Page 79 of Breathe Me In

I stepped back to see an elderly lady holding her sweater tight around her.

“Good to know, thanks,” I called and looked at Bree. “Go work your charm.”

“Charm? You’re one to talk.” She chuckled as she walked toward the lady. I tucked that comment away for later.

“Excuse me”—Bree held up a hand—“can I ask how long you’ve been living here?” I lagged behind her a bit.

“Since I was a little girl. I moved here after my father got back from the war.” The skin around her eyes smoothed as she smiled.

“So, you would have been here when little Johnny Cleveland had his accident?” The lady’s face fell, and sorrow replaced her smile.

“Oh dear.” She closed her eyes. “Would you like to come inside? I’ll put some tea on.”

I leaned into Bree. “See? Charm.”

The warmth of the lady’s house felt good. We sat in her living room and had tea placed in front of us. Bree warmed her hands and sipped the brew, but I let mine sit.

“What’s your name?” I asked and pulled out my notepad.

“Jean Moddle.” She leaned to the side and removed an old photo album from under her table. “I don’t like talking about that awful day, but I’m also a believer that his memory shouldn’t be lost.”

“I agree.” Bree spoke softly.

“Let’s see”—she closed her eyes briefly—“it was a Sunday. Everyone was back from church, and the neighborhood kids were out to play. Johnny was a happy boy despite the fact that his father left when he was born. It was only him and his mother. She was a hardworking woman but found a love of gardening thanks to that greenhouse. It was there when she moved in.”

“Did Johnny have any friends?”

“A few, my son included. But it was Reddy that was there that day.” Her eyes drifted downward, and the corners of her mouth pressed in like she was uncomfortable. “That’s not his real name, but he had these deep red cheeks when he got mad, and that’s what the kids called him.”

“Reddy,” I repeated as I scribbled down the name.

Bree set her tea on the coaster. “What was Reddy like?”

“He was a little different from the others.”

“How so?” That caught my attention.

She pulled her sweater tighter around her midsection. “I don’t feel right talking bad about a child, but given what you’re asking, I’ll be honest.” She stared at the wall. “He seemed nice enough, but he had a side of him that made me wary. I can’t say I liked it when my son brought him over.”

“Did he get angry a lot? Or was it something else?” Bree was onto something.

“No, it was just a sense I got. When things didn’t go his way or he didn’t like someone, he got this look. I noticed the boys would quickly give in to him. That look brought on a stone-cold chill, I tell you.” She shivered. “I often wondered . . .”

“What did you wonder, Mrs. Moddle?” Bree shifted forward with interest.

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” She waved her hands. “Don’t mind the words of an old woman.” She seemed to shake it off. “Anyway, after Johnny’s accident, Reddy was in the hospital for a bit. I guess he got some of it too.”

Bree shifted forward with interest. “What happened to him?”

“Some sort of nerve damage to his leg, if I remember correctly. He walked with a cane.”

I thought of the bartender from the nightclub and remembered his hand shaking. He blamed it on being overworked, but now I wondered if it was something brought on by the poison. I made a note to look into it.

“How terrible.” Bree rubbed her chest in sympathy.

“Mrs. Moddle, do you think Reddy had anything to do with Johnny’s death?” I had to ask.

“I don’t know. I’d like to say no, given he got hurt too. It’s just that the boy had something wrong with him.” She pointed to her head.