Free Last Seen Alive by Carlene Thompson

for now was to get hold of her emotions, she thought. She went to her mother’s dresser and looked in the vanity mirror. “I will not think about this again today,” she told herself sternly. “I will not think about the album or that bizarre phone call.” And she would especially not think about the haunting voice at the lake, Zoey’s voice, singing, “Star light, star bright,” which for some reason had frightened Chyna more than anything else that had happened since she came home. She knew she could not run from responsibility. She also knew from experience that if answers were to come, they would come in their own time, in their own way. She could not force them.
    Chyna glanced at her watch and saw that she’d spent more time looking at the album than she’d realized. The morning was almost gone and she had errands to do in the afternoon.
    She began moving around briskly, found the blow dryer, finished her hair, pulled it back into a long ponytail, and slid into brown slacks and a red sweater. At least she’d remembered to bring the jacket that matched the pants. After all, she wanted to look presentable at the funeral home. Some blue-gray powder on her eyelids, bronze blush, and matching lipstick brightened her face. She stood back and studied the result. She decided she looked almost normal. Almost if you didn’t know she wasn’t usually so pale or cursed with mauve shadows beneath her eyes.
    When Chyna took the blow dryer back to her mother’s room, she heard scraping against the back of the house—not
    the gentle scraping of leaves in the breeze but the definite scrape of wood or metal against the stone. She also heard a voice. Someone singing. She froze, listening. The melody was something she’d never heard before. The notes were flat. There was no real rhythm or timing. Michelle, standing beside her, perked up her ears. Oh God, no, Chyna thought. Not another voice out of nowhere. Not another voice telling her …
    “Satisfaction … oh no, no, no! I can’t get no …”
    Was she hearing a voice from the “netherworld” mangling with loving gusto “Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones? No, it couldn’t be. Chyna had heard many odd and frightening things through her sixth sense before, but nothing quite this wacky.
    She went to her bedroom window, glanced out, then raised the window. A slim, brown-haired man stood on a towering ladder, his gloved hands raking at leaves in the gutters as he sang with passion, bobbing his head to a beat that was unfathomable to anyone but himself. Chyna looked at him for at least a minute as his voice grew louder and his head bobbed faster. He finally came to the end of the song, whooped in ecstasy, looked over at her, and almost fell off the ladder.
    “Good God!” he shouted.
    “Sorry to scare you,” Chyna said, trying not to burst into laughter. “I was drawn by the music.”
    His good-looking face flamed, his ears so red they looked like they were going to catch on fire. “I didn’t think anyone was home. I clean out Mrs. Greer’s gutters every year and I didn’t think this year should be any different. I know she’s passed on, but people will be coming to the house and she’d want everything to look perfect.” Then he squinted through the bright sun at her with clear green eyes. “Chyna? Is that you?”
    “Yes. I flew in yesterday. My rental car is in the garage.”
    “Well, geez. I gave us both a fright. I haven’t seen you for at least ten years. Gage Ridgeway.”
    “Oh, I remember you, Gage,” Chyna said, still smiling. In
    fact, I just read about you in a newspaper article, she thought You were the boyfriend of Edie Larson, one of the girls who vanished. He would be about Chyna’s age, now, and he’d grown into a striking-looking man. But then, he’d also been a striking-looking teenager, with no shortage of girlfriends. She continued to smile.
    “How are tilings with you, Gage?”
    “Fine. Still working at the construction company.