by Webb, Debra
The white bed with its pink canopy and spread is loaded with colorful pillows and stuffed animals. The two teen magazines that had come in the mail that month lay on the end of the bed, one opened to the exact page Natalie had been looking at before she left for school that day.
Across the room the shelves are filled with her favorite novels. Natalie loved historical novels. Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. On her dresser there are tubes of lip gloss just like in the Baldwin girl’s room. Make-up, nail polish and perfume. Her hairbrush. I finger the bristles.
I move to the closet. Her clothes are all there; except for the ones she wore the day she disappeared. The jeans along with her underthings and the pullover sweater she wore the day before she went away are in the laundry basket in the corner of her closet.
My fingers trail along the hanging blouses and tee shirts. Shoes and boots and sandals line the floor. I sit down and survey the many pairs. My sister was a clotheshorse.
I scoot over to the laundry basket and pick up the sweater. I hold it to my face and inhale deeply hoping to catch just the tiniest whiff of my sister. The lingering scent makes me smile. Maybe it’s my imagination but I believe I can smell her. I reach for the jeans next. Levi’s, of course. I smooth my hand over the soft denim. My eyes fill with tears when I think of all the wonderful things Natalie would have done with her life. She would have been such a good daughter.
“Way better than me.”
I swipe away the tears and stare up at the shelves around the top of her closet. Colorful boxes hold many of her papers and keepsakes. I consider sorting through all those. Natalie didn’t keep a journal. She insisted they were too cliché.
Deciding to prowl in those boxes I reach to toss the jeans back into the basket but I hesitate. A small lump has me digging through the pockets, one by one. In the right front pocket my fingers encounter folded paper. My heart starts that foolish pounding as I withdraw the find.
The paper has been folded into a small square. I open it very carefully and then I smile. It’s a drawing of a rather unattractive bird. The bird is colored blue and in the upper right hand corner of the note is the sunshine. At the bottom of the page are three hand printed words, the letters poorly formed and hardly straight.
I love you.
My hands begin to tremble and I try very hard not to cry. I don’t remember when I made this note for my sister but it makes me immensely happy that she carried it with her at least on that one day.
“She loved you.”
I look up at my mother. She stands at the door in her pink flannel gown with those vintage pink foam rollers in her hair.
“I know.” I refold the note and tuck it back into the pocket, then place the jeans in the basket.
I push to my feet and face my mother. “I won’t stop until I finish this.”
Rather than argue, Helen throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. Her body shakes and I realize she is crying.
As hard as I try to hold back my own tears, they fall like rain.
29
Thursday, May 17
“Will you and Letty be at the farm today?”
Mother’s question stops me at the back door. She wants to know what our plan is for the day. I want to assure her we’ll be fine. I don’t want her to worry, but there is little I can say to give her what she wants.
She wants me to let it go.
I can’t reconcile what she wants me to do with what needs to be done.
“Yes.” I glance over my shoulder, give her a smile. “We’ll be reviewing the case files again. I’ll probably pick up a gallon of Kilz to go over the graffiti at Letty’s mom’s house.”
“I know she’ll appreciate your help.”
I reach for the door.
She doesn’t stop me this time.
I cross the porch, descend the steps and climb into Dad’s truck. There is something comforting about being in his vehicle.
My cell vibrates in my pocket and I withdraw it, expecting to see Letty’s name on the screen. The number is local but not one I recognize.
“Hello.”
“This is Delbert Yarbrough.”
The sound of his voice makes me shiver or maybe it’s just the cool morning air. “Good morning, Mr. Yarbrough.”
“I’d like to talk to you if you could come by my house this morning.”
Anticipation rushes through me. “Sure. I can come now, if you’d like.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
The call drops and I stare at the screen. We’ll be waiting.
I start the truck and call Letty.
“I’m on my way,” she says before I can speak.
She means the farm but our morning agenda has just changed. “Yarbrough called. He asked me to meet him at his house. He said ‘we’ll be waiting’.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
I check the street and ease out of the driveway. I end up behind a school bus and have no choice but to make every stop for six blocks.
The kids in the backseat wave at me. I wave back. One sticks out her tongue, I do the same. A memory broadsides me. Natalie and Stacy in that backseat, huddled together. Laughing…no, crying. Stacy is crying. Natalie is consoling her. I push my glasses up my nose and turn back to my own window. We’re almost home and leaves swirl across the road. It’s almost Thanksgiving.
A horn blares and I blink, stare at the taillights of the bus disappearing down the street while I remain sitting still. I move my foot from the brake to the accelerator.
Something did happen to Stacy the fall before they went missing. Whatever it was, it flared up again in the spring.
I intend to ask Yarbrough. He wants to talk and so do I.
The ten minutes required to reach Indian Creek Road are the longest of the week. As I turn into his drive Letty pulls in behind me. His house comes into view and I slam on my brakes. Behind me, Letty does the same.
The WHNT news van sits not ten yards from the house.
“Son of a bitch.”
If Letty wasn’t right behind me I might just back out of the drive and leave. Instead, I roll forward and park several yards away from the WHNT van. Letty pulls up beside me. We meet in front of the vehicles.
Letty stares at the other vehicle. “What is he up to?”
I shake my head. “No idea.”
As we round the van and head for the front porch, Lila Lawson and her cameraman climb out of the van’s side door.
“Well,” the reporter says, “this just gets more interesting by the minute.”
“What’re you doing here, Lawson?” Letty crosses her arms over her chest and blocks the steps.
“Mr. Yarbrough called and asked me to meet him here.”
Letty and I exchange a look. I have a very bad feeling that we’ve been had.
I lead the climb up the front steps.
The door opens before I reach it.
Yarbrough stands in the doorway. If possible I think he looks far older than he did just two days ago.
“Come in.”
I follow him inside. Once we’re all in the living room, he says, “Have a seat. I have an announcement to make.”
“Is it okay if we set up the camera for a live broadcast?” Lawson asks.
Christ, the woman cares about nothing but getting the story. Then again, that is her job, I suppose. But it doesn’t make me like her.
Yarbrough shakes his head. “We’re not doing this live. I’m giving you the exclusive but no camera.” He jerks his head toward the front door. “He can wait outside.”
Lawson is too smart to argue. She sends her cameraman out to the porch. The blinds are closed tight so he’s not going to be able to sneak a shot.
Letty, Lawson and I settle on the sofa. I’m grateful Letty took the middle spot.
“May I use an audio recorder?” Lawson asks.
“I’ll need to see it first.” Yarbrough holds out a hand for the small recorder.
Damn! Can we not get on with this?
/> Satisfied there’s no hidden camera, he passes the recorder back to Lawson.
“I called you here this morning to confess my part in a hurtful scheme that should never have happened.”
My breath stalls in my chest. I feel myself leaning forward in anticipation.
Before Yarbrough can continue a door on the other end of the room opens and two teenage girls walk in.
Shepherd and Baldwin.
Letty launches to her feet. “Mr. Yarbrough, I need to warn you that you have the right to an attorney and that anything you say from this point may be held against you.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m well aware of my rights, Sheriff Cotton.”
Letty withdraws her cell and prepares to call for backup.
“Wait,” Sharla Shepherd says.
Letty’s fingers still.
“We have a statement we’d like to make.” Deana Baldwin moves up beside her friend.
“One month ago,” Shepherd begins, “Mr. Yarbrough started an uprising against the Jackson Falls PD in protest of the way the investigation of his daughter and Natalie Graves’ disappearance was handled. Deana and I watched the news reports. All his efforts, all the support he rallied, brought about no reaction from the police department. It was as if they didn’t care about the truth anymore—that Stacy and Natalie didn’t matter.”
Deana spoke then. “Two weeks ago our government teacher asked our class to do a project on something we think requires change within our government. We chose to focus on local government and how powerless the people of Jackson Falls really are. We decided to see exactly what it would take to force the police department to do what they should have done twenty-five years ago.”
“We decided,” Sharla continues, “to create a kind of reenactment of Stacy and Natalie’s disappearance to see if that would prompt the proper reaction. We knew we couldn’t do this alone since we would need a place to hide and food and water. So we came to Mr. Yarbrough for help.”
I honestly don’t know for whom to feel the sorriest—these girls whose harebrained plan was reinforced by a grown man who knew better or the grown man who was manipulated by two teenage girls.
“Mr. Yarbrough refused,” Deana says as if she read my mind.
Yarbrough drops his head.
“That’s when we told him we were proceeding with or without his help. Rather than see us trying to hide in the woods where we would not be safe and protected, he reluctantly offered his basement.”
I knew it! The lip gloss belonged to one of them.
“Mr. Yarbrough,” Sharla says, “in no way influenced our decision and he tried his best to get us to call our parents on several occasions. Now that we feel we have accomplished our mission, we’re ready to go home.”
I expect Yarbrough gave them an ultimatum after Letty’s visit. Which is likely why he visited the road where they live yesterday. He knew from personal experience how the parents were feeling.
The parents are called as is the chief of police. Before the crowd can arrive I corner Yarbrough.
“Do you remember Stacy having some sort of trouble at school in the fall and then again in the spring before…?” It wasn’t necessary to say the rest.
“What do you mean trouble?”
“A drop in grades. Maybe she was withdrawn, depressed?”
He shakes his head, then stops. “Wait, there was something going on right before Thanksgiving. She’d spent the night with Mallory and I thought maybe they had a fight. They didn’t seem to hang around each other anymore after that. I asked her about it but she assured me it was nothing. You know how teenage girls can be.” He glances at the Shepherd and Baldwin girls. “Unpredictable.”
“Mr. Yarbrough,” I glance at Letty who is questioning the girls, “you really should call your attorney.”
He shakes his head. “I’m prepared to face the consequences of my actions.”
I think of the warning Lorraine issued to me. What consequences has she faced for her actions? She is hiding something related to the day Natalie and Stacy went missing. I know it. Why else would she care how much digging Letty and I did?
My cell vibrates and I pull it from my hip pocket. Dangerous. I really need to change that to Jake Barnes or to the Priest.
I step away from the crowd and take the call. “What’s up?”
“We need to talk. Can you meet me at Johnny’s in about fifteen minutes?”
I frown. “Johnny’s is open at this hour?”
He chuckles. “As a matter of fact he serves a very good breakfast and a mean mimosa.”
I glance across the room, still a little stunned at what transpired this morning. “I’ll be right there.”
I make my way to Letty and whisper the news in her ear. She nods and urges me to go. I’m only too happy to do so. By the time the chief or sheriff or both get here, reporters will be crawling all over the place. I shudder at the thought.
* * *
Johnny’s has a few regulars but no real crowd. Jake is sitting at the bar. I’m surprised to see him in a sweatshirt and jeans. I slide onto the stool next to him.
“You hungry?”
I give him a look. “I’m staying with my mother. It’s impossible to get out of the house without eating something in the mornings.”
“Coffee then?”
“Sure.”
He waves to the bartender and points to his cup and then to me.
“So you have something for me?” I sound like a cop speaking to one of my informants.
“I do.”
I feel guilty holding back so before he shares his news I tell him about the girls. By the time I get to the point where he called me tears shine in his eyes. The reaction is so tender I can hardly stand it.
He grabs me and hugs me, almost pulling me off the stool.
We draw awkwardly apart.
“This is great news.”
I nod.
He clears his throat. “I spoke to Father Estes.”
I don’t ask but I wonder how much wine was involved—for the older man anyway.
“There was a man, of course you’re aware I can’t say who. In fact, the only reason I can speak to you at all on the matter is that this man chose not to confess his sins or to seek absolution from Father Estes. He only wanted to talk so what I am about to share with you is nothing more than the gist of a casual conversation between two men sitting on the porch having a few beers.”
It hits me at that moment just how far I have pushed this man of God. It’s selfish of me to have gone down this road. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.” I say the words before my brain can overrule my heart. “If you feel we shouldn’t discuss your talk with Father Estes, I’ll understand.“
I hold my breath and wait for his decision. He opens his mouth to speak, but the bartender appears to leave a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. My heart thuds painfully.
Jake looks around then goes on. “I can do this since the conversation was not privileged by the seal of confession and Father Estes knows that I’m sharing this with you. His only request was that I not directly reveal the name of the other person.”
I nod eagerly, grateful for whatever he can give me.
“This man agonized over this terrible thing he had done. Father Estes was surprised by his sudden fall into the depths of despair when he’d never known this particular man to show such desolation. But during this dark period, whatever he had done, it weighed heavily on him.”
Could he possibly be any slower getting to the point that might actually give me something useful? “And?”
Jake looks away. I catch his gaze in the mirror behind the bar. “This plunge into despair happened after Natalie and Stacy disappeared.”
I shrug. “Could be coincidence.” Surely that is not all he has to share.
He huffs a breath of frustration. “Father Estes believes his depression was related to the terrible accident he survived.”
I turn my face to his, holding my breath all
over again.
“But, I’m thinking it was more than that.” He shifts to look at me and I see the worry in his eyes.
I jump off the stool. This time I do the hugging. “Thank you.”
“Emma, listen to me.”
I draw back but he keeps his hands on my arms, holding me close.
Then I remember our deal. “I know, I know. I promised to volunteer with you at the women’s shelter.”
A faint smile touches his lips. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” The smile vanishes. “Emma, there are people in this town who do not want you digging into the past. I worry about you.”
I have no idea why my eyes are suddenly burning and my knees feel weak. What kind of priest would he be if he didn’t worry about me?
“Perhaps,” he offers, “you should reevaluate just how deep you are prepared to dig.”
I smile, the real McCoy for the first time in a very long time. “Thank you for your concern, but I’ve spent my life digging up things, I’m not about to stop now.”
He nods. “I thought you might say that.” He reaches beneath the neck of his sweatshirt and fiddles with something. When his hands come away he drags a silver chain and medallion from his neck and reaches around mine.
The feel of cool metal settles against my chest.
“This is Saint Benedict. The patron saint against evil.” He smiles. “I’ve got your back, Emma. And so does the Man upstairs.”
30
HELEN
I can’t ask Ginny to stay out of work again today. She has already taken too much time off and today there’s just no one to take her place. I was at the post office with her when the news aired that Naomi’s and Patricia’s daughters turned themselves in. As thankful as I am, I can’t help wishing there had been a happy ending for Natalie and Stacy.