by Olive Balla
Cleg shook his head, bewildered.
The young man standing on the porch raised his hand to knock again, but Margo opened the door before he could complete the action. “We don’t allow solicitors.” She pointed to a dirt-smeared and nearly illegible sign nailed to a cracked wood panel next to the door.
A frown creased the young man’s face. He opened his wallet and held it up in front of Margo. “I’m Detective David Ruiz. I’m looking for a young girl and an elderly woman believed to be with her, Jillian Ross? I understand you’re her court-appointed temporary guardians.”
“Yes?” Margo said.
“May I speak with her, please?”
“What about?”
“Is she here?” The detective’s smile grew strained.
“Um, she’s not available right now.”
“But she is here?”
“I, um…”
“We were just going out to look for her,” Cleg found himself saying. Margo shot a look at him, and he clapped his mouth shut.
The young man raised his eyebrows, the look on his face just short of a sneer. “I have information that the girl left your house days ago and has not returned. Can you tell me why you didn’t report her missing at that time?”
Cleg gulped air in through his nasal cannula and shot a look out of the corner of his eye at The Shrike. He could be wrong, but it seemed the poo was about to hit the fan. And sure as there’d be rain in Seattle, Margo would find a way to pin everything on him. Oh man, his life sucked.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When the detective identified himself, Margo’s shoulders dropped. She moved to one side, holding the door open. “You’d better come in.”
His nostrils flared, the young man appeared to hesitate an instant then stepped over the threshold. Just inside the door, he stopped and looked around before turning to face Margo and Cleg.
Margo surreptitiously eyed him as his eyes darted around the living room, taking in every detail. Her stomach dropped even further, and her face froze as if suddenly turned to concrete. There had to be some way to spin the mess, some way to keep her in the clear.
She closed the door, moving slowly to allow her frantic mind time to come up with a suitable explanation. How much did this guy know and how much was he just guessing?
Margo led the detective into the living room, Cleg rattling after them. She indicated the sofa. “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
The detective shook his head. “No thanks.” He remained standing. “You say you were just leaving to look for Jillie?”
Cleg’s eyes widened and his whining voice climbed up the scale. “We haven’t…We didn’t actually—”
Margo shot a censorious look at her spouse. Diarrhea of the mouth, that’d always been Cleg’s problem. No connection between his brain and his pie-hole.
Her voice cut through his rambling like a scythe through tall grass. “Maybe we made a mistake by not contacting someone earlier.” She pasted a contrite look on her face. “But the child has been through so much lately, we just thought she wanted some time to herself.”
Detective Ruiz’s upper lip curled a bit. “She’s only eleven years old.”
“Actually, she’ll be twelve in a few weeks.” At the look that flashed across the detective’s face, Margo lifted her hand, palm upward. “But I can see now that we might have been—”
“I’d like to see her room, if I may.” When Margo hesitated, he added, “I’m sure you’ll want to do anything you can to help find her.”
A muscle spasm in Margo’s face pulled her mouth into a grimace and set her right eyelid twitching. “Of course. Follow me.” She turned and headed up the stairs, the detective close behind.
By the time they got to the top of the stairs, panic had made Margo’s breathing so shallow, she was dizzy. If the guy hadn’t been so young, she might have tried the life-is-just-so-difficult ploy while batting her eyelashes at him. But something about his demeanor radiated cynicism, like he’d see right through her.
This whole mess was turning sour. And there she was, caught in the headlights with nowhere to run. Margo took a deep breath, steadied herself against the wall and opened the door to Digger’s room.
For the next couple of minutes, Detective Ruiz did a thorough search of the room. He looked in the closet, pulled drawers out of the bureau, and pointed to the bed underneath the window where the girl had left it. “Is this the way she got out?”
Margo nodded. “We haven’t had a chance to put it back where it belongs, we’ve just been so worried.”
When Ruiz saw the urn on the bureau, he shot a quizzical look at her.
“That’s our son Digger’s urn. This was his old room.”
“And you made that little girl stay here, in the same room with his cremains?”
Margo took a deep breath. “It’s the only room that isn’t already in use.” Even as she said the words, she knew how they sounded. This guy wouldn’t buy anything she said after that. And he wouldn’t leave a single detail out of his report. She could almost feel the handcuffs snapping around her wrists.
Ruiz made his way through the house and basement then headed back to the living room. He removed a business card from a shirt pocket and placed it on the end table next to the sofa. “If she contacts you, or if an elderly woman comes by looking for her, call me.”
As soon as the policeman left, Margo gently closed the door then whirled on her spouse. “Do you think you could have acted more suspicious?”
“What did I do?”
“The only silver lining to all this is that the kid still hasn’t turned up.” Margo sucked air through her teeth. “Hustle, Tubbo, time’s running out and we have work to do.”
“But shouldn’t we have told the detective what you figured out, Lollipop?”
“What are you blathering on about?” Margo tied her scarf around her neck.
“Shouldn’t we have told him you think the girl has been back to get food and stuff? Wouldn’t that have made us look less suspicious?”
“What us? The only one who looked suspicious was you.”
“Maybe we could have told him that we’ve been leaving food out for her—”
Margo shook her head. “How typically short-sighted of you. If he thought she’d been back, he’d stake out the house. And I don’t want him looking over our shoulders.”
“Ah.” Cleg nodded his head as if he’d suddenly achieved enlightenment.
Margo stepped to the window. She pulled the curtain aside just enough to allow her to watch the detective get into his car, where he sat for several minutes doing who-knew-what.
After Ruiz left, Margo turned toward Cleg. “At first, I thought it might be a good plan to hide out in the kitchen and wait for her to come back. But she’s too smart, she’d never just waltz in here without making sure we’re gone. And now we’re out of time. That cop will report everything he suspects. Next thing we know, the place will be swarming with cops looking for the kid and some old lady. I’m not going to let that treasure slip through my hands, not when I’m so close.”
“What do you have in mind, Honey Bits?”
Margo opened the door then turned back toward her spouse. “That kid has managed to completely disappear. Once we find her and get our hands on that treasure, she can stay disappeared. No one’ll be the wiser.”
“What d’you mean, Lamb Chop?” A series of expressions flowed across Cleg’s face, from the despised, empty-headed stare, to thoughtful consideration, and finally open-mouthed shock. “If that kid gets hurt, they’ll come after us, sure as the world.”
“Not if they never find her.”
“If they never…you can’t…” As Cleg spoke, his voice raised in pitch, ending in a ten-year-old boy’s whine.
“Just listen to you.” Margo fought to keep from bashing in the face she’d grown to hate. “At this point we have no choice. Now hustle.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jillie
had watched as the copper-colored vehicle pulled up behind Cleg’s pickup, and a man she didn’t recognize approached the front door. The man knocked once and was about to knock again when Margo opened the door. He said something then reached into his jacket and held up something for Margo to see.
Although Jillie didn’t recognize the newcomer, her stomach twisted into a knot at the sound of his familiar voice. Had Dix and Lil called their policeman nephew after all?
Margo said something then stepped aside and held the door open. Detective Ruiz followed her inside the house. It seemed a long time before he came back out.
As he walked to his car, he swiveled his head and scanned the farm’s layout. His gaze landed on the shed, and he turned to Margo who’d followed him onto the porch. “What’s the outbuilding used for?”
Jillie’s heart skipped a few beats and her mind raced. Frantically, she peered around the shed’s small interior for a hiding place.
Her gaze settled on the tool chest. She’d fit, but what about her backpack and Mickey?
“That thing hasn’t been used for years,” Margo had said. “Cleg used to have a garden, but now it’s just rotting away like everything else on this place.” She cleared her throat then smiled. “We keep it padlocked. Of course, we know you’d have to get a warrant to search it, but as you know, we want to help any way we can.”
Margo stood in the doorway until David drove away, then spun on her heel, stomped back into the house and closed the door behind her.
Jillie sat on the toolbox. Sooner or later, she’d get caught, that seemed certain. But she had to stay free long enough to take Beth home and put her with Mommy and Pops like she’d promised.
“Beth, please tell me what to do,” she whispered.
Her shoulders drooping and head bowed, she swayed back and forth, crying into Mickey’s tummy.
Chapter Thirty-Six
David sat in his car mulling over his conversation with the Elliotts. More than the fact that they’d made that little girl sleep in the room with their dead son’s ashes, even more than the fact that they hadn’t reported her missing, something about the couple had set his antennae vibrating like an off-balance washing machine.
Cleg Elliott hadn’t once referred to his wife by her given name, opting for a string of treacly sweet nicknames. But the lovey-dovey mask had slipped once, allowing David a glimpse of undiluted hatred. When the man tried to make a helpful comment, his wife snarled something, effectively shutting him off like a needle valve on a water faucet. A look of fear had flashed across the guy’s face, and he’d lapsed into silence, staring into space, his posture near-catatonic.
Margo had managed to squeeze out the requisite tear or two when speaking about our little Jillie, but there’d been a glint of pure cold steel in her eyes. And although he’d tried not to stare, David had been mesmerized when the woman’s sniffles set a bizarre little flap of skin below one nostril a-jiggling. The look of satisfaction that flashed across her face gave him the distinct impression she’d enjoyed his discomfort.
With all its rotting, scabrous-peeling and odors, the house would have been a grim place for a kid. David had seen worse, but not much.
While he was acquainted with plenty of good folks who’d fallen on rough times, the Elliotts didn’t fit into that category. There was a malevolence about Margo. A cruel meanness. Unless David was wrong, a lot worse lay just beneath the surface.
The trouble was, of course, David had been in law enforcement too long. He’d witnessed firsthand the horrors perpetrated by spiteful, control-hungry, greedy people on those unlucky enough to fall into their orbit. As was typical of those law enforcement officers whose days were consumed by dealing with the worst of the worst, he’d grown a thick callus over his finer human emotions. An observer would say those experiences had jaundiced his general view of humanity. And they’d be right.
He often caught himself staring at strangers and wondering if evil lurked behind their benign outer-wrappings, his assessment tinged with adrenaline at the knowledge that just about every adult citizen of New Mexico was armed to the teeth.
After glancing at the house in time to see a face disappear behind a drapery, he pulled his cell from its holder and punched in the number for the dispatch office. “Hey, Betts, it’s Ruiz. I’m in Belen, got a missing eleven-year-old girl. I’m going to send you a description and details to post in all the usual places.”
Betts said, “That’s already been done. Sheriff Sloan from Torrance County called it in earlier.”
“When was this?”
“Yesterday, I think. Have you been under a rock?” Betts chuckled. “Or maybe you’ve been busy with a new girlfriend?”
“So, it wasn’t the foster parents who called it in. Has anyone been by to talk to them besides me?”
“Not yet, Sloan’s going to see them today. You want his cell?”
“That’d be helpful. Thanks.” David clenched his teeth. If he’d checked in, he’d have already known this. That’s what he got for taking a couple of days off to go fishing. His only excuses were there’d been no radio at the cabin, and Belen was outside his jurisdiction.
“Are you coming in later?”
“No. My sixty-five-year-old aunt went missing last night. If I don’t find her by this evening, I’ll contact Missing Persons.”
“Is your aunt connected to the missing girl?”
“They met, though I don’t have all the details as yet.”
“Do we need to send out a Silver Alert?” Betts’ voice grew somber.
“No, my aunt’s neither handicapped nor mentally disadvantaged. But I’m taking the day to look for her. I’ll be in touch.”
He broke the connection then punched in his aunt Dix’s number. When Aunt Lil didn’t pick up, he tried the landline. Again, straight to voicemail.
“Aunt Lil,” he said through clenched teeth, “call me when you get this. I’m hoping you’re in the shower or haven’t put in your hearing aids yet. But if you’re thinking of looking for Aunt Dix, please don’t. I’ll call when I have news.”
He jabbed an index finger against the tiny screen, pulled his electronic tablet onto his lap, hurriedly emailed his boss then started his engine and headed toward the old neighbor’s house up the road.
If he’d been an eleven-year-old kid, he’d be looking for hot food and a warm bed—just the kind of help a godmother could offer. And if he was lucky, his aunt would have come to the same conclusion.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After Dix and Lil’s nephew drove away, Jillie sat on the toolbox and tried to quiet her racing mind. The policeman had noticed the shed, and that was bad news. It meant she’d have to find someplace else to hide.
She’d been so tempted to holler at him that she’d had to hold her hand over her mouth. Maybe she should have called out to him.
The problem was, she didn’t know much about the law. Not only had she run away from the place a judge told her to stay, but she’d been stealing the Elliott’s food. Was that enough to get her locked in jail? She shuddered.
Sounds of slamming doors followed by Margo’s angry voice pulled Jillie’s attention back to the house. She hustled to the shed’s door and peered through the crack as Margo stomped out onto the porch.
“She’s obviously moving around, so what?” Margo said over her shoulder.
“I still think—” Cleg’s voice floated out the door and into the cold air.
“Ye gods and little fishes! What an idiot.” Suddenly, Margo whirled on her spouse and punched him in the stomach. “Leave the thinking to me, otherwise you’ll strain that pea-sized brain.”
Cleg doubled over and coughed a couple of times. By the time he righted himself, Margo had climbed into the pickup’s passenger seat, where she stuck her head out the window and shouted, “Get a move on.” She honked the horn in several short blasts then held it down until her husband managed to hoist himself into the driver’s seat.
Whatever Margo said after that was lost
in the roar of the engine. As before, tires spun, and pebbles tinked against metal as if fired from a shotgun. The pickup sped down the dirt drive and onto the road.
Jillie lifted her teddy bear from his resting place on her coat and hugged him to her chest. “I don’t know what to do, Mickey. We can’t go back to Dix and Lil’s, we’d be getting them into trouble. We can’t go home without Beth, but we can’t stay here.”
She gathered her possessions. After struggling to stuff all of it into her backpack, she sat on the tool box, hugged Mickey, and rocked back and forth.
“God, if you would please give Beth a message for me,” she whispered into Mickey’s tummy. “Please tell her that I’m doing the best I can and that I love her. And please help me find a place to stay. Amen.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In accordance with Margo’s latest command, Cleg ambled into the all-night big-box store and bought the cheapest shovel he could find. By the time he’d paid, hurried across the half block parking lot to the pickup, and put the thing into the back, Margo was nearing the boiling point.
“Where have you been?”
“Sorry, but I had to walk all over the place; then, there was only one checker…” Cleg’s voice came in gasps, and he felt light-headed.
“Shut it and drive.”
They arrived at the Ross farm a little more than thirty minutes later. Nearly luminescent with excitement, Margo shoved the door open and jumped from the pickup before it had come to a complete stop. “Could you possibly have driven any slower?”
“I did the speed limit, Honey Cakes. I didn’t figure we should draw attention—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Margo looked at the surrounding area as if expecting to find gold hanging from the trees. “First thing is to make sure the kid isn’t around. You check the barn, and I’ll search the house. If you spot her, whistle.”
“What’ll we do if she’s here?”
“Why, we’ll make her a nice cup of hot tea, what do you think?” Had Margo’s voice been a blow torch, Cleg would have been incinerated. “Time’s wasting.” She slammed the passenger door and sprinted toward the house.