Our waitress comes by, drops off the appetizers, takes Mason’s order for another Shiner, before moving off. Mason reaches over, takes one of the jalapeno quail bites and swallows it. I keep my eyes off his because I’m afraid if I do look I’m gonna say something I’ll regret, and my momma taught me that sometimes you gotta know when to step away from someone filled with poison before they bite you like a snake.
After a long silence, Mason blows out a deep breath.
“Sorry.” It’s all he says, and I choose not to respond, ’cause ain’t no reason for me to say what’s on my mind.
The waitress comes by, drops off Mason’s beer, and he takes a pull.
“Listen, Clint,” he says, and his voice is quieter. “I’ve been dealing with this case since it got booted over to the agency from the LAPD because a California senator got involved. I’ve dealt with cases involving young women like Sloane Finley before. And, maybe calling her an ‘idiot’ was harsh. But she’s nothing special, okay? She wasn’t an ‘actress.’ She was a young woman filled with false hope who worked as a salesperson at Barnes and Noble while she tried to break into The Business along with about a million other young women just like her. She was naïve, and, I hate to say it, a bit dumb… but from everything I’ve discovered she was a decent, kind human being. Which makes what she did and what happened to her even more frustrating. If she’d just been smart and stayed home in Indiana, gone to school there, got a nice degree in teaching or something — hell, she could’ve even been a drama teacher! — you and I wouldn’t be here enjoying this beer.” He holds the bottle up. “And she would still be alive.”
“You really are a jaded sonuvabitch, aren’t you?” My voice is as bitter as I feel at the moment.
“Yep.” He actually grins at me, happy. “And I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”
Dinner could be worse than it ends up being, but there’s still a tension there, at least from my side. We talk about the case a little more, he fills me in on some details about Sloane and some other folks he’s had to deal with that I didn’t know about. And though some of it lets me know he’s got reason to be cynical, it still don’t forgive him for talking about her that way. He didn’t need to do that, and it ain’t right. And it still grates a little even after I’ve dropped him off at The Ranch House and head home.
Problem is, the way I see it, a guy like Agent Jones has given up. Unlike I been taught and believe, he’s signed off this case and it ain’t even begun. Like my forensics instructor at the academy taught us, a murder case ain’t a murder case until you got a body. And we don’t got a body. Sloane Finley ain’t turned up yet, nor has her Civic, and that means she’s still out there. Maybe she ain’t in Dallam County, or even Texas, but she’s somewhere. And the clue that will lead to finding her is still sitting there, waiting to be discovered. Hopefully. We just need to keep looking. Not give up and put her into the dirt like Mason has already done.
When I’m back at home, I open up the files Mason had us look at earlier today. The ones from her Facebook page that got shutdown. A shudder of anger grates over my nerves like 40-grit sandpaper. If I’d had these, including that picture she took out there by the abandoned house, that woulda been the first place I went.
Just like the poster from the movie Giant!
That’s what she wrote when she posted the picture. Her lying in the grass, looking back over her shoulder at the old house and barn in the distance. There was a breeze blowing that day. You can tell by the way it’s caught her hair, lifting it a little, spreading it across one shoulder in little wisps while the rest drifts down her neck to her back.
Damn, she’s so pretty.
I open an internet window and search, movie poster Giant. Nothing comes up that looks like what she’s showed in her picture. All that I can find is some guy in a cowboy hat sitting in a car, gloves in one hand, feet up on the dash, an old house off in the distance. I frown, wondering if what she’s written is some sort of insider movie joke I don’t get. Probably. She was smart ’bout things like that, from everything I’ve read on her blog. She knew how all those things worked, about getting the attention of the agents, producers, whatever. Stuff like that. Since I ain’t from Hollywood and don’t know all that stuff about ‘The Business’ like Mason called it, it makes sense. Sloane knew, and this picture was her way of letting folks that were in on the secret know she knew.
She’s smart, even if he doesn’t see it.
I go through the other pictures. Her at various places along her way from LA to Stockdale. Lake Mead. Grand Canyon. Some forest near Flagstaff.
“Oh my God! Would you look at this!” Her voice in the video is so full of delight, filled with happiness and joy as she holds the little kachina doll up to her cheek. She’s nothing but sunshine as she cuddles it for a moment before setting it back down and moving on.
I think that was what first struck me about her. Ain’t seen someone so damn happy so much in a long time. It’s like she ain’t got a negative thing to say about nothing. Not the weather, the wind, the dust, the sun, family that don’t want you to do anything but keep doing the same thing you did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.
She’s just a little slice of heaven set down here on earth.
There’s a couple of shots she took out at Palos Verde. Her tanned arms and shoulders visible in the tank top she’s wearing balanced against the red sandstone behind her. And then I’m back to that picture again. The last one she ever posted before she disappeared.
She was there. And so was I.
I’ve checked so many places, and I was close. So goddamn close. Just too late.
But we’ll find her.
I’ll find her.
She just needs to hold on.
Twenty
Her
“Wake up.” His voice is terse as he shakes my shoulder, and it snaps me out of sleep like a gunshot. My body jerks to sit up, but pain runs like lightning through my nerves, and I croak on a cry as I flatten back to the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice as he climbs out, his weight shifting and then making the mattress bounce back up when he stands.
I lie still, focusing on breathing through the horrible feeling centered on my back as his footsteps bring him around to my side.
“Jasmine.” There’s no mercy in his voice, but I guess I should be grateful I’m alive. My mind scours the darkness, running back the time, but I can’t remember anything but being tied to the fucking post in his barn while he whipped me. He grabs my arm and tugs a little, and I yelp.
“Please.”
“Get up,” he demands, and I try to shift my arm under me as he lets go. I try to push up from the bed, but I can feel the marks on my back stretching and cracking with each shift of bone and muscle.
“I can’t,” I whisper into the rough, dark blanket underneath me.
He lets out a huff of breath, and then I hear him walking into the bathroom. Turning my head, I catch sight of his back and I’m shocked to see dark whip marks. Several of them look bloody, and the confusion distracts me from what he’s doing at the sink. I know the water is running, but all I can do is stare.
Did he do that to himself?
“Punishments aren’t to be tended,” he says in that new monotone. The one with a dangerous edge that feels like he’s a breath from snapping again. “But I will help you this morning, Jasmine, because I love you, and I want you to remember that.”
I close my eyes as he returns to me with a cloth, biting my tongue so I don’t say anything. Love? The idea makes me angry, or like I want to cry, or scream, or jump out the fucking window. They all seem preferable to his love.
“Oh God!” Air hisses through my teeth as the rough cloth strokes over my back in a brutal starbust of pain.
“Only He can forgive you, Jasmine. I have done my part, and together we will see this through.” Another stroke of the cloth sends water running down my waist in a warm trickle, and I fist the blanke
t underneath me. “Once you can stand, I’ll take you to the basement so you can pray today.”
Back to the basement. It’s all ruined. No more ‘good wife’ lie… and no more pills to keep me safe.
I’m going to die here. One way or another, I’m going to die.
* * *
Mason
I’ve worn the same clothes two days in a row before, but for some reason this morning putting my suit back on feels like I’ve been wearing these much longer. I hung everything up in the tiny closet of this motel room that easily dates back to when Eisenhower was president, and when I got up this morning there was a fine sheen of dust on everything. Freshly showered, I came out of the bathroom, opened the closet, and just stood there, looking at them.
How in the hell?
I brushed them off as best I could, but I can still feel dust. Or at least my brain is convincing me I can, and that’s all it needs to do for it to become reality.
Clint swings by right at seven, just like we discussed when he dropped me off last night. He seems taciturn, maybe a little less than when he left me, and I wonder if he’s taken time to think about what I said.
Probably. But did any of it stick?
We get to the station, and head inside. Deputy Talbert is sitting at his desk, and the door to Sheriff Braddock’s office is open, his voice drifting out.
“All right, Delvin, I sure do appreciate it. No, no, nothing more than that.” There is a pause, and then a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, you let me know, and I’ll make sure you’re all taken care of.” Another short pause follows, and I catch Clint looking at the other deputy, motioning with his hands. Talbert gives him a shrug, and goes back to whatever paperwork he’s doing.
“You do the same. I’ll talk to you later,” Braddock says and then I hear him hang up the phone.
None of us have spoken while he’s talking, all surreptitiously listening in on his conversation. I can hear Braddock get up from his desk and come out into the main office.
“Morning, gentlemen.” Cup in hand, he heads over to a counter near the refrigerator where an ancient-looking coffee pot on a burner sends up wisps of steam. “Enjoy your dinner last night?”
“It was wonderful, Sheriff.” I look over to Clint, who avoids my eyes and simply nods.
“It was good,” he half mumbles before turning to something on his computer.
If Braddock notices Clint’s response, he chooses to ignore it. “Coffee, Agent Jones?”
“Please.”
He makes the drink, then returns, handing me a stained white mug with a faded John Deere logo on it. I accept the cup from him and take a sip.
It ain’t Starbucks. It’s better.
“You talk with Agent Rodriguez yet this morning?” he asks.
I blink once. Fuck.
“It’s on my list of things to take care of before we leave,” I reply, mentally cursing myself for not doing it before now.
Braddock’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing if he’s caught my reaction. “I see. Well, I called my counterpart in the Potter County Sheriff’s Department, and he checked up at Heart Hospital, where they got her. She’s stabilized, but it don’t look like they’re gonna be releasing her today.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “So, I don’t think I’d be expecting your agent friend to be showing up anytime soon.”
I nod, taking a drink of my own. “I’d expect not. Looks like I may be in your hair a little bit longer.”
“Figured as much.” Braddock nods, and gives a slight smile. “I had Delvin put together some flowers and one of them gift basket things. He’s gonna have one of the folks run it over later this morning. Asked him to make sure your name got put on the card.” He gives me an appraising stare. “Hope that weren’t too forward?”
“No, sir. No, that wasn’t too forward at all. Thank you.”
He gives me a soft grin. “Just the way we do things ’round here, Agent Jones.”
We both sip our coffee, and then Braddock looks past me. “Clint, you still plan on taking Agent Jones out to the Christiansen place, or do I need to have Duane do it?”
“Wha…?” Deputy Talbert’s voice rises in concern behind me, and Clint looks towards him and then over to me.
“I suppose that’s up to Agent Jones. Whether he’d rather have Duane’s company or mine.”
“I… I just pulled a twelve-hour shift!” Talbert’s response is a plaintive whine.
I catch Braddock’s barely suppressed grin, and I smile.
“Much as I’m sure I’d enjoy Deputy Talbert’s company, I think the plan was for Clint and I to head out there a bit later this morning. I’m still fine with that if he is.”
Braddock nods. “Looks like you're off the hook, Duane,” he calls out without looking in his direction. The deputy huffs out an exasperated sigh.
“Sure as hell glad to hear it!”
I spend the next hour taking care of a few things I need to. The first of which is to call Carmen and check in with her. She fills me in on what happened to her wife. Driving from her office to the courthouse, a young kid texting and not watching where they were going went through a red light and right into the side of her car. The speed of the accident is not on the low end.
“From where her car ended up, they say the kid was doing at least thirty-five.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. Pushed her right into a light pole, which is the only way I figure it didn’t flip her.”
“She doing okay?’
“She’s out of ICU, so…” Carmen speaks slowly, and I can hear the weariness in her voice. She’s been up all night, I have no doubt. “And her fancy-ass Beemer is totaled.”
“Well, as long as she’s okay, right?”
“Yeah. But she’s been at me to let her buy a new and fancier one, and so now…”
I laugh, because it’s all so comical, so typical of a couple, and Carmen chuckles too. It’s hearing her make that sound that lets me know she’s going to be okay.
“Whitmann?” I ask.
There’s a pause, and then a sigh. “He’s playing it all concern and sympathy right now, but I have a feeling he’s got a rocket coming for my ass as soon as all the dust settles.”
“I’m sorry, Carmen.”
“Eh, fuck him. I’ve been dealing with his bullshit and others for years now. I’m sure I can weather this too.”
We talk for a bit longer, and then I let her go. It’s close to eight AM, and I have no idea exactly how long it’s going to take us to get to the Christiansen place. My stomach rumbles, and I realize I’m hungry, even after the giant meal we ate last night.
I get up and go to Clint’s desk. He’s studying the files on Sloane I gave him yesterday, and as I approach he looks up at me stoically, making no attempt to hide them.
“There some place we could grab breakfast before we head out?”
He looks at me for a moment before nodding. “Sure.” He stands up, and calls out to Braddock. “Agent Jones wants to get some breakfast. I’m going to take him over to Mattie’s. You want me to bring you back anything?”
“Naw,” Braddock’s voice floats out of his office. “I’m good. Thanks!”
Clint nods. “All right. We’re going to take off out to Daniel’s place from there, then, once we’re done.”
“Sounds good.” Braddock’s voice drift’s back. “I’ll see you folks when you get back this afternoon.”
Clint takes me over to Mattie’s, where we sit down at a table. The waitress greets him by name, all daisy-fresh warmth that seems more cloying that sincere. When Clint says her name — Laurie Ann — it all becomes clear.
He shoots me a look as she leaves with our order, and I keep my face blank. He waits a minute, and then gives me a challenging stare. “Nothing to say? No jab at me and my ‘girlfriend?’”
I give him a bright smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Uh huh.” He blows into his cup, then takes a sip of his coffee.
“Listen,” I say as I do
the same with my coffee, and then lean forward. “Are you going to sulk like a child all day, or can we forget last night and just do a reset?”
Clint stares at me, his mouth cracking open, and then he leans back, suddenly chuckling. “Damn. It’s true what they say ’bout you LA people. You all just move right from one thing to the next and never look back, don’t you?”
I give him a shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. What I do know is that we’ve got a job to do, and it’s clear that we both have a different approach to this case. So here’s the thing.” I lean back to match him and take a drink. “All I want to do is go out and meet this kid Daniel, see if he saw anything the day that Sloane disappeared, or anything unusual afterward. After that, we both come back here, have another nice dinner, and then I make my way back to Amarillo and out of your life forever.” I give him as warm a smile as I can muster. “And what would make that a whole lot easier on the both of us is if we could just be as pleasant to each other as possible, rather than bickering like an old couple.”
He stares at me for a moment, and then slowly shakes his head, mouth pulled into a sardonic grin. I like it. It looks good on him. “I swear…”
“How long is it going to take for us to get to the Christiansen place?” I ask.
“I ain’t actually ever been there.”
“Guess.”
“An hour, maybe a bit more depending on the road up to his place.”
I beam. “See? Couple of hours out, ask a few questions, couple of hours back.” I motion with my hands while I say it, explaining how simple it can be. “All we have to do is make nice-nice just that long, and then it’ll all be over.” I spread my hands wide. “I’ll even do you a favor and let you skip the dinner.”
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