After Oma had gone Anni sat in the dark, fighting sleep, trying to remember getting into her bed and yet here she was under the covers with her eyes wide open. At least they felt wide open. The blackout curtains darkened the room so well that she wasn’t sure where she was. She clicked on the lamp—almost 12:30, which meant more than two hours had passed since she entered her room and felt Oma’s presence. Had she dreamed it? No, her grandmother had left a clear sign of her presence in her wake, a kind of strange energy that made the air electric and . . . blue. That was the only way to describe the spiritual fog that lingered after her grandmother had faded away.
Anni’s blood shot through her body, carrying with it a heightened sense that she was not alone, though clearly now that was a fact. Unless the entire encounter was the result of exhaustion and fear, a hopeful fantasy. But she didn’t believe that. Why had Oma come today and not in Chicago, the night Max disappeared? Or the times his new friends had come to threaten him but threatened her in his absence. Oma had said she was in danger—well, that ship had sailed. One of her boarders was dead, most likely murdered under this roof. The least Oma could have done was come a few days ago, before the boarders arrived. Better yet, a few months ago to stop Anni from sinking her savings and most of her inheritance into remodeling the house. Hadn’t Leo told her so many times that timing is everything? He was talking about reporting the news, of course, but that little ditty was true for her now too. If Oma chose today for a warning, she had a good reason. The end.
The premonitions that hung on Anni like bricks and even her grandmother’s warning were all so cryptic, and she hated the uncertainty of that. Always wondering if her feelings were real, doubting herself, her instincts. No wonder Dad denied his family’s supposed gift; he was a man of reason, and feelings gave him nothing to hold in his hands, touch, see, point to and say “Here, right here.” And Dad needed that. Maybe she did too.
She threw back the covers and tripped over her shoes and clothes to yank the curtains back to look reality in the face. The morning sun burst into the room, illuminating nothing.
After she showered and dressed, she followed the smell of pork chops to the kitchen where Lena, looking strong in her natural habitat, sat at the head of the table talking while their surviving boarders—Mr. Otis, Charlotte, and Perry—ate the elaborate lunch she had put before them.
Anni glanced at Perry who leaned over the daily paper but, Anni suspected, wasn’t really reading it. He looked up and smiled at her before taking a drink from his tall yellow glass. “Good morning,” he said. But his eyes asked if she’d taken his advice and locked her door.
“You are awake at a last,” Lena said, her face beaming, not at all the silent immanent breakdown she had been yesterday. She touched the chair on her right. “Sit. I will make you a plate.” Ever the mother hen.
“That would be wonderful, Lena. I’m starving.” Her stomach hung like an empty rubber bag, sucking on itself.
“Good morning,” Charlotte said. She was wide awake and pretty in her long-sleeved mustard yellow top, her red hair resting in thick curls on her shoulders. “How’d you sleep? You look . . . well.”
Anni knew she did not—she’d seen the face looking back at her in the bathroom mirror, the red blotchy mask with bloodshot eyes that makeup could not conceal. “So do you. Love the top,” she said, her voice sounding more cheerful than she felt.
“Thank you.” Charlotte said, buttering her biscuit. “I’ll loan it to you sometime for a special occasion.” She nodded toward Perry, who thankfully had his eyes on his paper and so didn’t see.
Anni opened her eyes wide and shook her head at Charlotte, a small almost imperceptible shake to warn her off that line of teasing. But Charlotte only winked and popped a chunk of jam biscuit in her mouth. “You’d look irresistible in it,” she said, narrowing her eyes and grinning. Anni felt like tossing an olive at her, and she felt her face go hot.
Mr. Otis held up his fork, his mouth full and the plate in front of him even more full. “These fried potatoes and onions are incredible, Miss Albach. Absolutely heaven sent. The pork chops are even better. Your friend has outdone herself. My compliments.”
He seemed to have forgotten his earlier confession of snooping in Mr. Kline room. In fact, everyone at the table seemed to have forgotten the harrowing morning they’d all shared. Anni, drained from almost twelve hours of what now seemed to be a nightmare, sat down between Lena and Perry.
Anni inventoried the lunch spread across the table from stem to stern–baking powder biscuits; strawberry jam; pork chops dipped in milk to make them soft and then flour to make them crispy when fried; sweet corn and fried potatoes with onions because this was Kansas after all; a relish plate spilling over with pickled vegetables and olives; coleslaw; lemonade in a glass pitcher full of ice and decorated with slices of lemon. The coffee pot warmed on the stove. All comfort food, Lena’s specialty, and Anni felt better just smelling it all.
Lena set a plate of good in front of Anni. “There you go, Süsse. Eat it all. You are altogether too thin this morning.”
The room and everyone in it seemed to slow almost to a stop, and Anni heard a rushing sound like falling water in her ears as she stared at Lena. “What did you say?
“I am here, Süsse. This is real.” Lena’s eyes, not Oma’s now, looked back at Anni.
Dusting For Fingerprints 