by Webb, Debra
It hurts my soul to think about it.
“It was just about lunchtime that day when he started taking on so bad I was sure he had hurt himself so I went into the room.” She swiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “He was sitting on the floor in his underdrawers staring at something in his hand and rocking back and forth like a baby.”
I stand and walk across the room for the tissues. I remove several for myself and then pass the box to Ginny.
She swipes her eyes and her nose. “I got down on my knees next to him and asked him if he was okay. He went to wailing that he didn’t mean to hurt them. I kept asking him what he meant. I didn’t understand.” She exhaled a big breath. “Until he said, ‘my Natalie’. That’s when I saw that he was holding Natalie’s necklace—the one with the ballerina slippers. It took every ounce of strength I had to sit back on my heels and let him spill his guts. I was terrified that if I said a word he would stop talking.”
She hugs her arms around herself. “He cried and said he was in love with her. He planned to run away with her and start a whole new life, but Stacy got in the way. He was certain Stacy was filling Natalie’s head with lies.” Ginny looked from Letty to Emma. “That day, Natalie sent him a note all right. She told him unless he turned himself in for what he’d done, she was going to turn him in herself.”
“Turn him in for what?” Emma asks, her voice thin.
Ginny shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure. He kept repeating the same thing, how he loved her and wanted to run away with her and that Stacy turned her against him. He was headed to the farm after he found the note. He knew me and Helen were gone to Birmingham. He figured he would persuade Natalie to go away with him and they would leave then and there. He didn’t expect to find Stacy with her. He drove right past that wrecked bus.” Ginny shakes her head again, her lips compressed in anger. “He forced Natalie and Stacy into the trunk of the car at gunpoint. He took them to his place, tied them up, put tape over their mouths and locked them in the storm cellar under that stand of oaks beyond the driveway.”
“He told you all this?” Letty asks as if she is having trouble absorbing the full implications of what her mother is saying. Perhaps she is in shock.
Ginny nods. “He had bought a car that he intended to use for their getaway. He had clothes for both of them, money, fake IDs—everything he would need for running away. He stored everything at one of their rental properties that was vacant, but when he set out to go get the other car he had the accident.”
“Who found them?” Emma asks.
My precious daughter’s face looks so pale. I wish I could go to her and hold her but I need both her and Letty to listen, to believe and to do the right thing.
“Natalie and Stacy weren’t found until he came out of the coma, more than a week later. By then it was too late.”
“Oh my God.” Emma stands and starts to pace the floor. She stalls at the double windows that overlook the backyard.
Letty stares at her mother. “Why in the hell would you keep this a secret all these years?”
“Ginny tried to make him tell her what he did with…the girls,” I speak when Ginny’s voice fails her. “The bastard scrambled up and stumbled out of the bedroom. Your mother followed him. They argued. Ginny kept screaming at him to tell her the rest. Then he fell down the stairs. The fall killed him and Ginny didn’t know what to do, so she called me.”
“Did you call 911?” Letty demanded, her expression and tone filled with disbelief. “Jesus Christ!”
Our silence is answer enough. “Oh my God.” Letty shakes her head. “What were you thinking?”
We have no answer.
“You knew about all this?”
Emma’s question and the look in her eyes are like a spear to my heart. “Yes.”
Letty holds up her hands for quiet. “What the hell else did he tell you about Natalie and Stacy?”
Ginny dabs at her eyes. “He said that when he told Lorraine she rushed home but it was too late, the girls were dead. With no food or water…” She shook her head, unable to continue.
“He lied.” Emma turns toward us, fury tightening her beautiful face. “Cause of death was blunt force trauma. Did Lorraine do that?”
Ginny and I look at each other. “He swore,” she says, “that they were dead when Lorraine found them. He said they took the bodies into a cave and buried them.”
“Who is they?” Emma demands.
Ginny shakes her head adamantly. “I don’t know. I was in a rage. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Of course, he had to have help. I can’t remember exactly how many days he was in the hospital. I assume Lorraine helped him. But I don’t know for sure. Maybe Mark and Lorraine did it while he was still in the hospital. Whoever helped him, they also took your daddy’s dog tags off the rearview mirror in my car. I thought I lost them, but they stole them. They planted them with the bodies so if they were ever found everyone would believe James was guilty after all.”
“Just tell me why Claiborne didn’t believe you?” Letty’s voice is hollow now, her eyes bleak.
“We didn’t tell him,” I say for Ginny.
Before either daughter can demand to know why, I finish the story. “When I got to the Jackson place after Ginny’s frantic call, he was lying at the bottom of the stairs. His body was twisted at an odd angle. His neck…” I shudder at the memory. “Blood had poured from a massive gash to his head. Ginny had his blood on her blouse where she’d tried to help him. She told me everything and we cried together. When I pulled myself together again, I pried my Natalie’s necklace out of his cold, dead fingers.” Fury tightens my face. “I wanted to tell the world what he’d done but I knew that Claiborne would find a way to make it look as if Ginny killed him in an effort to clear James’s name. Or maybe Matthew caught her stealing and she pushed him down the stairs to shut him up. Just another black woman who tried to take advantage of her wealthy white employer.”
I look directly at Letty. “You had lost your father, I could not risk you losing your mother, too. Ginny had no witnesses. It was the word of a killer’s wife against the word of an influential pillar of the community.”
When neither says a word, I go on, “I helped Ginny finish cleaning so she could leave and let the family believe he fell after she left. Whenever he stayed home like that, he was generally out of his mind on drugs but no one except Lorraine would ever know that part because of course the coroner would and did rule his death accidental. I’m certain there was no mention of the drugs.”
“You,” Ginny said to her daughter, “know what Lorraine Beaumont is capable of. She will never allow the truth to become public knowledge. She will say I made up the story or that I killed her husband. This will never be about anything bad she and that bastard husband of hers did.”
There were questions. Many we couldn’t answer, some we could.
“Beaumont lied,” Emma says. “I’m not saying he didn’t kill Natalie and Emma, obviously he was involved. But if he left them as he said—”
“Maybe the trauma,” I swallow the lump that bobs into my throat, “was caused somehow when they buried them. They could have thrown them into the cave and then climbed down to bury them.”
“The damage was almost identical on both skulls,” Emma argues. “If the bodies were arbitrarily thrown down into a hole, there’s little chance they would have sustained exactly the same injuries in the same location on the skull and there would have been other injuries. Other broken bones and there were none. Besides, there was no reason for them to throw the bodies down into the cave. At the time they would have been able to walk to the area where the burial was done. The collapse probably hadn’t occurred yet.”
“What you’ve told us,” Letty says, “only confirms what we already knew. There’s a very good possibility that the person who killed Natalie and Stacy is still out there.”
“Lorraine,” Emma says, outrage simmering in her tone. “It had to be her.”
“Or Mark,” Letty
suggests. “He wouldn’t have wanted his father to go to jail.” She looks from her mother to me. “Your story narrows the suspect pool, and for that I’m grateful.”
If I had hoped this revelation would stop Letty and Emma from pressing on with their dangerous investigation, I was wrong.
There is only one other thing I can do.
33
Friday, May 18
EMMA
I stare at the stack of neatly folded clothes on my dresser. Helen and I said little after Letty and her mom left last night. I haven’t seen those two argue since Letty and I were little kids, but they locked horns last night.
Ginny announced she would go to the FBI agent on the task force and confess. Letty did not handle this well. Ultimately, the decision was that the mothers would keep quiet while Letty and I moved forward with our unofficial investigation. I have no idea how far we can go with this or what our next step might be. I’m leaving that in Letty’s experienced and capable hands.
I drag on the usual tee and jeans, socks and hiking shoes and I’m good to go. I’m at the door when I notice the silver chain lying on my bedside table. I took it off when I showered last night. I’ve never really been a superstitious person or even a particularly religious person, still I snag the necklace and drop it over my head, then tuck it under my tee. The cool metal rests between my breasts.
Descending the stairs I wonder where Helen went last night. She said she and Howard had planned to watch a late movie but she lied. Ten minutes after she left I drove past Howard’s house and her car wasn’t there. I even drove past the Beaumont place just to make sure she hadn’t decided to do something really crazy.
No Helen.
She arrived back home a few minutes after I did, which turned out to be a good thing since I was circling the liquor cabinet like a crippled plane coming in for a crash landing. The urge for a good stiff drink had been hounding me since the mothers called last night’s meeting. Instinctively I had known whatever the news it would be surprising, maybe even shocking.
I did not expect earth shattering.
Part of me is concerned that I haven’t run screaming through the town. I feel too calm. Perhaps it’s shock. I want to be angry at the Beaumonts, at God and anyone else who had anything to do with what happened twenty-five years ago.
But all I feel at the moment is numb.
Downstairs the smell of coffee draws me to the kitchen.
“Good morning.” Helen smiles. “I’ve made a basket for you to take to the farm. I believe Letty mentioned the two of you would meet there this morning.”
I try to read her but she’s purposely avoiding eye contact. “So Howard was feeling poorly last night?” I ask, using her words.
“Hmm-mm.” She nods and tucks the foil wrapped biscuits into the basket. She pushes the basket across the counter toward me. “Coffee’s ready. Y’all be careful today.”
With that she leaves the room. I stare after her. What the hell?
Okay, enough. I follow her path, find her in the living room on the sofa holding a book. “Are you feeling all right?”
I think of the heart attack she had ten, eleven days ago and worry churns in my belly. Yesterday—this entire week has been extremely stressful.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Oh hell. “If you need me,” I say, “just call. I don’t know what the plan is for today but I won’t be far away.”
She lowers the book and looks directly at me for the first time. “Please stay away from that den of snakes.”
“How we proceed is Letty’s call.” I pass the buck.
“You don’t understand what Lorraine is capable of.” Her voice is too soft, almost weak.
I can’t leave her like this even though my brain is demanding coffee so I sit down beside her. “Mom, we are not going to put ourselves in danger. Letty is really careful. There are rules about how we proceed even in an unofficial investigation.”
Helen searches my eyes, hers watery and for the first time in my life I realize how truly fragile she looks. The realization terrifies me.
“Lorraine and her husband killed your sister. I don’t know if we can ever make her pay for her part in this and clear James, but I do not want to risk losing you. This nightmare has stolen enough from me.”
I hug her tight against me. “You’re not going to lose me.” I give her a final squeeze and draw back to find her crying. “We’ll be careful.” I smooth the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you.”
We hug some more and then I load up and head to the farm. Letty is waiting.
“Helen sent breakfast.” I place the basket on the counter next to the sink.
“Is she okay?” Letty digs in to the heavenly smells emanating from the neatly packed goods.
“I think so. How about your mom?”
“We fought some more when we got home, but we ended up making up and going to bed. I stayed at her house. I was afraid if I didn’t she’d do something crazy like go confess to watching Matthew Beaumont fall down those stairs and not calling 911.”
“They lied to us all these years.” I say this with just a touch of reverence. I always knew my mother was strong but I had no idea the burden she’d been carrying. Who knew she could lie as well as me? I’m kind of impressed. Terrified, stunned, but strangely impressed.
Letty slathers a biscuit with strawberry jam. “Yeah.” Her gaze meets mine. “We probably would have done the same thing.”
I nod. “Definitely. Only you would’ve pushed the guy down the stairs.”
The laughter bubbles up from deep inside me and I can’t stop. Letty almost chokes on a mouthful of biscuit because she can’t stop laughing either. The laughter turns to tears and we end up hugging in the middle of the kitchen where Helen served us homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk after school…where cold winter nights were spent sipping my dad’s special blend of hot chocolate. And Natalie entertained us with her imitation of some movie star or pop singer.
By the time we pull ourselves together we are sitting on the floor, arms hugged around each other, faces red, cheeks damp with tears.
“I think we’ll start calling this the Cry Center instead of the Command Center.” I laugh a little more. “We’ve had a few of these sessions.”
“Good therapy, I guess.” Letty swipes at her nose.
“What now?” I have no clue where to go from here. My heart wants to go to that damned reporter—Lila Lawson—and tell her everything, but my brain reminds me that what we have is merely hearsay.
“Brewer’s statement combined with Tubbs’s and Pike’s casts suspicion on Matthew Beaumont but it doesn’t prove anything,” Letty explains. “The story our moms told is hearsay—the words of two lifelong friends who want to clear my father’s name.”
“We need evidence, right?”
Letty swipes at her eyes with her sleeve and nods.
“What about Natalie’s necklace?”
“Helen could have had it all along,” Letty argues, playing devil’s advocate. “My mom could have found it among Dad’s things.”
“Damn.” I close my eyes. “It feels like the closer we get, the further away we find ourselves.” Another thought occurs to me. “Wait.” I turn my head to look at Letty. “What about Mallory?”
A burst of dry laughter pops from her throat. “Like that crazy bitch is going to shit in her nest. Whatever her reason for telling you what she did, she will swear you’re lying if you take it to the press or the task force.”
“We need tangible evidence,” I say, amending my previous comment.
Letty nods. “If we had a warrant to search the Beaumont property we might find something. God knows there was nothing else in that damned cave.”
“What if we watch for Lorraine to leave and do it without a warrant?”
Letty sighs. “The search would be considered unreasonable and therefore any evidence found would be inadmissible.”
“What ab
out probable cause or, what’s the term? Exigent circumstances?”
“Neither applies in this case. The only way we could search without a warrant is if we had consent.”
I laugh, the sound dry and humorless. “Like that’s going to happen.”
“I’m not saying Beaumont was a serial killer,” Letty says, “but he did keep that necklace because he was so in love with Natalie. What if she wasn’t the first?”
We stare at each other a moment.
“Stacy was all depressed and having trouble keeping her grades up the latter part of the first semester of that school year.” I take the ball she tossed and run with it. “What if Beaumont was fixated on her first?”
The idea that Natalie would let the man touch her still doesn’t sit right with me.
Letty gets to her feet and offers her hand. “Exactly. If he kept Natalie’s necklace he most likely kept a souvenir from the other girls he lured into relationships—assuming there were others.”
I take her hand and pull up. “And what about the backpacks? They have to be somewhere. They weren’t in the cave. What if they’re hidden somewhere on the property? Beaumont may have had a special place where he kept things so he could touch them and relive the memories.”
I almost gag at the idea.
Letty rubs at her temples with the tips of her fingers. “I can go to the FBI—someone not associated with the investigation—and plead my case. I could emphasize the idea that I believe the entire original investigation and all the folks involved were tainted by Claiborne’s machinations.”
“Is there a chance they would believe us?”
“Hold on.” Letty reaches into her pocket and retrieves her cell. “Cotton.”
While she talks I finish off a biscuit with jelly and down my coffee. I try to imagine how it felt to live with this burden for twenty years. What Helen did for Letty’s mom is the very definition of true friendship. I look at Letty; I can’t read her expression as she listens to her caller. I know without doubt she would do the same for me. I would do it for her, no question.