by Webb, Debra
Finding Natalie’s remains has left an empty place where wonder and hope once dwelled.
My sister is dead.
“Are you going back to Boston?”
The question surprises me. Does she want me to leave? Does she need to be alone to digest this new reality? I assume she will want to have a funeral Mass and of course there’s the burial. I want to be a part of those things. I want to help her.
More than anything else, I want the truth. I need to help Letty find the truth otherwise her father’s name won’t be cleared and we will never understand what really happened.
Doubt attempts to intrude but I refuse to believe that James Cotton did this. Even in a fit of rage he would never have hurt Natalie or Stacy. The idea is ludicrous.
I take a breath and turn to my mother. “Do you want me to go back to Boston?”
“What a foolish question!” She looks away. “Of course I don’t want you to go back.”
I take a moment to remind myself that this hurts her far more than me. Natalie was my sister but she was her daughter. Despite my childless state, I fully grasp the magnitude of the difference.
“I plan to stay and help you with the next steps.” I shrug. “Nat’s final arrangements. I promised Letty I would help her with the case. We still don’t know who took Natalie and Stacy. We need answers. They deserve justice.”
“What difference does justice make now?” Helen drops her face into her hands.
On some level I feel the same way but I traced those fissures in Natalie’s skull, felt the depression indicative of blunt force trauma. Fury detonates inside me. I want whoever did those things to my beautiful, perfect sister to pay. I want it more than anything just now.
“He could do it again,” I remind my mother. “He may have already, there are still two girls missing.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not the same. Whoever took those little girls is not the same devil who took Natalie and Stacy.”
I agree for the most part, but Helen doesn’t simply agree she feels adamant about it. The conviction echoes in her voice, in the way her muscles clench with anger. I remember a time when she ran from town to town tacking up posters with pictures of Natalie and Stacy. I remember the calls, the letters. She worked like a crazy woman trying to draw attention to and gain support for the search. She wanted Natalie and Stacy found. We all did.
Now they have been found. But not the person who caused them to disappear.
Why has the fire for justice grown cold?
I say, “I’m staying until this is finished.”
With that announcement I push to my feet and head upstairs. I call a good night to her over my shoulder but she doesn’t answer. I choose not to take it personally. She needs to grieve.
The years of wondering and hoping and searching are over.
There’s nothing left for her except to bury the dead.
I, on the other hand, am going to find a killer.
16
Monday, May 14
Jackson Falls doesn’t have a Starbucks so I bought the largest coffee sold at the Mini Market and loaded it down with cheap powdered cream and lots of real sugar. The taste isn’t the same but the results should prove similar.
Maybe I should have bought two. I’m uncertain whether large doses of caffeine combined with sugar will be sufficient to clear my head of last night’s lingering nightmares. During the hours of fitful sleep I floated along that damned final bus ride about twenty times. Not one thing changed as the images rolled through my sleep. I watched Natalie and Stacy walk away from the bus each time. The big difference with these dreams was the ending. Each time my sister and her friend were struck repeatedly by someone I couldn’t see, they fell to the ground and their screaming woke me every damned time.
I banish the images and force my full attention on the road. My throat aches and my chest feels tight. I try and dampen my throat with the wholly awful coffee but it doesn’t help the parched sensation. All it does is make me want to hurl.
Letty is still in her meeting, leaving me with time to kill. Before I left the house I made up my mind to drive to the cemetery. School buses are out, it’s that time. I stop for the bus to pick up a couple of kids. I survey the faces in the bus windows. Some look the same way I feel—as if they still aren’t ready to face the world, others are animated, talking and laughing. At this stop the two girls who climb onto the bus wear jeans, tees, and sneakers. I guess the uniform around here hasn’t changed very much. The taller of the two girls looks to be thirteen or fourteen. I think of my sister. When we were kids she seemed so much older to me, so mature, but she was just a child. A child who was bludgeoned to death after God only knows what other manner of travesties.
The organ in my chest squeezes and flops uselessly. In the deep recesses of my soul I know that I cannot leave until I find the person who did this. For the first time since I was eight years old having the knowledge of where Natalie is and if she is dead or alive is not enough. Growing up all I wanted was for her to come home, to be my sister again…for things to return to the way they were before that day. In time, as I matured, I realized those things would never happen so I wished to know what happened to my sister. Had she been sold into slavery? Was she living in someone’s basement? Had she been murdered or had she gotten lost in the mountains and starved to death?
Now I know and those answers are not enough.
I must know the rest.
Traffic is as heavy as it gets around this town. The folks who don’t put their kids on the buses and the kids who drive themselves are rushing to school. Others are headed for the interstate to get to Huntsville or to Decatur for work. My destination is only a few more blocks. The cemetery is on the same street as St. Mary’s, which reminds me that there’s a chance I could run into the lying priest.
I’m not so worried. He likely has some sort of breakfast with members of his congregation or authority figures in the community. Puttering around in the cemetery is probably not a Monday morning ritual.
In an effort to throw the reporter off my trail, I drive the Prius this morning. To that end I removed the plates and used the one from my father’s truck so the car looks like a local’s. Totally illegal but obeying the state codes governing motor vehicles and traffic is not a high priority of mine at this time. I just have to remember to put it back. I wouldn’t want Howard getting pulled over by Jackson Falls PD next time he takes the truck for a drive.
I park inside the cemetery near a copse of trees. Narrow paved lanes wind through the largest and oldest cemetery in town. The founders are buried here. Generations of Jacksons and Turners and Beaumonts, though the Beaumonts aren’t actually founders. But one—Matthew—married a Jackson, which put their name on the map, so to speak. My ancestors helped found Jackson Falls as well. As did Letty’s, but you won’t find her father buried in this cemetery. He’s in the one on the other side of town where Letty’s ancestors are interned. There was a time when blacks and whites weren’t buried in the same cemeteries. That part of life in Jackson Falls had all but disappeared by the time I was born, but my mother’s mother told me the stories. She ended each one with the warning that if I remembered her words I would always know better than to make the same mistakes. I think she was right. We need to remember the wrongs our ancestors committed so we don’t repeat their stupidity.
I find the section of the cemetery where generations of my mother’s and father’s ancestors are buried. I walk past the towering headstones. By the time I reach my dad’s there has been considerable downsizing. After his terminal diagnosis, he and Helen selected a headstone that suited them both. My parents have never been showy people. The only reason they bought that big old house on Tulip Lane was because there wasn’t another one available in town at the time. People who move to Jackson Falls rarely leave. It’s the perfect, genteel small town—two murdered girls and an additional two missing notwithstanding—and its position on the map is right between two thriving metropolitan areas. The
school gets a Blue Ribbon from the state just about every year. What’s not to like?
I crouch down next to Dad’s grave. My chest tightens as I read Helen’s name on the other side of the headstone. Reaching down I tug a weed or two from the small white pebbles that blanket the double plot. There’s a plot between this double headstone and the one that marks my dad’s parents’ graves. Mother wanted to leave space for Natalie to be ensconced between them. We’ve never discussed Natalie’s final arrangements beyond that point. I guess because it was easier not to talk about it. To pretend she would be back one day.
“Hey, Dad.” I draw in a big breath and let it go. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back since the funeral, but I’ve been calling Mother often. I haven’t forgotten what you asked me to do.” For the most part anyway.
I hear some people drop by the cemetery and talk to their dead relatives on a regular basis but this is my first time. I glance around the cemetery, don’t see anyone. Feel grateful I’m alone.
“I found Natalie yesterday.” My voice shakes and I clear my throat. “Stacy, too. As soon as the police release the remains we can give Nat a proper burial.” I close my eyes for a time and consider how to say the rest. “We always knew they were probably dead, but I guess somehow I pushed away the idea that they’d been murdered. It was too terrible to think about. But they were, murdered I mean.”
For a minute I stare at the shiny black granite, reading his name, allowing the memories to drift through my mind. “Letty and I will figure out who did this. I want you to know I’m not leaving until we find the truth, so don’t worry. And, I guess you know Mother had a heart attack. I’ll make sure she’s doing okay before I…go.”
I shake my head, place my hand on the cool granite and push to my feet. I don’t know what I was thinking coming to Dad’s grave and saying all this out loud as if he can hear me. I pretty much lost all my religion in that hole in Iraq—not that I’d retained that much anyway. I deal in facts and tangibles. The one thing I can guarantee you that comes after death is the wasting away to bone. The bones are what remains of the greatest among us as well as the least. If there is some spirit world I can’t see it or touch it or sense it so I’m not exactly a believer. The fact that I even came to the cemetery and spoke to my dad as if we were seated around the dinner table could be a bad thing considering my breakdown a couple of weeks ago.
“Maybe I am losing it completely.”
“Whether you have faith or not, it never hurts to voice your feelings.”
The priest. Oh hell. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” I accuse as I turn to face him.
He smiles and I find it impossible to hang onto a thread of irritation. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually encounter visitors this early. I walk the cemetery each morning. It’s my hope that it gives those who reside here comfort.”
I almost suggest it might be more fitting if he wore his religious garb rather than jeans and a pullover sweater, but I decide not to be unkind. He did help me out at Home Depot and at Johnny’s. It’s just that the jeans and the sweater make him look like any other guy and I’m having trouble dealing with that aspect of this man.
“I’m sure the families appreciate your efforts.” A nice, noncommittal way to give him a compliment. Mental pat on the back for me. “If I had known I would run into you this morning, I would have brought your hoodie.”
The truth is the hoodie is in the washing machine. This morning’s cool temp sent me into Helen’s closet for a sweater. I finally found a plain tan one about as old as I am. Despite the chill in the air, the jacket I’d left Boston wearing was too heavy for weather in Alabama.
“Use it as long as you as you like.” Another smile tugs at his lips. “I saw you on the news last night.”
“I swear all the dirt will wash out.” I’m sure he cringed when he saw the condition of his hoodie.
“I’m glad you wore it yesterday.” He shrugged. “It makes me feel a part of the important work you and Letty did.”
The pain and concern on his face tells me Helen called him.
“She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.” I don’t want to be angry with my mother but I told her about Natalie and Stacy because I couldn’t not tell her, but she shouldn’t have told anyone else.
“Emma, your mother sharing her feelings with me is the same as you coming here this morning to share them with your father.”
“I don’t think so.” I need to go. “He can’t blab to anyone else.”
“You can trust me, Emma. Completely.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. Thankfully my cell vibrates in my back pocket. I check the screen. A text from Letty. I’m to meet her at her house ASAP.
“I have to go.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Since it’s a free country, I don’t argue.
“Helen is concerned about you being involved in the investigation of what happened to Natalie. She’s worried it won’t be good for you.”
“Helen shouldn’t worry about me.” I keep my attention on my car. Another fifty yards and I can escape.
“You’re right.”
This time I stall and stare at him.
“You’re a strong woman, Emma. You’ve done incredible things in your life. If you choose to do this, you will do it to the best of your ability and you won’t stop until you’re done or it stops you.”
How can he see inside me so completely? I hug my arms around myself to block his too perceptive eyes. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you very well. You and I are a great deal alike.”
“Now that I agree with. We’re both compulsive liars and we both want things we shouldn’t want.”
His flinch tells me I hit a nerve.
I continue on to my car and, surprisingly, he follows. Before I can, he opens the door like a true southern gentleman.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, Emma, and I’m even sorrier to be yet another cause for your loss of faith.”
This time I’m the one who flinches. “Your little harmless lie didn’t do this to me, Jake. Life did this to me and the worst part is that I allowed it.” From somewhere deep inside me more words gush out before I can stop them. Every fiber of my being feels too full with hurt and the need to release the pent up misery abruptly overwhelms me. “I ran away because I couldn’t be here anymore. I couldn’t be the daughter who survived anymore. I couldn’t take the curious stares and the questions anymore. But I found out there are some things you can’t run away from—like yourself. So, yes, I’ll stay until I find who did this. I think it’s the only way I’ll ever find the part of me I lost that day.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly breathe and the crappy coffee threatens to reappear. I cannot imagine why I felt the need to spew all that to him, but there it is, lying on the ground, the stench of it floating in the air between us.
“I hope you’ll allow me to be a part of your journey.”
I scrub a hand across my mouth terrified that more unexpected words will fly out of me. I nod and drop behind the steering wheel. He closes my door and I drive away. I point the Prius toward Letty’s, acutely aware that he watches.
The short drive to her place allows me to clear my head and get my racing heart under control. For the first time in a very long time I feel the urge to run a couple of miles. I feel like a bird trapped in a cage far too small. Seeing Letty’s face grounds me.
“We’ll take my Jeep,” she says.
I grab my cold crap coffee and lock my car. “Is there anything new on the search for the girls?”
My coffee goes into the console alongside hers. I climb into the Jeep Grand Cherokee. I like that it’s black and seriously cool. The quintessential cop vehicle. That’s the ticket, Emma. Think normal thoughts. Focus on the here and now.
“Nothing yet.” She puts the gearshift into reverse and backs out of her drive. “The FBI and the ABI have pretty much taken over the Shepherd-Baldwin case. Between their resources, the city’s
and the county’s they’re doing all they can. We still have a lot of tips coming in to the call center but nothing useful so far.”
“What’s our plan?”
Letty glances at the console and makes a face. “There’s a coffee shop over by the Pig called Beans. You shouldn’t drink that shit they sell at the Mini Market.”
I laugh. “No kidding.”
Letty ignores my question for a full minute. I let her. I have an idea, particularly since she’s wearing jeans, a tee and a jacket this morning. Not her official sheriff’s uniform of khaki shirt and trousers.
“I took some personal time,” she finally says. “After I turned over the dog tags, I was off the case anyway. Conflict of interest. There’s not a lot I can do that my department, PD, the feds and the guys from the ABI aren’t already doing to find our missing girls. I thought you and I would start our own unofficial investigation into what really happened to Natalie and Stacy.”
“You sure that’s the right thing to do?” God, I sound like Helen now.
Letty nods. “I have to figure this out, Emma. Someone set up my dad. I’m not going to be the reason this new, forming as we speak, mini task force proves those allegations were right all along.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you and your dad last night.” I reach for the crappy coffee. “I know he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t have hurt Natalie for anything. Plus, he was out there searching that night just like everyone else.”
“I appreciate your support,” Letty says, her voice low, weary. “But that isn’t going to be the popular thinking. You’ll be painting a target on your back, the same as me.”
I stare at her, my heart swelling into my throat. “I will always be on your side, Letty. No matter what.”
She glances at me, a faint smile clearing the clouds of worry on her face. “Thanks. I doubt there will be anyone else on my side after those dog tags become public knowledge.”