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CHAPTER 31
D.D.
D.D. WATCHED AS HER NEW charge carefully checked out the motel room. Bonita, still dressed in her maid’s uniform, appeared exhausted but also curious as she hobbled around the space, running her hand across the queen-sized mattress, opening the closet door, playing with the faucets in the bathroom. D.D. had a feeling the cheap brown lodging was nothing compared to the grand guest rooms at the Mountain Laurel B&B. Then again, Bonita had never been allowed to stay in those rooms. She’d slept in a closet in the basement.
Finally, the girl stopped playing with the lamp, inspecting the alarm clock. She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at D.D. expectantly. She had a tilt to her chin. Defiance, D.D. thought. Or sheer determination not to give in to the terror and fatigue that had to be washing over her.
“Okay,” D.D. said out loud. “I guess I get to do the talking for both of us.”
Bonita nodded.
“First order of business. I think we should get you something to wear other than a maid’s uniform.”
Bonita looked down at her pale blue dress, plucked at her skirt.
“It’s late for shopping, and I have no idea where to go anyway. If you don’t mind looking like a detective, I have an extra BPD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you can use.”
Bonita simply gazed at her.
“Speaking for both of us, I’m going to say, ‘That’s an excellent plan, D.D.’ Now if only I had real luggage and not just my go bag.”
D.D. rose out of the chair in the corner of Bonita’s room, which was really Keith’s old room, and crossed through the adjoining door to Flora’s former space. Had Keith and Flora left the connecting door open when they’d stayed in neighboring rooms? Somehow, D.D. doubted it. Keith certainly wouldn’t have minded. But Flora? Only time would tell.
D.D. hefted her black travel case onto the bed. She rummaged through till she found a navy-blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants. When she turned, Bonita was standing right beside her.
“Clean clothes. They’ll be a bit big, but better than nothing. Do you want to take a shower, clean up first?”
Bonita didn’t immediately indicate a reply. She took the clothes from D.D., studying them much the way she had studied the room. Whatever was going on in the girl’s head, D.D. had no idea.
Bonita looked up again. Her dark eyes were so huge in her face. Sad, D.D. thought. Or maybe more like resigned. She had gone from the devil she knew to a complete unknown.
“You’re safe,” D.D. said softly. “I promise you.”
The girl turned and walked back into her room. A moment later, D.D. heard the sound of a shower running.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and collapsed on the edge of the bed. Okay, shower and clothes. Food sounded like the next logical step. She could order pizza. Who didn’t like pizza? Then bedtime, most likely. Both she and Bonita were running on fumes. And in the morning?
Good God, she had no idea what she was doing.
She unearthed her phone and dialed home. Alex picked up on the second ring.
“How’s it going?” He sounded cheerful, even happy. In the background came barking. Kiko, playing with Jack. The sounds of family. For a moment, a pang of homesickness swept over D.D. She clutched the phone tighter, and was startled to discover tears in her eyes.
“Hey,” she said at last. Her voice came out rough. Her husband wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“That good, huh?”
“We now have a current murder to go with four cold cases. And some mystery man on the run, and a vanished evil cook, not to mention a possibly endangered young woman, and oh yeah, I have a new project. A teenage girl. She can’t speak or read or write. But I think she knows things that are very important. I think, right now, she needs someone she can trust.”
Pause, as Alex absorbed the news. “How can I help?” he asked at last.
“Do you know anyone at the Academy, or from your own days on the job, who might be an expert in interviewing nonverbal minors?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure that category exists. But what if we break it apart? What about an expert in a nonverbal child, or an expert in interviewing children?”
“I think the nonverbal part is the biggest hurdle,” D.D. said. She took a deep breath, released it. This was good. Alex had always been the calm to her storm.
“What about an expert in autism? Aren’t many autistic children nonverbal?”
