Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

"No," he admitted.

"Randall," I said, stopping on the sidewalk, "did he have an English accent? He might not even be an American!"

"Well, he had sort of an English accent. I mean it was very correct, resonant, but anyone who has lived here as long as he has would have picked up some British influences in his speech, don't you think?" he asked.

"I don't know. How would I know? Let's just turn around," I said.

`Turn around? We've come this far, Rain. That's silly. Come on. It's just another block," he said and my reluctant legs moved me forward. "That's it," he said, pointing, a few minutes later.

We stood across the street from a gray stone house that had a short picket fence. The window casing and the door were all painted a dull white. It looked old, but quaint. The street itself was very quiet, and I was sure that if we stood for a while where we were, we would attract some attention.

"Now that I'm here looking at the house, I really feel silly," I said. "I have no idea what to do."

"Why don't I just go to the door, ring the bell and pretend I'm looking for someone else," Randall suggested.

"No," I said taking a step back. I felt like just turning and running away.

"Why not? If he comes to the door, you'll get a good look at him. No harm done. I'll just apologize and that will be that," he said.

"I don't think so," I said, but not &oily enough.

"I'm doing it," he said and before I could stop him, he crossed the street.

"Randall..." I called. He didn't turn back until he went through the small gate and approached the door. He beckoned for me to come closer, but I couldn't move. I shook my head and then he sauntered up to the door and rang the bell. He looked back at me, smiled and waited. My heart seemed to shrink inside my chest when the door opened. Despite my fears, I couldn't help but be interested.

A dark-haired woman wearing jeans and a gray pullover stood in the doorway. She didn't look much older than her mid-to-late thirties at most. Her hair was straight and down to her shoulders. Her face was angular and very interesting even from where I stood. As Randall spoke,

a young girl came up beside the woman. She wore a dark blue skirt and white blouse and had short, curly hair. The girl wasn't much more than twelve or thirteen, I thought, but she listened attentively, her pretty face full of interest in what Randall was saying. I couldn't imagine how he could go on and on like that.

Finally, he thanked them, turned and started toward me. The woman and the girl looked our way and then closed the door slowly. Randall waited until he crossed the street before speaking, a fat, cat-whoate-the-canary smile on his face. He glanced back and then moved quickly to my side.

"He's coming out any moment," he whispered as if the woman could still hear him.

"How do you know?"

"I heard him tell someone named William to put on his jacket. It was time to go."

"What did that woman say to you? What did you say to her? Who was the little girl?" I fired at him.

He laughed.

"I acted like a very confused tourist looking for some relatives. She told me I was on the wrong block," he added. "She was very nice. The little girl has to be their daughter. I'm confident we have found the right Larry Ward," he concluded.

I saw the door open and turned quickly, seizing Randall's arm to move him along.

"Someone's coming out," I said between my clenched teeth.

He looked back as I walked, terrified of following his gaze. I was like Lot's wife in the Bible, feeling like if I looked back I would be turned into a pillar of salt. I kept walking, my head down.

"He's black," Randall announced. "I knew it. He's walking this way with a little boy."

I was relieved when we reached the corner and I hurried to cross the street.

"Wait a minute," Randall cried, seizing my arm. "Don't you even want to look at him?"

"I feel dumb," I said. "I don't want him to see me just in case it is him."

"We'll wait here," he said, tugging me toward a newspaper and magazine store.