Dead Woman Crossing

by J. R. Adler

  Dressed in a white T-shirt and black pants, Kimberley walked down the rocky path toward the large farmhouse. Her hair was still damp and pulled back in a low ponytail and a pair of black Wayfarers sat on top of her head. She had showered and unpacked and checked on Jessica at least six times before her mother finally shooed her out of the house. The sun was set high in the sky, its rays scorching Kimberley and the land. She pulled her glasses down in front of her eyes, blocking out the light but not the heat. Her mother had told her she was going to burn up in those pants, but it was all she had. She’d never be caught dead in a pair of shorts in NYC. Too many nasty things to get on you, like bodily fluids. It was always best to cover up no matter how blisteringly hot it was.

  Walking around the side of the house, she came upon the large white wraparound porch. It looked even better in the daytime, like it was straight out of a movie set. Before she was done admiring the house, the screen door flung open, slamming against the siding.

  At first glance, she thought it was David, but the man was much too young to be David. The man was holding a glass of water, dressed in a white T-shirt that appeared damp with what she assumed was sweat. His blue jeans looked brown thanks to the dirt that was plastered to them. He tipped back the glass of water, drinking the whole thing in two large gulps. With his chin raised, she could see a part of his beard that hadn’t grown in thanks to a thick scar about an inch in length. His hair was dark and cut short, almost like a buzz cut. She was sure it hadn’t been professionally done because there were areas that were cut a bit too close. The bags under his eyes were the only thing soft and round. Everything else about him was chiseled with sharp edges, from his jawline to his cracked knuckles.

  “You must be Wyatt,” Kimberley said smiling.

  He set the glass on the railing of the porch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Emily, come get this glass,” he called over his shoulder.

  His face was a mix of tan, red, and stubble. Although, Kimberley saw a bit of paleness there as well. He was clearly exhausted, evident due to his red-rimmed eyes and the breath he just couldn’t seem to catch no matter how cool and calm he tried to appear. Kimberley assumed he had been up and working for hours… and, perhaps, he hadn’t slept at all.

  “Yeah, I’m Wyatt. You must be Kimberley,” he said, walking down the steps.

  Kimberley nodded. “Great house you have here.”

  She looked up at the large white weather-boarded farmhouse, taking it all in again. It was clearly a source of pride as the outside of the home was well taken care of. No peeling or cracked paint in sight. Yellow and white flowers lined the wraparound porch, planted evenly apart. The outside of the home had both a man and a woman’s touch, and Kimberley wondered if that continued inside of the house.

  “Sorry, I don’t really have time for the small talk. I’ve got work to do, but I’ll catch up with you later.” He took a sharp turn at the bottom of the stairs toward the field.

  Kimberley watched him walk away. He glanced back once, and she tipped her head at him. It wasn’t exactly the southern hospitality she was expecting.

  “I’m sorry about him,” Emily said, picking up the glass Wyatt had left. “He’s overworked and overtired.” Her voice was mousey, and she gave a pleasant smile.

  Emily was dressed in a floral-print dress that went down to her knees. Her dirty blond hair fell above her shoulders and was perfectly in place. Her makeup was minimal, if she was wearing any at all. Kimberley couldn’t really tell if the rosiness of her cheeks and lips was natural or not. She was very pretty, but with the way she dressed, she appeared to be muting her own appearance, like a woman in the 1950s.

  “I’m Emily,” she said, extending her hand and walking across the porch.

  Kimberley quickly jogged up the stairs and reached for hers, shaking it. “I’m Kimberley.”

  “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” she said with a wide smile, taking a step back. “Your mother has been telling me all about you and your daughter… Jessica, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “She’s just a little one. How old again?”

  “Sixteen months.”

  “Oh, yeah. Such a good age. She’ll be having you pull your hair out in no time though. When they hit two, all hell breaks loose, and I don’t think it gets better until they’re thirty,” Emily said with a laugh.

  “I heard your boys are a handful.”

  “A handful? That’s putting it lightly. Let me guess, my dad said that? To him, those boys can do no wrong. Grandparents, am I right? Oh… where are my manners?” She flicked her hand. “Would you like some lemonade? I’ll get us some,” Emily added before Kimberley could refuse.

  Kimberley typically only drank coffee, water, beer, and cheap whiskey. The occasional glass of wine at dinner was the only other liquid that ventured into her life. Emily disappeared inside, telling her she’d be right back. Kimberley walked to a pair of rockers with a small table between them and took a seat. She slowly rocked back and forth, taking in everything she could see from the wraparound porch. It really looked like a scene out of The Grapes of Wrath. Beyond the sparse wild grass of the front yard, the dirt road marked the edge of the property, and tall fields of wheat stretched as far as the eye could see. A few trees were randomly scattered throughout, as if they were there only by accident. It appeared as if the birds had an unspoken rule not to defecate on this stretch of land and scatter seeds throughout, and only a few rulebreakers who couldn’t hold their bowels had left permanent remembrances of their poor planning.

  Not more than a couple of minutes later, Emily emerged from the house with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade that looked as though it was freshly squeezed. She poured Kimberley a glass first and handed it to her before pouring herself one.

  “Cheers to new neighbors.” Emily smiled holding up her glass.

  Kimberley pulled the glass from her mouth and tapped it against Emily’s. “Cheers.”

  Emily beamed, took a small sip and sat down.

  As soon the liquid hit her tongue, the sweetness perfectly balancing the bright sour acidity, Kimberley knew the lemonade was freshly squeezed. This was the southern hospitality she was expecting. She immediately liked Emily. She was kind and welcoming, albeit a little old-fashioned, but so far from what she had seen in Oklahoma, everything here was a bit antiquated.

  “Must be different here… ya know, from the city,” Emily said as if she were just making small talk, but Kimberley noticed she had said it in a way like she was missing out from a whole big world outside of Oklahoma, dying to know what lay beyond the amber waves of grain.

  “It is. It doesn’t have the energy that the city has. It has a calmness to it instead, which is nice. It’s good to slow down, take a look around, smell the roses as they say.” Kimberley took another sip of the refreshing lemonade.

  The energy from the city wasn’t always exhilarating for Kimberley. At times, it was downright chilling. The fact that a single person could move undetected in a sea of millions taking life, as if they were the Grim Reaper, was haunting. Kimberley had finished pinning up a handful of the crime scene photos across from her desk in her small cubicle. She stared at them intently, hoping something would jump out at her. A woman in her mid-twenties with a blond pixie haircut was shackled to a mattress. A slit six inches in length ran horizontally across her lower abdomen.

  Detective Lynn Hunter stepped into the cubicle, taking a seat across from Detective King, blocking the view of the crime scene photos that Kimberley couldn’t take her eyes off of. She had golden blond hair that was pulled back in a low bun at the nape of her neck and dark blue eyes that looked like blueberries. She was five years older than Detective King and had been her mentor since she joined the NYPD. Unlike Kimberley, she dressed in a black pants suit, muting her striking appearance. Detective Hunter set a couple of files on the desk in front of Kimberley.

  “What have we got?” Kimberley asked, openi
ng them.

  “Victim’s name is Jenny Roberts. She’s a twenty-six-year-old waitress from Harlem. She worked at the Blue Devil Diner. Her boyfriend reported her missing two nights ago, but apparently she had been missing for three days prior to that.”

  Kimberley arched an eyebrow. “Odd. Why didn’t he report it sooner?”

  Lynn shook her head. “I’ve got a couple officers verifying his alibi. Cause of death is the cut on the abdomen. She bled out after that.”

  Kimberley took a deep breath. “So, the boyfriend is looking like our main suspect?”

  “As of now, yes. But what have I taught you?” Lynn tilted her head.

  “Never jump to conclusions.”

  “Exactly. This wasn’t a crime of passion—whoever did this took their time. This was planned well. Snatched her after a work shift. Last person to see her was a cook at the restaurant by the name of Mario.”

  Kimberley flipped a few more pages. “What about him?”

  “Pulling background check and verifying his whereabouts the night she went missing.”

  Kimberley nodded.

  “There’s one more thing. She was pregnant. Around fifteen weeks. She wasn’t showing yet.”

  “Fuck. Did the boyfriend know?”

  “He says he didn’t know.”

  “Do you believe him?” Kimberley leaned forward in her chair.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters what we can prove. Remember that, Detective King.”

  Kimberley loosened the grip on her glass of lemonade when she realized how tightly she had been holding it… it was how she held onto the past. She shook the memory away.

  “Calmness. Yeah, that’s a nice way of putting it.” Emily rocked in her chair while glancing between Kimberley and the endless fields that made it look like there was nothing else in the world but rolling golden wheat.

  Loud footsteps pounded inside the house faster and faster, and suddenly the porch screen door burst open. Two young boys ran across the porch, down the steps and toward the field, laughing and yelling at one another, one saying “Slow down!”, the other saying “Hurry up!” They were both lanky with tanned skin, which Kimberley presumed was from playing outside on their big farm all the time. The older one had brown hair and the young one had blond hair with a splattering of freckles on his face. It looked as though they each took after one of their parents.

  “I said no running in the house,” Emily called out, but they were already too far away for them to hear her.

  “Those are my boys. Jack’s five and Tom’s seven. I love them, but they’re making me go gray already,” Emily said with a smile.

  “Jack seems to be feeling better. My mom mentioned he had a fever.” Kimberley nodded.

  “He is. I swear he just works himself up at bedtime. That boy’s scared of his own shadow. Thinks there’s some sort of boogeyman living on the farm. Says he hears things outside at night.”

  “Kids have quite the imagination,” Kimberley said as she watched the boys run around in the tall wheat grass.

  “I think he’s been watching too much TV. We should have never let him watch Stranger Things.” Emily shook her head.

  “I’ll be sure to keep that off the watch list for Jessica,” Kimberley said with a smile.

  “Oh yes. Where is your little girl?” Emily’s face lit up. “I’ve been dying to meet her.”

  “Over in the cottage with my mom. She’s getting her ready to go visit the daycare center.”

  “The boys and I’d be happy to tag along if you need company. They have the day off school today because of teacher conferences. They love Happy Trails Daycare and were devastated when we pulled them from the after-school program. Didn’t make sense to spend the money anymore now that they’re a little older and there’s four adults here on the farm.”

  “Makes sense and, yeah, that’d be great.”

  Kimberley had wanted it just to be her, her mom, and Jessica, but she wanted a close relationship with Emily and her boys more. That was, after all, why she had moved here… for family. She’d have to put her loner tendencies aside.

  They sat and rocked in silence for a few more moments looking out at the field where Jack and Tom ran to and fro, kicking up dirt and wheat and crying, “You’re it!” as they tagged one another.

  “What’s it like?” Emily interrupted the silence, turning her head to look directly at Kimberley.

  Emily’s eyes were as large and blue as an Oklahoma sky. And she looked at Kimberley like she was a young naïve girl that hadn’t set foot out of her town but daydreamed regularly about what the world was like outside of her own bubble.

  “What’s what like?” Kimberley asked, taking another sip of lemonade.

  “New York City. Is it like the movies?”

  “Depends what movies you’re watching.” Kimberley smirked.

  Emily looked up and twisted her lips, trying to recall the films.

  “Is it dangerous?” she asked.

  “No. I mean, parts of it are. But, overall, it’s a safe city, especially for its size,” Kimberley said proudly as she had been a part of keeping that city safe.

  She had seen the ugly side of NYC, the underbelly of the beast, but she had also seen its beauty. New Yorkers were tough and direct, but these same people were the ones that ran toward two falling towers. They were the same ones that rebuilt, that mourned, that helped their fellow neighbors. They were tough, but they were also real. Kimberley hadn’t lived in New York City when September 11 happened. She and her family lived across the Hudson River over in New Jersey—something more affordable than Manhattan or Brooklyn. But they could see the skyline from where they lived, and especially those two buildings. How could you not? She was sixteen when the towers fell and remembered it vividly. What happened that day changed New Yorkers and they were certainly close enough to feel that. Heck, people in Alaska were close enough to feel what it had done to the city, how it had changed the people… how it had changed every American. It was the first time in their lifetimes that they were truly “One Nation Under God” or whatever god you believed in. You were one nation under something. But what mattered was the one nation. Nineteen years after the attack, she could still see the effects it had on the people, whether they were there or not. It made you walk a little faster. Be a little nicer. Take a second look at something out of place. The city radiated energy and strength. She had fed on it for a decade and in Oklahoma, Kimberley would have to find a new energy to feed on.

  “Are the people mean?” Emily asked meekly.

  “No, not at all. They’re busy and direct but not mean. They just say what they feel. It may seem mean if you aren’t used to it, but the good thing is you always know where you stand with someone. No sugar-coating anything.” Kimberley nodded. “What’s Oklahoma like?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Well, plain, I guess. You’ve probably already seen everything we have to offer on the way in. But we do get tornados. Lots of ’em. Ever seen one of those?” She widened her eyes.

  “Only in the movies.” Kimberley smiled.

  “Fairly accurate if you’ve seen Twister. They’re scary but they pass quickly.”

  Kimberley nodded. She had described her own father like that at one point. So, she too had experienced a tornado.

  “Your mom tells me you’ll be working with Sheriff Sam Walker?” Emily raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s right. Got any intel on him?”

  She had spoken to Sam on the phone a couple of times for interviews and then, after she was hired, just to chat about expectations of the job. He seemed genuine on the phone, like he was happy and proud to have an NYPD detective join his force—at least that’s how it sounded. Kimberley had never met him in person, but she would later in the afternoon. She would find out more about him then, when she could look him in the eye while they spoke, study his body language, size him up.

  “Sheriff Walker is a wonderful man. He works hard for this community and hasn’t let
any of his”—Emily looked around searching for the right word—“circumstances hold him back.”

  “Circum—”

  “We’re ready!” Nicole announced, walking up the side of the porch with Jessica in tow. Jessica was wearing a floral summer dress that Kimberley had never seen, and it kind of matched Nicole’s dress, which hung on her like a potato sack thanks to her small frame.

  “Ma… ma,” Jessica said as soon as she laid eyes on her mother. Kimberley’s heart flipped at the sound of her daughter’s voice and the sight of grandmother and granddaughter bonding so well, just as they should.

  Kimberley set the empty glass down on the table beside her and rose from her seat, happy to see her daughter but disappointed to not learn more about the circumstances surrounding Sheriff Walker. She made a mental note to ask Emily about it later. It seemed to her that they were getting along well enough. Kimberley wasn’t a “let’s sit on the porch, gossip, and drink fresh-squeezed lemonade” type, but she could learn to be.

  “Emily and her boys are going to come with us,” Kimberley said as she jogged down the porch steps toward her mother and daughter.

  “Oh, wonderful.” Nicole beamed. “I knew you two would get along swimmingly. Emily’s too sweet not to love.”

  Kimberley raised an eyebrow. Swimmingly? She must have picked that lingo up around here.

  “Hi, sweetie. You look so beautiful in your new dress.” Kimberley ran her hand through her daughter’s hair. Jessica’s eyes were laser focused on the silver watch on Kimberley’ wrist. She opened her mouth and sunk her gummy smile into it.