Page 49 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
“We’re only supposed to get a few inches. And I have four-wheel drive.” Clare thought of her first winter in Millers Kill and smiled to herself. Hadn’t she become quite the Northerner?
As Tiny had promised, her husband’s truck was gone. The woman herself was out on her deck, sweeping snow away. She waved to Clare and then stared as Yíxin got out of the car. By the time they crossed the ramp, she had shifted to hold her broom like a quarterstaff. “Who is this?”
“I’m Joy Zhào.” She stuck out her hand before Clare had a chance to introduce her. “I’m the lawyer from Albany. I think Clare told you about me. May we come in?”
“Her husband asked her not to—” Clare started, only to be cut off.
“You may as well.” Tiny gestured at the fat flakes dropping swift and straight from the sky. “Like you said, I’m breaking the spirit of the law. I might as well break the letter, too, instead of standing out here getting cold and wet.”
She continued to eye Yíxin as she ushered them into the house. The fire was leaping behind the woodstove’s glass door, and since Clare had been here last, Tiny had swagged felt gingerbread men holding peppermint candies across the walls and set out a forest of folded paper trees on the table.
“Pretty,” Yíxin said, tapping one of the gingerbread men. “Where did you get it?”
“I made it. That’s kind of my thing; I sew and do crafts. I makemost of Rose’s clothes.” She gestured toward the playpen in the corner, where Rose, wearing festive tartan overalls, was banging a rattle over a block.
Tiny dragged one of the dining chairs toward the coffee table and gestured for them to sit on the sofa. She perched on the chair like the subject in an interrogation room. “So. What do you want to do?”
Yíxin set her briefcase on the table and unzipped it. “I understand you let Clare take a look downstairs into your husband’s storeroom. I’d like to see what’s there for myself. And I’d like to show you some pictures of men we know have been involved in racially motivated violence before, and see if you recognize any of them. If you’ve seen them in your husband’s company.”
Tiny’s eyes went wide and white along the edges. “I don’t think he’s been doing anything violent!”
Yíxin glanced at Clare. “I understand. I’m not saying he’s breaking any laws right now. I’m trying to find out if any of these men have been seen in your area, and if there’s a connection between your husband’s Noble Train group and a militia we’re watching in Essex County.” She removed several folders from her case and flopped one open. “Can you take a look at these photos and pull out any you think you recognize?”
Tiny bent over and scrutinized the first picture. She flipped it over, then passed on the second photo. The third glossy she picked up. “This is one of Cal’s friends. I can’t remember his name.” The fourth and fifth went back in the folder; the sixth she pressed her finger into. “This is Brayden Glover! He was at our wedding!”
She had selected four men out of the slim stack before the final picture came up. Clare didn’t need Tiny to identify that mug shot. “That’s the guy who was taking something out of your downstairs.”
“Dillon Forrester.” Tiny sat back in her chair. “I never did like him.” Then she blinked, as if surprised she had expressed an opinion.
“Can you tell me anything else about any of these men?” the lawyer asked.
“Uh. Brayden’s wife is Chrissy; they’ve got two little boys. Heworks for the county roads department. These two, I’ve just seen from the truck when Cal’s made stops at somebody’s house. He didn’t introduce me. And Dillon drives for Cal.”
Yíxin jotted a few notes, then replaced the pictures in her bag and zipped it closed. “Thank you, Tiny. Can we take a look at the downstairs now?”
“Oh. Okay.” She carried the chair back to the small dining table and went to the row of hooks next to the front door. Her hand hovered over the keys hanging there, then went to her quilted jacket.
“You want to come with us?” Clare asked gently.
“Yeah. I figure, if I’m letting complete strangers in, I ought to see what’s there, too.”
In the time they’d been talking, the snow had covered where Tiny had swept. They walked carefully down the slanted ramp and the railroad-tie steps. Tiny led them to the back and unlocked the door. “Wow.” She stared at the gleaming shelving units. “That was not here before.”
Yíxin held up her phone and began methodically filming the storage unit from top to bottom. Clare stood with Tiny in the center of the large room, the young woman taking in everything she hadn’t been allowed to see since last summer.
“There’s the tree stand!” She darted toward it, then stopped. “I can’t take it, can I?” She looked back at Clare. “Cal would know.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I’ve never lied to him. I feel so guilty!”
“I understand. But imagine Cal was shooting his rifle into the trees, and you knew there might be people there. You’d find a way to stop him, wouldn’t you?”
Tiny nodded slowly.
“Because if you didn’t, someone could get hurt. Or die. And your husband would be to blame. What you’re doing right now is stopping that rifle from going off.”
“I guess so.” Tiny looked at Yíxin and dropped her voice. “You sure she’s… safe? Cal doesn’t trust foreigners.”
“She’s from New Jersey.”
The Jersey girl in question tucked her phone in her pocket. “Okay, I’m all set.” She glanced around the cement and timber-frames expanse. “Whatever’s in the locker there, that’s all the guns he owns?”
