Page 82 of Rage

“Happy to, Chief.” He whistles at the boys. “Climb into the buggy, boys, and I’ll follow you home.”

Rose and I hold our ground in the yard and watch as the buggy and Pickles’s cruiser roll toward the front of the house.

“Your brothers are protective of you,” I say when they’re out of sight.

“I didn’t want either of them to come,” she tells me. “Noah wouldn’t let me go alone. And we couldn’t leave Mervin by himself.”

I motion toward the house. “The doors are locked. How did you plan to get inside exactly?”

“I still have my key,” she says simply.

“Of course you do.”

We cross the yard and ascend the steps to the porch. I wait while she fishes the key from her apron pocket and we go inside. She flicks on the kitchen light and we both squint as our eyes adjust.

“The clock is in the living room.” She starts that way.

I follow. “How long did you live here?”

She crosses to the sofa. Sure enough, an old-fashioned singing bird clock is mounted on the wall above it. “Six months or so.”

“Were you friends with Wilma Borntrager?” I ask.

“I barely knew her.” She glances at me over her shoulder. “She wasn’t a very good roommate.”

“Why not?”

“She was … mouthy and wild and drank too much. She wasn’t always a nice person.”

She toes off her shoes and steps up onto the sofa. Biting her lip, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches for the clock.

“Did you know Samuel Yutzy?” I ask.

Her shoulders stiffen as she sets her hands on the clock. “I knew Samuel.” She lifts the clock from its hook. “I heard what happened to him.”

“Did you have a relationship with him?”

“No.” Huffing at the personal nature of the question, she steps down from the sofa. “Samuel was with Wilma.”

“So how did you know him?” I ask.

“He was just … around. Helped me get a job once.”

I recall Wilma telling me the very same thing. “Where at?”

She shoots me an annoyed look. “Why does it matter?” she snaps. “I don’t work there anymore.”

“Where?”

“A stupid club in New Philly.”

“The Cheetah Lounge?”

Her eyes widen, color spreading to her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting me to know, I realize, and she’s ashamed.

“I didn’t work there very long,” she says quickly.

“How long?”