by Webb, Debra
I hear the dogs in the distance.
My chest feels tight but at the same time my pulse is pounding. I refuse to get my hopes up that we will finally know the whole truth.
I move on to the well house. It’s a larger well house with both a hand drawn well and a newer state of the art pump system. The well house is cleaner. I pick through the storage boxes and wooden boxes of tools.
Nothing here either.
I head for the house, the front door stands open and techs are going in. Lorraine looks furious but Heather looks forlorn. I kick myself for feeling even a sliver of sympathy for her.
The cellar doors open fairly easily once they’re unlocked by the attorney. Lorraine refuses to come near anyone involved in the search. Fine by me.
The cellar steps are sound. Luckily there’s a working overhead light. As I reach the final step at the bottom I see that it’s the typical old-fashioned cellar in these style houses. Brick walls and stone floors. Rough-hewn wood shelving lines one wall while more modern metal shelving lines the rest.
I start with the cardboard and wood boxes since they’re older. I go through the boxes on the lower shelves first. I’ll get a ladder to reach the top after I’ve finished the reachable ones. The task takes considerable time. As I grab the ladder from the corner behind the steps, I hear the dogs going crazy outside. I assume that means Helen has arrived with Natalie’s pajamas.
Once I’m on the ladder, I can make out the faded writing on the cardboard boxes on the top shelf. Classroom Supplies.
I bring the first box down. Inside are beakers, test tubes and vials wrapped carefully in paper. I decide to leave these boxes on the floor until I’m finished. I do not want to accidentally knock one off while retrieving another.
Second box, same as the first. Third box, grade books. I pull down the fourth box, the last on this particular shelf. More grade books.
Damn it. I grab the first of the four and ascend the ladder once more. One by one I place them back on the shelf. Frustrated, I move on to the next set of shelves. These are the newer ones. I start at the bottom and look through the plastic tubs. School papers for Heather and her brothers. School awards. All sorts of artwork brought home from school and church that likely hung on the fridge until finding its way here.
I move to the third shelf, about even with my waist, and remove the plastic tubs and place them on the floor. These shelves are stacked two containers deep. It’s easier to remove them all and then put them back as I go through each one.
Outside one of the dogs raises hell. Anticipation roars inside me but I try to focus on my goal, getting through the contents of the cellar. Letty has things outside under control. My full attention is needed on my part of this monumental task. As I remove the last tub on this shelf a lopsided row of bricks in the wall behind the shelving unit snags my attention. A frown nags at my brow as I place the tub with the others. It’s not unusual in these old houses for things to be crooked or unlevel. Still, curiosity gets the better of me and I return to the shelf, reach across it and touch one of the bricks. It moves. I push at it again, this time with a little more effort. It disappears into the wall.
Pulse speeding up, I remove all the bins and tubs from the shelving unit and then drag it from the wall. I start pulling the bricks free, allowing them to fall to the stone floor where I shove them to the side with my foot. Dust flies. Dank air fills my lungs. An opening about three or so feet high by three feet wide bares itself to me. I can now see the wooden lintel that supports the brick above the opening, perhaps there was once a door.
Beyond the opening it’s black as pitch. I need a flashlight.
I start up the stairs to ask one of the cops to borrow a flashlight when an animal barrels past me, almost knocking me down the steps.
Dog.
The dog disappears into the hole I’ve uncovered.
“Sorry, ma’am.” A deputy hustles down the steps. “I was headed to the well house and when we walked by the cellar door he tore loose from me.”
“No problem. I need your flashlight.” I hold out my hand even as my gaze drifts over to the hole where from within those dark depths the dog yelps once, twice.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The flashlight lands in my palm.
“He’s young,” the deputy explains. “This is his first time in an official search like this, but it sounds like he’s picked up on something.”
“I’ll have a look,” I say as I navigate my way through the maze of bins, tubs and bricks. I crouch down at the opening and turn on the flashlight.
Beyond the dog who has started to whimper and paw at the ground, the first thing I see is pink.
I can no longer drag air into my lungs. My heart shudders in my chest. I tell myself that this could be some of Heather’s things. Maybe she had a secret playhouse. Still, I tremble as I crawl on hands and knees into the space.
There are boxes and a stool. A table. Photos or something like that lie on the table. But it’s the pink backpack that I need to reach. As I draw closer, I see the hearts and stars drawn in black marker all over the front of it and I catch my breath.
The dog gives a sharp yelp and paws at the backpack. Behind me I’m aware the handler has called out to him, but I cannot speak or move.
Reluctantly, the dog obeys and trots away.
When I am alone, I place the flashlight on the floor and, hands shaking, open the backpack. Books and spiral notepads are stuffed inside. I remove one of the notepads and open the front cover.
Natalie Graves.
I start to cry.
* * *
It takes hours for all the evidence to be processed for removal from the scene. I standby, Helen at my side, and watch the dozens of trips made in and out of the cellar by the forensic tech. Letty keeps us filled in.
Matthew Beaumont collected photos of dozens of girls during his career as a teacher. Many of the photos show girls completely nude. Others only partially. There are two photos of Stacy, but none of Natalie. I recognize several of the girls, one in particular—Mallory Carlisle Jacobs.
Bracelets, including one belonging to Stacy Yarbrough, rings and earrings comprise his collection of souvenirs.
Lorraine and her family have lawyered up.
No one is talking.
But my mother and I now know the truth. Matthew Beaumont killed our perfect Natalie and her best friend Stacy.
I am weak with relief, overwhelmed with emotion.
But the mystery isn’t completely solved yet.
Fury burns through my body.
Someone helped him bury the bodies.
35
The search for evidence on the Beaumont property is ongoing even as darkness falls. Since one other girl disappeared twelve years prior to Natalie and Stacy and her photo was found among the ones in Beaumont’s hidden playroom, the police are now searching for her remains as well.
At the Jackson Falls Police Department Agent Watwood, his partner and one of the agents from the FBI are interviewing Lorraine and Mark Beaumont. Heather and the youngest Beaumont have been left out of the questioning since she was only eight and he was only three at the time Natalie and Stacy disappeared.
Mallory isn’t answering her cell and isn’t at home. I guess she has already heard about the photos and knows hers is among them. She’s probably embarrassed and doesn’t want to talk about it. At some point she’ll have to. Letty says they’ll issue a BOLO if they can’t find Mallory soon.
Someone leaked to Lila Lawson about the photos and souvenirs. The tip hotline is on fire with women calling in to tell their stories about how they were sexually harassed and/or abused by Matthew Beaumont. Reporters have practically surrounded the building.
Chief Claiborne is retiring. He is also in one of the interview rooms being interrogated. Pike and Brewer have been sequestered as well. The county district attorney says he is happy to recuse himself and allow the feds to handle this one since he is a longtime friend of Lorraine Jackson Beaumont.
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Who’s surprised with that one?
The mothers have been stashed away in the former chief’s office. Letty doesn’t want them out there for the reporters to hound. I wander the halls of the department, feeling oddly restless. I need a shower after crawling around in that cellar. According to Lorraine the hidden room in the cellar was a hiding place for confederate soldiers back in the day. Her family, she claims, rescued numerous soldiers. Hoping to spin the story, she weaves a tale about her great-grandmother who was originally from New York using the hiding place as a part of the Underground Railroad.
Somehow I doubt the latter since she would have been touting that connection to history for the past few decades. Anything to draw the right kind of attention to the Jackson family name.
It’s clear to all involved that she didn’t know how her late husband had used the forgotten room. All that evidence would have been long gone if she’d had a clue.
I walk into the chief’s office, closing the door behind me. Helen smiles at me. Beyond the smile I see the weariness. This has been a difficult time for her and for Ginny, who looks equally exhausted. The nightmare is nearly over for the Cotton family. And though there is no happy ending for the Graves family, the not-knowing is mostly over. I am hoping that Lorraine and Mark Beaumont will confess to burying the bodies. Someone besides the killer did and I want to know who that someone was.
“You guys need anything?”
Helen reaches for my hand. She smiles and I go to her. She pulls me down into the chair next to her. “How about you? How are you holding up?” She smiles at her old friend. “Letty was in here a few minutes ago. She seems to be in her element.”
Ginny nods. “You two did what all those others couldn’t. I am so thankful.”
I hug them both.
“I think I’m going to try sneaking out of here.” I sniff my tee shirt. “I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
Mother hugs me and makes me promise to come right back as soon as I’ve scrubbed the Jackson-Beaumont stench off my skin.
I look for Letty then. I’m hoping I can hitch a ride home with a cop. Delbert Yarbrough sits on the bench in the lobby. He sees me about the same time I see him. Letty told me that the district attorney is still working out the details of whether or not he will be charged for how he helped the Shepherd girl and the Baldwin girl hide. The parents were initially furious and demanding that he be charged with kidnapping but they have changed their minds. Their daughters have persuaded them to see that Mr. Yarbrough actually protected them because they initially intended to simply hide in the woods.
Personally I believe he meant well. If anything, I feel he needs counseling. I am only now realizing how badly I need to get serious about my own counseling.
I sit down beside him. “Are you doing okay, Mr. Yarbrough?”
“It’s difficult to fathom the idea that my little girl was just up the road before her body was dragged into that cave.” He shrugs. “I feel like I failed her.”
I pull him into a hug, can’t help myself, and we cry together for a few moments. Then I say the only thing I can. “We all did what we could.”
Eventually I find Letty and she arranges a ride home for me.
Since all the reporters are camped out at City Hall and none are hanging around my house, the cruiser stops out front. I thank him for the ride and hurry inside. If any neighbors are peeking out their windows, I have no desire for visitors.
I unlock the front door and step inside. Though I haven’t lived in this house in fifteen years it feels good to be…home. I feel as if a giant weight has been lifted from my chest. In my back pocket my cell vibrates. I drag it out and stare at the screen. Dangerous. I smile. Jake, my priest. I let the call go to voicemail. I’ll call him after my shower. I flip the lock and hurry to the stairs.
“Emma.”
I trip on the first step, stumble and bang my shin against the second one. “Shit.”
Mallory steps from behind the staircase. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I straighten, rubbing my shin. “Mallory, you haven’t been answering your phone.”
She hugs herself. “I couldn’t bear to talk about it to anyone.” Her gaze rests on me. “Except you. I can talk to you.”
“Okay.” I gesture toward the kitchen behind her. “You want some coffee or tea?”
The idea that she likely knows at least a few of Lorraine’s secrets has my instincts humming. If I can get her talking, maybe we’ll learn the rest of the story.
“Tea would be good.”
We walk into the kitchen together. She goes to the bank of windows beyond the table to look out over the backyard while I set the flame under the kettle.
“Your mother has always had a green thumb. Her yard wins an award every year, did you know that?”
I reach for the cups. “That’s Helen. She loves her flowers.”
As a child I used to think she loved her flowers more than me. I realize now the flowers became her way of coping. I refuse to allow the insinuated affair with the coroner to enter my thoughts. If that story is true, it’s Helen’s business not mine.
I remove the lid from her tea chest. “What kind of tea would you like? She has Earl Grey and—”
“You shouldn’t have come back, Emma.”
I turn around, surprised as much by her tone as by the words. My mouth opens to ask what she means but my gaze zeros in on the gun in her hand so my tongue fails me.
“If you hadn’t come back none of this would have happened.”
I find my voice. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mallory.”
“I understood him. No one had ever loved me the way he did.”
I feel sick to my stomach at her words. “He used you, Mallory. He was a serial pedophile.”
“No!” Her hand—the one holding the gun—shakes. “Your damned sister ruined him.”
Every part of me stills, grows eerily quiet. “What do you mean?”
Tears flow down her cheeks as she moves closer. I stay very still.
“He loved me. I was his special girl. We were going to be together forever until Stacy started flaunting herself around him. She let him touch her. He got all wrapped up in her and all I could do was watch. I hated her. Hated Natalie for being her friend.”
I recognize I have only one option to keep her talking and to stay alive—give her what she wants. “Stacy was a whore,” I say. “I hated her, too.”
Surprise flares in her eyes.
“She fooled Natalie.”
Fury tightens her mouth. “Natalie was no better than Stacy,” she snarls.
I nod. “You would know better than me. I was just a stupid kid.”
“When Matt realized what Stacy was and turned back to me I thought he had learned his lesson. Especially since Stacy kept acting all depressed and shit. She could have ruined him.”
“I remember. It was around the holidays,” I say as if I am commiserating with her. “Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
“I hoped the stupid little bitch would just kill herself and be done with it, but, of course she didn’t. She had Natalie helping her.”
She stands only three feet away now, her backside braced against the table, the weapon still aimed at my chest. The kettle shrieks behind me.
I swallow back the fear. “Natalie was selfish.”
“She started flirting with Matt. I warned him it was probably a trap, but he wouldn’t listen. He went crazy over Natalie.” Her voice rises with each word. “It was like I no longer existed. She was all he talked about, all he wanted.” She laughed. “And it was different with Natalie. He actually thought she was going to run away with him. He had everything planned out. Fool.”
“Did Natalie trick him?” I venture. “Or was it Stacy?”
She grasped the weapon with both hands, her entire body shaking with emotion. “Your damned sister told him to pick her up at the farm after school and they would runaway together. Of course you know what happened that day. Matt
found her and Stacy walking away from the bus crash. They were all panicked and worried about the bus driver and you. Matt told them he would take them for help but they didn’t trust him so he used this gun” she tilts the weapon in her hand to draw my attention there “to force them into the trunk.”
“I’m sure he knew by then that you were right.”
“Damn straight he did. I was waiting for him at his house. It was Tuesday. You see, every Tuesday Lorraine took Heather to Nashville for voice lessons. She wouldn’t be home for hours. When Matt got to his house he wasn’t too happy to see me but if it hadn’t been for me Natalie would have gotten away. When he opened the trunk she tried to run. She knew he wouldn’t shoot her. And she was right. But I caught her and dragged her back to him.”
Agony bursts inside me. On top of that agony is outrage. I want to kill this woman.
“I helped him tie them up and gag them with duct tape. Then he locked them in the storm cellar. He was beside himself but I was there to comfort him. Then his piece of shit son called. Mark’s coach found pills in his locker. The idiot got himself hooked on painkillers. So of course Daddy rushed to take care of his precious boy.”
Something else Lorraine tried to cover up all these years.
“But all was not lost. I figured Matt and I could use his plan for ourselves. After all, he realized that Natalie didn’t really love him. She was just trying to set him up. She and Stacy were going to record his visit to the farm. But I took care of that for him.” She smiled at me. “While he went off to save Mark, I took the dumbass’s baseball bat, retrieved the key from above the storm cellar door and went inside and made sure he never had to worry about Natalie and Stacy again. They tried to scream but the tape on their mouths kept the sounds from escaping. Three whacks to the head each. Then I locked the door and waited.”
I no longer care about the gun in her hand. My rage roars inside me. Steals my breath.
I am going to kill her.
“Then I heard the sirens,” she says, delaying my move. “It was Matt. He’d had the accident and he was hurt bad.”