[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Chapter ThirteenThat afternoon, Charlie and Claire set out, armed with the pictures of Havi and Lori as children.They decided to concentrate first on the two houses that lay within Portland’s city limits, one in the Burlingame area in southwest Portland, and the other in the Irvington neighborhood across the Willamette river in the northeast.Teresa Marquette, presumably a single mother, lived within three miles of Charlie and Claire, in a mini-subdivision of long, low ranch houses that had been put up after World War II.In J.B.’s borrowed Firebird, Claire and Charlie drove slowly down the street, until they found a turquoise house with a number that matched the one on Claire’s stolen photocopy.There was no car in the driveway and the curtains were drawn.“Look at that lawn,” Claire remarked.It was unmarred by weeds or even a stray leaf.The flat green was as unvarying and perfect as a golf-course.Charlie shook her head.“It does not look like a house for children.”She was right.The house looked more like it belonged to an old man who would confiscate any ball that accidentally ended up on his property.But when they turned around and drove back past the house, they saw the gold letters on the mailbox that spelled out Marquette.Six blocks later, Claire pulled over.Dressed in her black running tights and an old gray sweatshirt, she began to slowly run down the street.The plan called for her to run by the Marquette house, continue on for a few blocks, then turn around and run back.In case she did spy a likely candidate, she carried a small disposable camera in her sweatshirt pocket.Portland - home of the main U.S.office for Adidas and with Nike headquartered in its suburbs - was a city of runners, so her presence should arouse no comment.It was slow going, but Claire remembered Dr.Gregory’s comment that her muscles might be atrophying, and decided to keep pushing herself.After just two blocks she was out of breath.She walked one block, tried to start running again, and then she gave up and walked.A few weeks before she could have knocked five miles off without much problem, and now here she was trying to psych herself up to run at least a few feet.The neighborhood didn’t offer much diversion.She quickly identified the four types of houses the developer had offered.One had the living room and one front bedroom on the right.The next was reversed, with everything on the left.The third and fourth simply tacked a second bedroom next to the first.It must be confusing, Claire thought, to visit your neighbors, like walking through a looking glass.She worked up to a slow, shuffling run as she started down Teresa Marquette’s block.Many of the neighboring houses were showing their age, sagging a little bit, some in need of paint.Not the Marquette’s house.It looked freshly painted and in perfect repair.But something about its very neatness gave Claire a stunted feeling, and she realized that there no flowers edging the house or the street, nothing but the emerald grass, oppressive in its perfection.After running another block and a half, she turned and ran back past the still closed-up house.When she got back to the car, Charlie was sitting in the driver’s seat.Claire fell into the passenger seat, still panting even though she had walked most of the way back.She fastened her seatbelt, which was so old it only went over her lap.“There was nothing to see.I don’t think anyone was home, although it was hard to tell.Whoever lives in that house does so behind closed doors.”The next address belonged to David and Monica Liebling.As they drove across the Fremont bridge, Charlie told Claire that Liebling was German for darling.Searching for the address, they drove slowly down the wide streets of the Irvington neighborhood, past one hundred year old homes, square, boxy and generous.Now no one had the free time to sit on the deep porches, and the maid’s rooms had probably all been turned into home offices.Two stories tall with a daylight basement, the Lieblings’ house was painted a dark mossy green with cream-colored trim.There was a new red Beemer parked in the driveway, although they couldn’t see anyone moving in the house as they drove by the first and second times [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]