Trial by Twelve

by Heather Day Gilbert

  “Thanks, Thomas.” I give him an energetic, lingering kiss.

  “Woah, that’s deluxe,” he says. “By the way, my swearing-in is Thursday afternoon at two at the courthouse. Andrew may even come in for the occasion. We’re hoping it’s too last-minute for him to bring a girlfriend as his carry-on.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  AT MIDNIGHT, I PAD down to the kitchen to prowl for snacks and turn up nothing but stale nacho chips and expired yogurts. Disturbing images play on a reel in my mind. The cross in the woods. The arrow in my SUV. Bones behind the spa. Death is everywhere, striking anyone from a local news reporter to my friend of many years, even though they’re not connected in the least.

  After finally deciding on a piece of toast with Nutella, I sit on the couch and rifle through the letters. It feels like a dead end. The police have probably checked into any clues, like the fact the letter-writer was a professor who got sacked. The early murders happened before the days of the internet and it’s probably too time-consuming to hunt down a mysterious commune or to find a Woolworth’s employee who went missing.

  A loud clomp outside the window just about makes me jump from my skin. I run upstairs to wake Thomas, positive it wasn’t an ordinary bump in the night. Skunks are out this time of year, but there’s no reason they’d be up on the porch messing with our house.

  I tiptoe downstairs behind Thomas, who totes his .45. I’m quietly pleased with the strength his torso conveys even in the shadowy light hitting the stairs. I don’t know how he does it, but the man is nothing but lean muscle.

  After flipping the porch light on, he throws the front door open. I stay inside as he uses his flashlight to check around the house. When he finally returns, confident there’s no one nearby, he motions me onto the porch.

  He flexes his jaw, pointing to the wall. “There’s your thumping sound.”

  I turn slowly, realizing what it is before I see it. An arrow has torn into our wood siding, splintering a section of it like a tiny battering ram. But that isn’t all. It has pinned a note to the white paint that says You’re next in glued-on magazine letters.

  Thomas’ eyes reflect enough of the porch light that they might as well be on fire. I’ve never seen him so angry.

  “I swear if Detective Tucker doesn’t catch this monster, I will, Tess. I mean I will hunt that sucker down and take his life, do you understand? No one is getting this close to my wife and child. Now get back in the house.” He points the gun at the woods for good measure.

  He never bosses me around like this. I feel like a fool for getting involved in this case. I should have left the spa that first day. I should have stopped poking around. Why did I think an expert stalker like this wouldn’t find out where I lived?

  After Thomas simmers down, he throws down a protective decree. “I want Bobby or somebody positioned at our house. Bobby Wickline—police friend of mine. And I want you sticking around, no running about or following up on anything. Nothing to do with this murderer, okay? I’ll call Detective Tucker in the morning. And once I pack up the office I’ll stay close to home. No one will touch you or Mira Brooke. Maybe I’ll move you up to the big house with Dad and Petey. With Mom, for that matter. She could probably snipe any idiot lurking around in the woods with Dad’s Socom semi-automatic.”

  I nod numbly. I picture myself straddling cracking ice on a sub-zero river, praying I won’t plunge to my death. Move Mira Brooke up with Nikki Jo and Roger? Sure. Stay home indefinitely? No problem. I’m not risking anything. Just check my life at the door.

  Reading my spooked look, Thomas pulls me into his chest. His loud heartbeat steadies my own. He strokes my hair and prays aloud for our safety.

  Hours later, curled next to Thomas’ side, with our multiple front door locks secure, I give up on sleep. I slip into the bathroom and lock the door.

  My past awakens, pushing one idea forward like a counterfeit savior. Pills will make this go away, a voice says. A pill will help you sleep, will make tomorrow easier. It always made Mom calmer in the midst of the hurricane that was my childhood. Come to think of it, there are a few pills left over from Thomas’ tooth surgery in the medicine cabinet…

  “Never.” I say it aloud to the bathroom walls. I’d rather be taken out with an arrow than put my daughter through that.

  33

  WHEN I WAKE AROUND ten, Thomas is gone and so is Mira Brooke, but there’s a note on my pillow.

  Took Mira Brooke up to Mom’s. You needed sleep. When you’re ready, go on up for some quiche. And take your things because you’re staying there for a while. Bobby is outside our front door and he’ll follow you up to the big house. Love you honey and please don’t be driving anywhere.

  And so it begins. I’m housebound just as surely as if I were on bed-rest. I feel trapped, like an animal in the woods, which is precisely how a deranged bowhunter would want me to feel.

  I call Detective Tucker as I pack to tell him about the arrow and note. He already knows, since Thomas called him around 5 a.m. to tell him he wanted somebody posted here and that he wanted me off the case.

  “I understood his concern and I agreed with him. Obviously you’re the next target, Mrs. Spencer, and we aren’t taking any chances.”

  “Well…will you tell me when anything turns up?”

  “Nope.”

  “Couldn’t you tell me if there are any more murders?”

  “Nope. I’m not breaking my promise to your husband. I want to have a good working relationship with the new prosecuting attorney. You sit tight and go to Mr. Spencer’s swearing-in on Thursday. I’ve called in a few reinforcements from neighboring counties and an FBI investigator is flying in tomorrow. One way or another, we’re going to bag this killer.”

  “Detective Tucker…let’s just say this murderer did somehow get to me. You’re a hunter. How do you avoid getting hit with an arrow? I mean, is he shooting these women at close range? Hunting them from the trees?”

  “From what we can tell, it’s usually from around ten to twenty yards, which is the average range for a deer hunter. The first two victims had angled arrow entries, so we figure he shot them from a tree or platform. But the rest are straight shots, so he’s been near ground level with the later victims—maybe in a blind of some kind.”

  “And there’s nothing you’ve turned up in the woods? Did you check the area with the homemade wood cross?”

  “I did and I found nothing out of the ordinary, but I’ll check that area again. You need to stop pondering these things. I want you to stay alive, Mrs. Spencer. For your husband’s sake and your child’s—and for Nikki Jo and the family.”

  After hanging up, I shove the envelope of letters into my tote, thinking of the sickness filling the pages. One phrase that springs to mind is: “We will truly make an unstoppable team.” Did this strange father and his child eventually become a team? That could explain the frequency of the attacks in this area.

  Nikki Jo texts me, pulling me from my bleak thoughts.

  Hey honey were eating quicksand for brunch and you are welcome to join us. Charlotte is coming over around noon to chalk. There is a cot outside your door.

  I call her back to let her know I’ll be up, hoping my grin isn’t detectable on the phone. It cracks me up that she doesn’t check these messages before sending, but deciphering her unintentional blunders has brightened my darker days.

  As I walk out, Lieutenant Wickline offers to help me with my bag. Immediately all the crime dramas I’ve ever seen fly through my head. If anyone is the serial killer, it must be him. He’s insinuated himself into my life so he can get close enough to kill…

  But of course he’s holding no bow or arrows and I’m being ridiculous. Still, I decline and haul my own stuffed bag up to the big house. Thor throttles down the path to greet me, and for once I’m glad for the exasperating critter’s company. I’d bring Velvet up but Roger is allergic to her. Thomas will look in on her while I’m holed up with the Spencers.

/>   Mira Brooke speed-toddles my way when I get in the door. Nikki Jo is close on her heels. “Lawsie, but this gal has ants in her pants today! I figure she’ll be plum wore-out by the time Charlotte gets here.” Her voice takes on a subdued tone. “She’s having a hard time getting rid of those do-less relatives of hers. They won’t lift a finger to wash a dish. I told her to stop cooking for them and we’ll see how long they stick around.”

  “Good advice.” I pick up Mira Brooke and swing her around.

  “Roger went golfing…of course it’s right when I need him to dig up a hole for my new orange rhododendron. You ever seen one of those? It just beats all.” Suddenly she lays a hand on my arm, as if to steady me. “I guess you heard there’s another woman missing?”

  I pull Mira Brooke close to my chest, like I need to protect her from what Nikki Jo’s saying even though she can’t understand it.

  “No. Who was it?” I was supposed to be next. Maybe the killer gave up on targeting me…or maybe the poor woman was snatched before the killer shot that warning note into my house.

  “Don’t know. Far as we know it’s no one from church. Goldie put it on the prayer chain soon as she heard it on the scanner. They haven’t released names yet.”

  Quite a few people have police scanners in these parts, to keep up with the local news. It’s a lot faster than the newspaper, but maybe not quite as lickety-split as the prayer chain.

  We lay out dishes and coffee cups for brunch. Petey bops into the kitchen, swiping a leftover blueberry muffin before his friends pick him up for bowling. His cavalier attitude makes it apparent that Nikki Jo hasn’t divulged the real reason why I’m staying at their house.

  “Glad you’re hanging out up here, Tess. When I get back let’s play a few matches. Although I’ll warn you, I’ve leveled up about twenty times.”

  “You’ll make me look like a newbie.”

  “It’s newb,” he corrects.

  “Whatever—the point is, I am one now, compared to you.”

  He smiles broadly. “We’ll still have fun. I’ll cover you.”

  As he canters into the dining room, those last words remind me of Dani. She said she’d have my back and she seemed to mean it…at least until I insulted her with my probing questions. Now I have no job to return to, once this confinement is over.

  I MEET CHARLOTTE ON the porch. She looks more tired now than she did in the hospital. Taking Mira Brooke into her arms, she nuzzles into my girl’s curls and whispers “sweet Miranda Brooke” over and over. Mira Brooke’s shining eyes take on a sober look, almost as if she understands Charlotte’s grief.

  Nikki Jo serves up the sausage and red pepper quiche, apologizing that the top got too brown, but we all know it’ll taste like something you’d pay big bucks for in a restaurant. As Nikki Jo brews a second pot of coffee, Charlotte sighs. “Maybe I should move in here too. I have so much to do and these house guests aren’t helping.”

  “What do you have to do? Tess and I might could help,” Nikki Jo says.

  “Mostly, I have to go through Mom’s things over at The Haven. They have a fast turnaround there and they’ve already booked the suite for an incoming resident. Bartholomew and his friends loaded up the furniture and hauled it to my shed, but now I need to go through clothes and books and…everything else.”

  The most emotionally grueling things, no doubt. Just the sight of Miranda’s favorite sweater might send me over the edge. But there’s no way I can leave my friend to do this alone.

  “If Mom will watch Mira Brooke, I’ll help you out,” I say. Nikki Jo and Charlotte both give me that oh-no-you-didn’t look.

  “You know Thomas doesn’t want you stepping foot outside our house,” Nikki Jo says.

  “I know. But it’s just The Haven. I’ll ride with Charlotte, we’ll get the job done, and come straight back here. Shoot, I’ll even take Bobby the police officer along if it makes everyone feel better. But I am not leaving Charlotte in the lurch on this.”

  “You sure you don’t mind going back?” Charlotte toys with her quiche crust, politely avoiding my eyes.

  “I didn’t plan on it, but this is the last thing you need to tackle by yourself right now. It’ll give us both closure, you know?”

  She nods, a tear escaping her long lashes and splashing to her plate. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  Fresh determination fills me. “I’ll call Thomas when I’m coming home, Mom.” I know Nikki Jo is conflicted about letting me go, but her desire to do right by Miranda’s girl wins out.

  “You do that, honey. And you’d better tell that police officer what you’re up to.”

  From the catch in her voice, I can tell Nikki Jo is worried the stalker will return, and no wonder.

  “I’ll tell him, but I want him to stay here with you.” My mother-in-law and baby girl will stay safe at all costs.

  34

  WE PICK UP BOXES AND packing tape from Charlotte’s house, where her relatives are munching on donuts someone must have dropped off. Maybe I should tell Nikki Jo to put the word on the Buckneck streets that no more provisions are to be delivered to Charlotte’s house. I’m pretty sure her moochers will high-tail it out of here when the mouth-watering meals stop. The kitchen looks like a dive, but everyone seems content to eat in the midst of the disarray.

  I’m about to make a snarky remark in the effort of shooing them off faster, but something restrains me. They came to honor Miranda, and I appreciate that. Then again, I don’t remember any of them visiting Miranda when she was alive…but I’ll bite my tongue. Being the longsuffering type, Charlotte probably won’t say anything to them directly, unless they stay into August. I, on the other hand, am happy to broach the subject of their immediate evacuation, however impolite it might be. It actually seems pretty impolite on their part to move in with a grieving daughter.

  Charlotte reads my ominous look and scoots us out to the car quickly. “It’s okay. I got this.”

  “You do? Because it looks like they’ve more than made themselves at home in there. Do they have jobs?”

  “They do…and so do I, remember? I have to head back to WVU in August.”

  “You’re going back? But…you just got out of the hospital. Your mother just died. You need time.”

  “I need no such thing. The best thing for me is to throw myself into teaching. I love the feel of wet clay in my hands. I love watching students’ excitement as they realize they can make something elegant out of a cold gray lump. I have to go back, Tess.”

  I want to shout, “And leave me?” but I don’t. “Who will take care of your mom’s house? Will you come back in summer?”

  She smiles. “All these questions. For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”

  We ride the rest of the way in silence. As we awkwardly haul the flattened boxes through the hallway of The Haven, I feel an urge to run right out the front door. I don’t want to see Miranda’s suite again.

  Charlotte unlocks the door and swings it open. There’s not a stick of furniture left. The room should seem cold in its starkness, but there is enough of Miranda left to alleviate that effect. Her furs and sparkly dresses hang in the closet…her glasses sit on the pile of books in the living room. She doesn’t need those glasses anymore. I swipe at my fast-forming tears.

  As I start arranging books in a large box, Charlotte shakes her head. “That’ll be too heavy. Books go in smaller boxes.”

  “Sorry. It’s been years since I’ve packed. I’ve forgotten all the logistics.” I take the books out, determined to be a help to my friend.

  Hours pass in relative silence, both of us swirled up in memories of Miranda Michaels. Her numerous biblical commentaries and Bible notebooks remind me of how close she walked with God. I feel so inadequate in the face of her faith, but I know she’d tell me we each grow at our own speed and the point is to be growing.

  Bartholomew drops off food from Wendy’s when he comes to round at The Haven. As Charlotte leans into the Good Doctor’s shoulder, I’m s
urprised again that this relationship works. The twenty-plus years between them doesn’t seem to make one whit of difference. I turn back to my packing but a sudden pang of longing for Thomas waylays me. I’ll call him before I leave so he won’t worry.

  As we sit on the floor and eat, Detective Tucker calls, which can’t be good. Maybe they found the missing woman.

  “Mrs. Spencer, I have to share two things I felt you needed to be aware of for your own safety. First of all, Dani Gibson was adopted. I found that out by tracking down her sister in Oregon—adopted sister, I should say. I’m checking into the ins and outs of it, but in the meantime, I don’t want you having any contact with her, even on the phone. Second, Byron Woods was indeed in the foster system, but not in West Virginia. In Canada.”

  He doesn’t mention the missing woman. I know he’s keeping his word to Thomas to keep me out of the action. When I hang up, Charlotte and I discuss this rapid turn of events. This could mean that Dani or Byron could be the child of the serial killer.

  I consider Dani first. She could have taken up her dad’s stalking, bought the land in West Virginia, and continued the warped family tradition. Those brainwashing letters would infiltrate her psyche. And the casual way she slipped her arm around my neck seemed second nature to her. I shiver, picturing Dani ruthlessly coshing Charlotte’s head with a brick, or hiding behind a camouflage deer blind and shooting Melody and Tawny. Her love of all things New Age does match up with the Buddhist references in the letters.

  Byron’s mysterious life in Canada will be tricky to check into. I wonder if they had Woolworth’s and communes up there in the eighties. Byron’s dad could have been a Canadian professor who traveled periodically to West Virginia. It was easier then—you didn’t need a passport to cross the border. I’m almost sure it was Byron’s white van flashing through the woods. He could have easily dropped the bodies off at the spa since he was often on the scene. And a male serial killer is more likely. He might have adopted his dad’s derogatory attitude toward women, which shone through in the letters.