Your mama know about this?”

Lindsay shook her head, saying miserably, “I was supposed to be
watching her.”

Miss Honi's frown deepened, her ruby-lipped mouth pursing the way it
did when she had something to say but was too polite to say it. Something
to do with Crystal, no doubt. Lindsay had overheard her talking on the
phone once, muttering to whoever was at the other end, “Shoot me for
saying so, but if motherhood was something they taught in school, she'da
flunked that course.”

Lindsay didn't have to ask whom she meant.

Miss Honi's upbeat tone didn't mask the worry on her face. “Don't you
fret none, sugar. We'll find her. She can't have gotten very far, an itty-bitty
thing like her.”

Fleas were itty-bitty, too, Lindsay thought, but just try catching one.

Together they headed to the motel's office, where they found Mr. Boyle
with his balding head bent over a racing form. “No, I ain't seen her,” he
informed them, muttering under his breath as he went back to circling
his picks. “You folks oughta keep a closer watch on your kids.”

“And you, mister, oughta watch your mouth.” Miss Honi leaned down
and thrust her face into his, eyes narrowed to emerald slits and her bonnet
of marigold curls quivering as if from a strong gust. Before the stunned
manager could react, she spun on her heel and sashayed out the door.

Lindsay didn't share her indignation. Mr. Boyle might be a mean old
bastard, but he was right: She should've kept a closer watch on her sister.
If anything were to happen to Kerrie Ann . . .

As if picking up on her thoughts, Miss Honi reached for her hand and
gave it a squeeze. “She'll turn up. You'll see. She's got the Rocky Balboa of
guardian angels looking out for her, that one.” Miss Honi's angel collection
wasn't just for show; she believed in angels the way Lindsay once had
in Santa Claus, a million years ago.

And maybe there were such things, Lindsay thought. All those close
calls from which her sister had escaped unscathed couldn't be chalked up
to pure luck, could they? Like the time Kerrie Ann had tripped and fallen,
charging down the stairs to the parking lot, and would have tumbled
all the way to the bottom if one of her sneakers hadn't caught in the
railing. And the time she'd swallowed a bunch of mothballs, thinking
they were candy; if Miss Honi hadn't rushed her to the hospital, she
might have died.

Lindsay struggled to keep up with Miss Honi as the tall woman clip-clopped
across the parking lot in her high-heeled sandals at a rapid pace,
making a beeline for the pool. It was deserted inside the chain-link
enclosure when they reached it, with no sign of any recent activity, but
they circled it nonetheless, with a grim sense of purpose.

On the far side of the fenced enclosure was the cinder-block shed
housing the laundry facility, which consisted of a pair of coin-fed
washing machines and dryers that were out of service as often as not. It
was deserted as well. Not that Lindsay had expected to find her sister
there, or anywhere on the premises for that matter. The Lucky Seven
Motel wasn't a place where people got lucky; it was where they landed
when their luck ran out. Except for the handful of year-round residents,
like Crystal and Miss Honi, most guests stuck around only long
enough to make the next score, turn around a losing streak, or get
pawned valuables out of hock. Fights born of desperation were commonplace,
and the police were frequently called in to settle disputes. It
wasn't the kind of place where it was safe to wander around after dark.
Especially for a three-year-old girl who didn't know enough to stay out
of trouble.

Suppose Kerrie Ann had been kidnapped . . . or worse? What if at this
very moment she was lying in a ditch somewhere with her throat cut? A
fresh surge of panic caused Lindsay's chest to constrict, and she had to
pause for a moment to catch her breath. Please, God . . .

They scoured the area. They knocked on doors. They walked up and
down streets, calling out Kerrie Ann's name until they were hoarse. But
as twilight gave way to nighttime with still no sign of her, Lindsay's
panic crept over into despair. The night had become a vast ocean that
seemed to have swallowed up her sister, and she felt as if she were
drowning in it, too.

“You go wake your mama. I'll call the police.” Miss Honi made no
pretense of being upbeat this time. Lindsay could see that she was
scared, too.

They were heading back across the parking lot when Lindsay caught
sight of a black Labrador retriever in the back of a dusty blue pickup
parked in front of one of the units. As they neared, the dog let out a yip and
began to wag its tail. Some instinct drew Lindsay over to investigate. A wet
tongue lashed at her outstretched hand, emboldening her to climb up
onto the running board. She peered into the bed, and there, curled asleep
on a dirty scrap of blanket, was Kerrie Ann.

Lindsay felt a rush of relief so intense that the world went a little gray
for an instant.

Then Miss Honi spotted Kerrie Ann, too, and let out a cry. A moment
later she was holding her “baby girl” tightly, muddy tears running down
her cheeks, ruining her makeup, while Kerrie Ann blinked up at her
sleepily, no doubt wondering what all the commotion was about. “I was
playing with the doggie. It's a nice doggie,” she said simply when asked
what she'd been doing out here all alone. It was easy to figure out what
had happened. She hadn't had her nap that day, because Miss Honi had
taken her to the doctor for her checkup, so she'd grown sleepy and decided
to curl up.

“Didn't you hear us calling you?” Lindsay cried in exasperation.

Kerrie Ann shook her head, and Lindsay knew she was telling the
truth. Whether she'd been born that way or had merely learned to adapt to
Crystal's comings and goings at odd hours, Kerrie Ann could sleep through
anything. It wasn't uncommon for Lindsay to wake up in the middle of the
night and find that her sister had rolled off the couch onto the floor without
waking up.

She knew she should scold her sister for going off like that, but she
was so relieved to see her that she didn't have the heart. Instead they all
trooped back to Miss Honi's, where they polished off the leftover macaroni
and cheese from the night before, along with a platter of sausages
Miss Honi fried up. When Kerrie Ann had had her fill, she crawled into
Miss Honi's lap in the maroon plush recliner. “Bob Barker,” she announced
in her clear, bell-like voice. The Price Is Right was her favorite TV show, and
it had just come on. She fell asleep again in the middle of it, oblivious to
the scare she'd given them.

Upstairs, Crystal slept through it all, oblivious as well.

A few weeks later, when Lindsay arrived at Miss Honi's after school to
retrieve Kerrie Ann, there was a strange woman seated on the sofa. “Sugar,
this is Mrs. Harmon,” Miss Honi introduced her. She sounded upset.
“She'd like to have a word with you.”

The woman, short and thin-lipped with bobbed gray hair, explained
that she was with Children's Services. “I'm sorry to have to tell you this,
but your mother's been placed in custody,” she informed Lindsay gently.
“I don't know for how long-the charges are pretty serious.” Later Lindsay
would learn that Crystal had been arrested for selling cocaine to an undercover
cop. “But I don't want you to worry. It's my job to make sure you and
your sister are well looked after until . . . well, for the time being. We have
good homes lined up for you both.”

Lindsay struggled to absorb what the woman was telling her. Crystal in
jail? Homes for her and Kerrie Ann? Why would they need homes when
they already had one? Her mind was reeling, but she squared her shoulders
and, with all the courage she could muster, looked Mrs. Harmon
straight in the eye and said politely but firmly, “We're fine, thank you. We
don't need anyone's help.” She glanced toward Miss Honi, who gave her an
encouraging nod.

“I'm afraid it's not up to you. Or me. It's the law,” Mrs. Harmon said regretfully.
“Now, why don't we go on upstairs and get your things?” She
stood up, no doubt expecting Lindsay and her sister to follow.

But Miss Honi had other ideas. “They ain't going nowhere. I can look
after 'em myself,” she declared. Her hand dropped protectively onto Lindsay's
shoulder. “Why, they practically live here as it is.”

Mrs. Harmon cast her a dubious look. “Are you a relative?”

Miss Honi shook her head but didn't back down. “It don't make no difference.
I couldn't love these girls any more'n if they was my own flesh
and blood. They'll be just fine here with me until their mama comes home.
Ain't that right, sugar?” she said, smiling down at Lindsay.

“I'm sorry, but it's out of the question. We have rules. You have to be licensed.”
Mrs. Harmon's tone grew brisk. “Please, Miss, ah, Love, don't
make this any more difficult than it already is.”

“There ain't nobody more fit to care for these girls than me,” Miss Honi
insisted, digging in her heels. “So if it's a matter of filling out some form,
just show me where to sign.”

“It's not as simple as that. For one thing, where would they sleep?” Mrs.
Harmon glanced pointedly around the shabby two-room kitchen unit, identical
to the one Lindsay and Kerrie Ann lived in upstairs except for the homey
touches Miss Honi had added, like the plush recliner and lace doilies on
every surface and the glass case in which her angels were displayed, angels
of all shapes and sizes that she'd collected through the years, one of which,
a delicate ceramic figure with gold-tipped wings, was presently cupped in
the palm of Kerrie Ann's small hand as she sat cross-legged on the carpet,
whispering secrets in its ear, seemingly unaware of what was going on.

“I'll make room,” said Miss Honi firmly.

Mrs. Harmon remained firm. “Even if you could, how would you feed
and clothe them when-if I may be frank, Miss Love-it looks as if you're
barely subsisting yourself?”

Miss Honi's cheeks grew red. “We'd manage somehow. It don't take
money to love a child.”

In the end there was nothing to be done about it. The law was the law.
“Nooooooo!” Kerrie Ann wailed when Mrs. Harmon took her by the
hand and began tugging her toward the door. She tore loose and darted
over to Miss Honi, clinging to her. “I want to stay with you!”

Lindsay noticed that in all the upset, her little sister had accidentally
trampled the angel she'd been playing with; it now lay in pieces on the carpet,
its head crushed, its wings severed from its body. In the years to come
Lindsay couldn't think about her sister without seeing in her mind that
poor, ruined angel.

But what would haunt her most would be the memory of Kerrie Ann
crying out to her when it was time for them to go their separate ways-
Lindsay to a foster home in Sparks and Kerrie Ann to one in another part
of the state. A three-year-old girl in dirty pink terry shorts and a My Little
Pony T-shirt, her face a knot of fear and confusion, her small body straining
furiously against the adult arms holding her in check. Lindsay would
never forget, either, the panic in her sister's voice as she begged her big sister
not to let them take her.

It was the last she would see of that little girl.
... view entire excerpt...

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