Page 16 of The White Picket Fence

Charlotte opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Mrs. Murphy grabbed her arm, squeezing hard. “Charlie.”

Charlotte blinked and Mrs. Murphy’s face came back into focus. How long she’d been staring blankly, she didn’t know.

Mrs. Murphy searched her face. “Okay, you’re back. Do you get panic attacks?”

“Recently, yes.” Since her assault a year ago, but she wasn’t going to admit that. Not to Mrs. Murphy. Her aunt would be informed before the hour was out. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Murphy gave her a don’t-be-stupid look. “Come with me. I’ll make some tea.”

Charlotte shook her head, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. “I was going to get Dottie’s robe and slippers and the book she was reading. I’m going to read to her. She’ll want her things.”

She was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop.

Mrs. Murphy squeezed her arm again, the old woman’s grip almost painful. “Charlie. Stop. Listen to me. You’re still panicking. Come with me and we’ll figure this out.” She tugged on Charlotte’s arm, somehow steering them both up the stairs while hunched over her walker.

Charlotte let herself be dragged into Mrs. Murphy’s kitchen and lowered herself into the chair, wincing when her hip protested the solid wood seat. She’d left her cane in her car, still parked on the curb in front of Dottie’s house. She’d thought that she would only be a minute and that she’d use her aunt’s stair lift to get up to Dottie’s bedroom. Then all rational thought had fled when she’d seen the mess.

A steaming cup of green tea was placed in front of her, Mrs. Murphy grimacing as she, too, sat down. “Drink,” the woman commanded.

So Charlotte sipped, feeling herself calm a little. Just a little, though.

He’d returned. The man who’d hurt Dottie. The man who’d left her aunt for dead.

Or...it could have been someone else. “Could it have been a curious person? Someone who wanted to see the scene of a crime?”

“It’s possible. I turned on my front-porch light and he froze, like a deer in the headlights. I have a superbright light now. My son just installed it after Dottie...” She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything to the man.” The words sounded like a confession. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I was too scared to confront him.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. You were smart not to confront him. If it was the same man, he could have hurt you, too. What happened when you turned on the light?”

“He spun around to face me, both hands filled with daffodils. We kind of stared at each other for a minute, then he threw the flowers on the ground and took off toward the avenue.”

Passyunk Avenue was a major artery through the neighborhood. Lots of stores and restaurants. “Maybe a security camera got his face.” Then she frowned. “If you stared at each other, did you see his face? Maybe a little of it?”

Mrs. Murphy blinked. “I guess I did. It wasn’t a full view and he had a mask on. One of those...what do you call them? They’re a knitted tube and you wear it around your neck but can pull it up over your face.”

“A neck gaiter?”

Mrs. Murphy nodded hard. “Yes. A gaiter. It was...” She frowned, thinking. “Orange. Orange and black.”

Philadelphia Flyers colors, Charlotte thought, wondering if the man was a hockey fan. And wondering why he’d wear something so bright to break into a woman’s home.

Charlotte’s attacker had been dressed all in black. “Did you see his eyes?”

“I must have.” The older woman frowned. “I did. But only his eyes.”

Charlotte thought about Tino. “A police sketch artist visited Dottie in the hospital this morning. Could you talk to him? Maybe help him with the eyes?”

Mrs. Murphy hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “Yes. Do you think he can come here?”

“I think he would. The artist was one of Dottie’s students a long time ago. He wants her attacker caught.”

“Good.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Of course I did,” Mrs. Murphy said, her tone going a little bit haughty. “I called my son first and he rushed over, but the police came out. Took some fingerprints, but the man wore gloves, so they’re not going to get anything. They asked me to leave the flowers where they were. That they’d send someone out to take photos.”

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