Yesterday's Stardust Read Online Free
hold. She shouldn’t be here. As she lifted her foot off the brake, a shadow reached out from the north side of the house then morphed into two paramedics wheeling a draped form on a stretcher. Behind them China leaned on the arm of a police officer, her hands clenched over her mouth, her face streaked with black.
Dani pulled away. Barely conscious of where she was heading, she drove toward the lake and parked at the marina. Numb legs carried her to a park bench facing the water.
Heat shimmered on the sidewalk. Two boys flew past on skateboards. The cloudless blue dome of sky dissolved into gray-blue where Lake Michigan met the horizon. Her gaze followed the boys until they were out of sight then turned back to the water, where white triangle sails bobbed like plastic toys in a bathtub. A seagull swooped, grabbed its dinner, and took off. It soared and then hovered, gliding effortlessly on the wind.
It was all too tranquil, too incongruous with China’s tears and Miguel’s shrouded body.
“It’s all your fault. Why did you tell me to leave him? He’d still be here…”
Dani turned her back to the lake and the laughter.
Lord, what can I do?
No answer came. She walked to the car and drove back. The ambulance was gone. A single police car remained. Investigating a possible crime scene.
She went home and sat on the outside steps, staring at manicured lawns and expensive cars. And her watch. An hour passed in a haze of trying not to think. On shaky legs she stood, walked to her car, and drove back to the house where Miguel had died.
The police car was gone. Onlookers had moved on with their day. From the street, all looked peaceful. As if life continued, uninterrupted, in the neglected gray house.
She parked on the side street and walked along the south side of the house to a white door marked 5351 1/2 in orange crayon. Through smudged windows, she eyed narrow steps leading upstairs. The door opened without a sound. The temperature and the cloying smell of old grease increased with each step.
A thin curtain of faded green dotted swiss hung across the window in the upstairs door, offering no privacy. A pink refrigerator stood in one corner. A chrome-legged table covered with dirty dishes, wrappers, and overflowing ashtrays sat against the outside wall. Large blue plastic bins, all apparently empty, lined the floor in front of the cupboards.
Dani knocked. From somewhere next door or the apartment downstairs the Beatles sang “Eleanor Rigby.” She knocked louder, waited, then tried the door handle.
It didn’t budge. She pulled a pen and notebook out of her bag.
China. I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you can. Danielle.
She wrote her cell phone number, tore out the paper, and slid it under the door.
Two steps down the memory of China’s words stopped her. “
A real Romeo and Juliet story.
”
Would the police have taken her in to fill out forms or answer questions, or would they have done that here? Was she still inside, huddled in a corner somewhere or trying to clean up the mess?
Shutting her eyes against the scene playing in her head, Dani grabbed the handle again and pushed against the door. The handle stayed rigid, but the latch gave way. She fell into the room.
“China? China, are you here?” She walked through the kitchen, stopping at a doorway. Every nerve fiber told her to leave. What if the police came back to finish their investigation? What if China— or someone else—came in behind her? She shivered, took a deep breath, and entered the room.
Her eyes locked on a stain on the wall behind a mattress on the floor. For the space of several seconds, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her gaze lowered to a pillow and she gasped.
Her knees suddenly felt like rubber. Her hand shook as she swiped at the perspiration on her upper lip. She took a deep breath and forced her eyes to scan the room. Unframed pencil sketches, held in place by masking tape, decorated all four walls. Drawings
Dani pulled away. Barely conscious of where she was heading, she drove toward the lake and parked at the marina. Numb legs carried her to a park bench facing the water.
Heat shimmered on the sidewalk. Two boys flew past on skateboards. The cloudless blue dome of sky dissolved into gray-blue where Lake Michigan met the horizon. Her gaze followed the boys until they were out of sight then turned back to the water, where white triangle sails bobbed like plastic toys in a bathtub. A seagull swooped, grabbed its dinner, and took off. It soared and then hovered, gliding effortlessly on the wind.
It was all too tranquil, too incongruous with China’s tears and Miguel’s shrouded body.
“It’s all your fault. Why did you tell me to leave him? He’d still be here…”
Dani turned her back to the lake and the laughter.
Lord, what can I do?
No answer came. She walked to the car and drove back. The ambulance was gone. A single police car remained. Investigating a possible crime scene.
She went home and sat on the outside steps, staring at manicured lawns and expensive cars. And her watch. An hour passed in a haze of trying not to think. On shaky legs she stood, walked to her car, and drove back to the house where Miguel had died.
The police car was gone. Onlookers had moved on with their day. From the street, all looked peaceful. As if life continued, uninterrupted, in the neglected gray house.
She parked on the side street and walked along the south side of the house to a white door marked 5351 1/2 in orange crayon. Through smudged windows, she eyed narrow steps leading upstairs. The door opened without a sound. The temperature and the cloying smell of old grease increased with each step.
A thin curtain of faded green dotted swiss hung across the window in the upstairs door, offering no privacy. A pink refrigerator stood in one corner. A chrome-legged table covered with dirty dishes, wrappers, and overflowing ashtrays sat against the outside wall. Large blue plastic bins, all apparently empty, lined the floor in front of the cupboards.
Dani knocked. From somewhere next door or the apartment downstairs the Beatles sang “Eleanor Rigby.” She knocked louder, waited, then tried the door handle.
It didn’t budge. She pulled a pen and notebook out of her bag.
China. I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you can. Danielle.
She wrote her cell phone number, tore out the paper, and slid it under the door.
Two steps down the memory of China’s words stopped her. “
A real Romeo and Juliet story.
”
Would the police have taken her in to fill out forms or answer questions, or would they have done that here? Was she still inside, huddled in a corner somewhere or trying to clean up the mess?
Shutting her eyes against the scene playing in her head, Dani grabbed the handle again and pushed against the door. The handle stayed rigid, but the latch gave way. She fell into the room.
“China? China, are you here?” She walked through the kitchen, stopping at a doorway. Every nerve fiber told her to leave. What if the police came back to finish their investigation? What if China— or someone else—came in behind her? She shivered, took a deep breath, and entered the room.
Her eyes locked on a stain on the wall behind a mattress on the floor. For the space of several seconds, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her gaze lowered to a pillow and she gasped.
Her knees suddenly felt like rubber. Her hand shook as she swiped at the perspiration on her upper lip. She took a deep breath and forced her eyes to scan the room. Unframed pencil sketches, held in place by masking tape, decorated all four walls. Drawings